Prompt list for June

Telephone wires in scintillating sunlight.

The smooth sounds of a violin bowing.

Ringing bells.

Coral-colored house.

Broken gas stove.

Evening skylights against a grapefruit-pink sky.

Roses and honeysuckle.

A half-moon in the late afternoon sky.


This is an invitation to collaborate on this monthly list of prompts! The idea is to have a minimum of one per each day in June — so min. 30 prompts in total. They can be anything — songs, poetry, art — not just words. They’re not limited to the flavor of what I’ve put up so far, either. The only thing asked is that the prompt has something to do with your interpretation of the month of June.

I have zero clue how much use this is to people on this forum :sweat_smile: but :slight_smile:

Happy June, anyways! :rosette:

  • A rainy day under a bike shelter at the school.

  • Must be the heat. You didn’t just see a creepy face in that window.

  • 10 floors. A fire.

  • Wait… Aren’t tables supposed to be on floors?
  • A small girl rides her father’s shoulders, pointing eagerly at something in the distance.
  • A basil leaf wrapped around a sun-warmed cherry tomato fresh off the vine
  • A hammock swings gently under the shade of hulking oak trees.
  • There is something wrong with this mirror.
  • Within a week, I spent a lifetime with you, and I’ll never see you again.
  • High above the clouds, and falling.
  • Nobody knows who I am.
  • The end is right around the corner.
  • Relentless heat
  • Giant spiders spinning webs between trees
  • Drought and water worries and wildfire preparedness
  • Dreams of cool breezes; reality is dragon’s breath
  • SPF and Deet that don’t entirely work
  • Three more months until it drops below 90 F.

Wow… That one makes my mind go in all kinds of directions.

(Actually, reading all of your story-suggestions in order tells a minimalistic tale of heat and drought. Are you ok over there in your personal little desert?)

  • The Isle of White & Black.

  • A room with a view.

  • The grandfather clock is pushed to the far corner of the Entrance Hall, turned with the clock-face against the brick wall.

  • There’s a rabbit in my hat!

  • I turn on the radio. The mayor announces: “All bicycle paths shall go downhill upon my re-election.”

  • > LICK BAT


… dang it, Rovarsson. :joy:


We have climate anxiety. It’s not a consolation that everybody else does, too. This area of Texas used to be a verdant paradise, but I think it might be dying, so that’s really awful. I sincerely hope I’m being overly dramatic.