Prompt #217 – Favorite Words

When I woke yesterday morning, the thermometer on my deck read 2º F. (– 17) C.) Brrrr! As much as I love winter, that's cold! Apropos of nothing in particular, after checking the outdoor temperature and putting out some bread and peanut butter for the squirrels, I sat down with a cup of Earl Grey and thought  about my favorite word. I know—what made me think of that? Do you have a favorite word? Mine is rill. I’ve always thought that if I were to use a pseudonym, the first name would be “Rill.” Interestingly, I’ve never used that word in anything I’ve written.

This week, I’d like you to think about your favorite words and then choose one to be the inspiration word for a poem.

Guidelines:

1. Begin by making a list of words that you like (any part of speech—noun, verb, adjective—is fine).

2. After you’ve made your list, take a look at it and choose one of the words to work with.

3. Make another list of ideas, images, and emotions that your chosen word brings to mind.

3. Does your word make you think of a particular experience?

4. Begin writing, and let your “favorite word” guide the direction of your poem.

5. Be sure to use the word as, or in, your title.

6. An alternative is to choose a word you dislike.

7. And another alternative is to choose the weirdest word you've ever heard.

Tips:

1. Be sure to include fresh language, concreteness, and a strong emotional center. Find the “power” in your word and give that power its head.

2.  Show, don’t tell.

3. Avoid “ing” endings and prepositional phrases.

4. Connect, reveal, and surprise (yourself and your readers). Remember that a good poem should astonish its readers in some way.

5. Perhaps pose a question that’s impossible to answer.

6. During the editing and revising part of your process, look for the “lifeless” parts of your poem and either give them life or get rid of them.

Example:   

There is a Word

By Emily Dickinson

There is a word

Which bears a sword

Can pierce an armed man—

It hurls its barbed syllables

And is mute again—

But where it fell

The saved will tell

On patriotic day,

some epauletted Brother

Gave his breath away.

Wherever runds the breathless sun—

Wherever roams the day—

There is its noiseless onset—

There is its victory!

Behold the keenest marksman!

The most accomplished shot!

Time’s sublimest target

Is a soul “Forgot.”