Free write, thought-shenanigans…inspired by November Writing Prompts
November 30: November writes its own ending / I dwell in possibility
Wow! The end of November and I have completed my goal of 30 writing prompts for this wondrous month. I feel pretty good about the practice and it was healthy for my wellness so I shall continue. Today is the day I plan for the next month, December, and it does take some planning. I am pretty choosy with my time and energy because it’s so limited, I check out the calendar and decide who and what is most important to me then solidify those plans. Just as important, I pick days and write “no plans day” to solidify recharging time. I realize now as I’m older that I’m truly an introvert who needs that recharging, regrounding, recentering solitiude time, too. I don’t know if anyone is reading this but if you are one of the readers, thank you for opening some space to take in my random thoughts and writings. I’m really grateful for this practice. My heart is full. Til Next Time!
November 29: A thought that outlives breath / A poem with no nouns
Dipthongingly sounding in willowy things-that-are-not-nouns. This is harder than it sounds. I’ll have to return to it. My brain is a bit fried right now.
November 28: The horizon’s secret
Ah! A great prompt that follows the one I just wrote about on the sunrise. The sunset is also one of the our two daily beautiful always different and always the same gifts we get to experience. How lucky are we. I do want to write about the blush of the sky. Adding it to the list!
November 27: A bloom that blushes unseen
I woke up super early recently, I mean like 2:30 a.m. early, it really messed up my energy for the day but I couldn’t get back to sleep and neither could my partner so we just got up and chatted, had coffee, and conversation. We left at the same time because since it was the weekend, I decided to have a donut. Drove to the neighborhood donut shop, ordered a coffee, and a chocolate long john my fave, then a spur of the moment idea came to me – go somewhere to see the sunrise. I headed to a new spot called Sunrise Point in Peoria and man, oh man, what a lovely sunrise. It’s a gift we get everyday. It’s was so moving to settle into it and watch in awe.
November 26: The grave is not the end
Have Momento Mori everyday. It makes a huge difference.
November 25: A poem written in candlelight
There is an upcoming poetry prompt about branches that I’m letting percolate in my brain before I write it. My muse is this huge tree on the USC campus that I took photos of when I attended the LA Book Festival this year. One of my favorite parts of that festival was that tree and sitting in the poets ten listening to wonderful artists. Oh I also picked up some poetry books, too. I love the collection I’m gathering of favorite poets lately. The latest I’ve been reading are works by Ada Limón. Also, Andrea Gibson’s are very moving and I highly recommend the documentary about her on AppleTV. I had to watch it in pieces because it was so overwhelming.
November 24: The stars are listening
Recently I was one of the poets featured in a reading with a group of really talented poets. It was online and is part of a poetry community I’m really enjoying and getting to know. It was wonderful to hear the other poets read their work. This one guy’s poetry really stuck with me. I mean they all did but the lines he wrote were about the stars and sky. It was really inspiring me and I’d like to create a collection or poetic. Libretto using that theme now. Adding it to the list!
November 23: A poem folded in a drawer
This week I had the experience of writing a poem I wrote before and submitting it to the ASPS Sandcutters 2025 anthology. Since I didn’t place as a winner in any of the categories, they allow the losers to submit a poem and it just automatically gets accepted. So I went back to check out the poems that didn’t make the cut and chose one to edit. It was the first time I remember really crafting it together in this way. It was a process, took time but the time went really fast, and it reminded me how friends of mine had mention they do the same. They write a poem and put it in a drawer then go back to it months or even years later and re-read and re-write it. It was and exhilarating, exhausting, exquisite experience all at the same time. I’ll add this to my poetry planner and to do that once a month. I ended up being very satisfied with the piece. That’s a wonderful feeling. I kept the original intent which was most important to me. I was so reluctant to re-write and edit my poetry before because I didn’t want to lose the original intent. So my first thought I always thought best thought, don’t change it for the most part. I usually would just change a word here or there if in the drafting process it was the first word that came to mind but I knew there were better words to use especially if it was an overused one or cliche. Anyway, with that, editing and rewriting is indeed a good practice for me creatively and feels good in my soul.
November 22: The absence of a name
There’s a saying and I might have written about it before. It goes something about the limits of language. Oh here it is: “The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.” – Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus logigo-philosphicus, 1922. From the series Great Ideas of Western Man. Found it here: https://americanart.si.edu/artwork/limits-my-language-mean-limits-my-world-ludwig-wittgenstein-tractatus-logigo-philosphicus#:~:text=“The%20limits%20of%20my%20language,Tractatus%20logigo%2Dphilosphicus%2C%201922.
Anyway, I see that as true but there’s something else here. The limits of my imaginations are the limits of my world. Although we might not be able to express them with words, we can see the ineffable in our minds and feel it in our hearts. This is another reason I love art so much. It aims for the expression of the ineffable. Also as a bonus it can create more ineffable-ness. Fascinating stuff.
November 21: A poem shaped like a question
Good prompt. I’m not sure how to type out a poem in a shape but something to add to my research list. In the meantime, poetry does that for me. It asks questions, answers them, then asks more questions. Turtles all the way down. I love it!
November 20: The color of waiting
I was chatting via with a good friend today who is traveling which reminded me of a fun game I play when there are people around me like at an airport or waiting in line. Capturing their expression in my mind to come up with something funny they’re thinking about. Or if two people are talking whisper to your partner what they’re talking about and act like voiceovers. Hilariously fun and free! Try it, you might like it, too.
November 19: A bird that sings in reverse
What is the last chirp of a fledgling before it is considered not a fledgling? Here’s the thing I also love about poetry. It points me to research whether it’s about a splash like a Worthington jet or a word I haven’t heard before while reading beautiful works by Breton. I must go research now the cycle of a bird’s life. This becomes part of that saying, someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to. I tried to quickly see where that quote came from and it’s attributed to lots of people. More research. But while I checked, I did come across this beautiful quote from Shakespeare in Love “You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die” oh man I can use this for so many things. Poetry. My lover. Chocolate…
November 18: The spider’s sermon
Eight legs rubbing eight eyes
Loosening the sleep of cobwebs
The Cure’s melodies in the distance
Turning cobwebs into guitar strings
November 17: A poem that ends mid-sentence
My love for you is like—
Your love for me is—
Our love can—
Life cannot—
A pedestal of—
Whispers of stars sing—
Like branches of—
Shifts of seasons make—
November 16, 2025: The taste of regret
Things seem so big when we’re alive. I mean like the things that don’t really matter. Annoyances, bad moods, sad moods, things like that. So what I do to recenter is imagine if that person died and I kissed them. Would I regret anything? My words or actions? Would I regret time not spent with that person or expressing my gratitude more often? Then what starts happening is all those shiny beautiful parts of that person start to glow and I fall in love all over again. I can do this practice with anything or anyone including myself. It’s a good reset for me and important to do with out judgment. Just observe at first then pivot, re-center, and sit in love all over again.
November 15, 2025: Amap to nowhere
When we’re born we don’t get a map. We have to create one ourselves or just stay in one place. It doesn’t mean we have to physically travel from one place to another if we’re unable but in our mind. In our personal growth. Time goes by way too fast to not map things out but remember to leave room for spontaneity. I absolutely love serendipitous happening.
November 14, 2025: the ghost of a garden
The poppies are so bright on this field. A short walk from St Remy in Provence. Past Glanum. Van Gogh was here, scribbled on a wall of a room where he painted Starry Night. You expect to see the view of that painting from the window of that room but nope, not there. It was glowing in the other direction and out of sight if you look out that window. It was in his mind. What’s in your mind that needs to get out? Chickens crossing the road? Monkeys in a barrel? A barrel of fun? Roll that shit out! Larks tongues in aspic? Chicka chicka boom boom, let’s dance like the Peanuts gang. Snoopy, hang on. It’s time to go. Those were the days.
November 13, 2025: a poem written in footprints
Carlsbad. Play that funky music. Lots of shots. Oh look at that ocean, a great time for a run on the beach in the dark, in my platform heels. Oops, a hole, oops my knee.
November 12, 2025: the ghost in the mirror
Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary. Not the kind I drink now but the gory one we expect to see in the mirror. Closing the door and turning out the lights as children, then wetting our hands in the bathroom sink, raising them to the looking glass. Swirling and swirling, rubbing the mirror in circles and chanting, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary. Did you see her?! Yes! I’m scared! Let’s get outta here. Time for light as a feather, stiff as a board. Fun times.
November 11, 2025: A cactus dreams of rain; A feather floats through eternity
Arms outstretched to the infinity of south and north, my front facing the beginning of things where the sun rises b fore me and sets on my back. I turn clockwise like the spark of all creation and the moon is growing becoming full like my intention. I call upon the names of god, poking a portal through infinity, welcoming the angels to this holy place within my body and around my essence. Within my body and around my essence. I turn widdershins, the moon is waning, like the release of brokenness and desire, the deconstruction of what needs to be torn apart to make space this holy place within my body and around my essence. Within my body and around my essence. Over and over again, we live and die, we live and die.
November 10, 2025: Prompt: The hush between two heartbeats; The sound of a forgotten name
As poets, we speak for the things that can’t speak for themselves. Whether it’s about the darkness and silence deep inside of us or the way the brush of a kiss against our lips leaves us. We are little gods who create with images and words like seeing things for the first time, feeling things for the first time, dying for the first time.
November 9, 2025 – Prompt: A recipe for loneliness; A door that opens inward
Poem: Choice
November 8, 2025 – Prompt: The moon’s jealous love; The robin’s hymn at dusk
Poem: The Moon’s Reflection
November 7, 2025 – Prompt: A conversation between two shadows; Hope wore a threadbare shawl
Poem: Shadowspeak
November 6, 2025 – Prompt: The scent of a memory; A funeral in mind
Poem: Olfactory Evocation
Bubble gum
Hospice room
Chemotherapy
Saline
Alcohol swabs
Vanilla candles
Embers
Champurrado
Tamales
Burnt skin
Burnt hair
Wounds
The ocean
Salt-rimmed glass
Dive bar
Steel on fingers
Roses
Patchouli
November 5, 2025 – Prompt: A poem that begins with a sigh; The grass confesses nothing
Ah, breath, four-fold breathing, folding one plane over the other over the other, inhale and release, and ditto, grounding, centering, stillness. Inspiration, inspire, enspire – to breathe into. Shaky inhale, doing it anyway, holding it unexpectedly and unintentionally then sighing for a moment to live here again. Have you been by the side someone taking their last breath? Been there for the first? Writing about my beloved husband recently and writing about breath, brings the memory of experiencing his last breath in my arms. In the words of dear Forrest, That’s All I Have To Say About That. ‘Til next time.
November 4, 2025 – Prompt: If silence had a color; a letter never sent – but felt
I enjoy writing about synesthesia like silence having a color or the taste of a sound but for today, I’ll write about the letter never sent. Over ten years ago, my spouse died and I grieved so hard for so long but privately for the most part. I had to do it in little spurts here and there otherwise I would have destroyed myself. It may not have been the healthiest way but it was the safest way for me. It lasted much longer than it would have if I dove right in but it took many years before I was able to do that. Anyway, the first year after his death, I attended grief counseling and grief support groups then I volunteered to facilitate grief groups for a year. One of the activities was writing a letter to our loved one who died then it was saved by the facilitator and mailed out a year later. So it was sent but not sent. I understand how it might be healing for others to write to their loved one on social media as if they’re on it or listening there but it’s just not my way. I encourage anyone who is grieving to consider the practice of writing to your dearly departed. This reminds me of one of my grief counseling sessions where I was sobbing and saying, I can’t do it, I just can’t do it (meaning being here anymore, doing life anymore) and she said, you are doing it, you are here, you are doing it. It helped to hear her say that. She gave me the idea of a daily practice I did with him after he was gone. At the end of the day, I would come home and talk to him (not there) about my day and ask about his just like when he was alive. Before I’d leave for work, I would put his urn on the couch, turn on the tv, and place the remote control nearby. It may not make any sense but that’s grief and healing in their many colors of silence.
November 3, 2025 – Prompt: The last leaf’s monologue and/or I heard a hush in Heaven
These were interesting prompts and lots of images and ideas came up. The last leaf’ monologue, I pictured an autumn leaf on stage with a microphone in hand doing stand-up comedy and asking them to dim the lights because we could see through it’s leaf-ness, saying jokes, and saying, I’ll be here all autumn, folks, catch me before I drop in winter. Then I thought oh, like a table leaf, and its saying, hey guys, look, you only pull me out of storage during the holidays, this year just leaf me alone. The second prompt was not as comedic and I’m still thinking about it. What would a hush in Heaven sound like, is there sound in heaven? You hear about angels singing or ethereal vibrations or harmonies but who knows, right? I dive into themes of death often, my husband says I dance with the sword of Damocles, and it’s true – I always know that we don’t have much time left here. It’s interesting how themes connect to other serendipitous happenings like for instance, listening to Mel Robbins this morning during a walk, she asks the question if we have any unfinished business. There again I pause and grin, knowing that I’m quite content actually, I mean that doesn’t stop me from experiencing new things because I do feel that we are created to experience and feel as much as we can in the time we have so there’s that.
Seasons Lived – Seasons of a Year are the same as the Seasons of a Lifetime. In Spring, we’re born and learn to walk, run, leap, and excited to grow older. Summer, we are full of vitality and shine like the sun looking ahead while building for the future. Autumn, here it is, the big exhale – a person in their autumn season of life may be finally satisfied, not looking at the past with pain, regret, nostalgia, or tenderness, not looking towards the future with worry, fear, optimism, or hope, but instead, autumn people live in the here and now. Some people say when you’re over 50, there a common theme: IDGAF. It takes a long time to get here, at least it did for me. I’ll keep grinning about it and -ing about it. Ing-ing.
November 2, 2025 – Prompt: A letter from autumn to winter and/or The bee forgot the bloom
November 1, 2025 – Prompt: The wind carries a secret — What does it whisper?
The Wind Carries – The wind can carry a memory when it speaks in the language of windchimes. A twinkling sound and a reminder of someone loved and lost. The wind is invisible but it touches the face, a soft caress, or a bitter, biting slap across flushed cheeks. The wind can also push up my flouncy skirt making me spread my legs and act like Marilyn for a moment..
WhatsHerName Writes 