Challenge #13: Three Random Elements

Fluffy

The Demon King ~ He/They
Original poster
STAFF MEMBER
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Invitation Status
  1. Looking for partners
Posting Speed
  1. Slow As Molasses
Online Availability
It varies. I can't promise much consistency due to my chaotic life.
Writing Levels
  1. Intermediate
  2. Adept
  3. Advanced
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Female
  3. Nonbinary
  4. Transgender
  5. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Horror, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Superpowers, Drama. Also, romance is required with me because I will get bored without it.
Three Random Elements

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This is an all new type of challenge I've decided to give a go. You will write a poem with a style and theme of your choosing. There's room for so much creativity here. There's just one rule, which is to involve the following three in some way:

1. Smoke
2. Picnic
3. Daydream

I'm not saying you have to use these exact words in the poem itself, by the way. :) As I mentioned above, figure out a creative way to include these three elements. It's meant to make you think a lot. I know, how could I make you do such a thing, right? Who knows, maybe you'll come up with something real easily!

Don't worry though, I'll be putting myself through the challenge too. Hopefully my example will provide some inspiration, once it's finished. :] Have fun!
 
The Moment That I Wake

The grass was soft as pillows,
like a bed 'neath the willows
Where a girl can dream for life
and abandon all her strife

A muffin flavored like fall,
coffee sixteen ounces tall
This is a simple food love,
this picnic that I dream of

Happy little puffs of grey
part from my lips as I sway
I could watch the wisps for hours
while they dance among flowers

Alone in my wonderland,
as long as peace can withstand
For the moment that I wake,
I'll realize it was all fake
 
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Gonna have to stick with prose. Poem with mechanical structure seems weird to me.

Weave oh weave for me oh please, a loom of foggy appetite spinning in my hand. Penetrate and rupture me with your sanguine choir shone from my deepest artery. Stain my skin inside the flesh near my beating heart will you press. Rob me blind of worldly goods, attached to the soul as any chain would. Pierce my walls and linger a moment more, I cannot forget nor forgive you my contemptuous whore. Yet please I ask, would you weave for me into my blood through my veins? Like a strike of gold, dig a little bit longer and make my heart heavy and hardened. Like a cherry, only bitter and sore shall it be plucked when my body can take no more.

That wasn't depressing at all.
 
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Smokey Quartz (A nonet)

Your eyes resemble a smokey quartz
Glistening in the warm daylight.
Perhaps when I think of them
Our souls mingle and touch.
A thought passes by,
A Picnic for
You and I...
Daydreams...
*Sigh*
 
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Here's a two stanza haiku for you!

Eyes are watering
I just want to eat foodstuff
Smoke everywhere I

Can't enjoy this park
Or peace, I can't imagine
Much beyond gray screen


Well shit. It was supposed to be funny. Oh well.
 
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Here I am,
Stuck again,
Smoke billows,
And swallows.

Inside my head,
It's no picnic,
No sun, only,
Smoke and mirrors.

I can't breathe, please, help.
Pull me from this dream,
Where everything died,
And there's nothing good.

My thoughts are filled with black,
Ashes and smoke combined,
As my mind burns itself,
All to escape my head.
 
Standing at the barbecue
Staring off into space
He dreamed of far off places
And a damsel of true grace

So lost within his dream was he
That unheeded time slipped by
Until bitter smoke reached up
Assaulted his nose and burned his eye

He waved a hand to spread it out
And forced his gaze to lower
There lay charred remnants of their food
As from his Mother's gaze he did cower

Another plate of food was brought
And a stern warning did his Mom impart
He stood there staring once again
Waiting for the Maid who stole his heart
 
The grill is a sacred place, hearkening back to primal man
where fire, flesh, and metal meet, beside the great beer can.
It is at this summer altar, may the culinary spirit flow
of a father to his family without doing his pride a blow.

For while dinner, breakfast, lunch are the realm of the female,
the picnic is a man's best venue, an acceptable protrayal
of the domesticated husband with his spatula and apron
whether his media be beef, pork, lamb, or bacon.

But beware! You distracted fathers, from letting your mind wander,
lest the meat you cherish upon that grill be squandered!
The fire is as much foe as friend, and you may find your burger black
if you stare into the distance and let your attention slack!