P R O M P T # 19:
write your own poem in which you muse on names and meanings. 

Names of a flower—
Hmmm... well maybe a haiku
will arise/arose.

Seriously, at the end of long day packing things up and moving mom to a new state, writing poetry was a panicked afterthought… but I have discharged my duty by responding to the prompt.

try your hand at writing a poem that could be a section or piece of one. Include rhyme, include unlikely and dramatic scenes (maybe a poem about a bank robbery! Or an avalanche! Or Roman gladiators! Or an enormous ball held by mermaids, where there is an undercurrent (hee) of palace intrigue!) Basically, a poem with the plot of an opera (evil twins! Egyptian tombs! Star-crossed lovers! Tigers for no apparent reason!)

I can’t rise to this prompt.
I am tired, so I will post one I have worked on

Ruining play grounds for other children:
another unruly Jaquan…

Destroying the classroom environment,
Always increasing the strife and lament:
another unruly Jaquan…

Obsessed over sneakers, using silly slang
Behaving like he on a gold chain gang
Acting like he thank he wuz KANG:
another unruly Jaquan…

Product of low-info single moms
Slowly exploding afro-bombs
Chanting infantile urban psalms
(They make one want to relax to some Brahms):

Another unruly Jaquan…

In mad King Donalds’s latter days,
When bases turned against him;
A Furious ex-supporter I,
After the world had fenced him.
Unto the MAGA bots I cried:
He promised no new wars,
But Zion’s handlers had him trapped
To even up the scores.

And this is Trump, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, Sir.
A narcissistic sociopath,
Who lied and lies again sir!

write a poem in which you respond
to a favorite poem by another poet

The Vicar of Bray

THE Manicheans did no idols make.
Without themselves, nor worship gods of wood;
Yet idols did in their Ideas take,
And figured Christ as on the cross He stood.
Thus did they when they earnestly did pray,
Till clearer faith this idol took away:

We seem more inwardly to know the Son,
And see our own salvation in His blood.
When this is said, we think the work is done,
And with the Father hold our portion good,
As if true life within these words were laid
For him that in life never words obeyed.

If this be safe, it is a pleasant way,
The cross of Christ is very easily borne;
But six days labour makes the sabbath day,
The flesh is dead before grace can be born,
     The heart must first bear witness with the book,
     The Earth must burn, ere we for Christ can look.

Fulke Greville  (1554-1628)