49-Word Poem Top Picks

And, Yes, All Entries Are Amazing!

The challenge was to write a 49-word poem, not including the title, using the following words: scribblers, hurting, thunder, and audiophiles.

And, once again, the talent flowed from the writer’s soul onto the substack page for all to witness creative writing excellence. I enjoy reading these prompt answers immensely, and I’m sure each one of you will also. Without further ado, grab a cup of coffee and prepare for amazement.

Based on the reader’s picks who meet the 49-word and incorporated all the words, enjoy the two reader’s picks of Tom Weikert and amaged Icons. The three honorable mentions go to Mark Ready, Colin Ross, and Andrew Paul Ward.

I also want to thank all the others who entered the challenge:

Kamisah Karim, Tara Penry, Christopher Henry, Bradley Staman, Johnathan Reid, Christine Law, Sage AjaRa.

Prepare for a little enjoyment on your Thursday afternoon.

A Thunderstorm in the Midwest by Tom Weikert

The clouds march oh, so slowly

I watch them through my cigarette

An army dark and lonely

Thunder trailing with her regret

The scribblers poised with their pens

Waiting for the hurting to start

Audiophiles lis’ning in

As the land becomes fully dark

And the world begins falling apart

Independence Day in Assisted Living by amaged Icons

Robert’s door is marked NPO

His throat is hurting

A bomb pop melts in its wrapper

Scribblers come and go

Audiophile of the heart,

The cardiologist cocks his head

In his dreams

mother’s hanging out the bunting

father’s sermon thundering out over

the sweating congregation

Somewhere, taps is playing..

Quest For Quiet by Mark Read

Scribblers describe thunder as booming

The result of lightning and the air smashingly returning

While Audiophiles like their bass to be almost hurting

And crank it up until their neighbors find it quite disturbing

The rumble of both is disconcerting.

The remedies involve patience, pounding, yelling, and possibly cursing.

Hi-fi enthusiast by Colin Ross

My ears they are a hurting.

Our sons are audiophiles,

In MY young days, just earplugs.

When we would travel miles.

Their ‘music’, LOUD as THUNDER.

Whereas, my era – calm.

Their eardrums burst asunder

MY music, soothing balm.

US, pen and paper scribblers.

No ’tablets’, or pods in palm.

TEXAS GIRLS by Andrew Paul Ward

She said, when we met, “No scribblers.”

“No poetic promises, nor declaring heartfelt hurting,”

“We Texas girls aren’t tamed like that.”

I summoned Pecos Bill from the grave,

He sent me poetry punctuated with thunder.

While we awed under porch like audiophiles,

She moved closer, saying, “Isn’t it romantic?”