Today’s post will be another chance for you to flex your creativity. The category: Poetry! This is an area of writing that’s a bit foreign to me, mostly because I prefer narrative writing, but also because I haven’t really tried to write a lot of poetry before. But the whole point of this blog is that we’re learning together, so let’s have some fun!

This is a prompt that I found a long time ago, and I tried it because I thought it would be so fun (spoiler alert: it was)! I wanted to share it with you so that you could try your hand at it. Here it is: Write a Poem that Describes the Four Seasons as People.

Here is the one that I wrote as an example:

He tosses his black curls, his cold eyes hooded and half-closed. His gray sweater nearly swallows him whole, his feet wrapped in heavy leather boots. His lips are pressed in a firm line as he concentrates: his hypnotic gaze observes and transfixes. Every feature is sharp and pale, his nose dusted with freckles like frost. He is never without his London Fog. In fact, his few friends say that it sums up his whole being: elusive, enigmatic, and when left alone too long, cold.

She’s walking along the path in her pink Chuck Taylors, her flaxen locks tied up in a ribbon. Her Starbucks order is an Acai Refresher: sweet and fresh. The same could almost be said about her: she dresses in florals and light sweaters, picking wildflowers along the greenway path and stopping whenever she hears a bluebird. She picks strawberries and weaves dandelions in her hair. Youthful, wide-eyed, curious.

He’s got on his cargo shorts and rash guard. Everyone knows that he’s hitting the beach. He wakes up and doesn’t bother to brush his bronze hair: just a few tousles and tosses and it’s ready for the ocean he basically lives in. He’s always up for a late-night party with his friends, eating chips and drinking Coca-Cola out of glass bottles. Every girl has a crush on him, even though she knows she has no chance with this sun-kissed, laid-back fun boy.

She pushes her tortoiseshell glasses farther up her nose. She wraps herself in a blanket that she crocheted a week ago as she snuggles on the porch swing with her pumpkin spice latte. In her lap, she holds her favorite book, and to her, life couldn’t get any better than this. Her father steps out for a moment, reminding her to study. She sighs, puts her tight auburn curls in a messy bun, and buckles down. Cozy, studious, and sometimes forgetful.

As always, you can leave your poem in the comment section, or you can email it to me personally. I can’t wait to see what you come up with! Happy writing!