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Jena Schwartz: Writing Prompt #5 | One Little Acorn

“The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

A little acorn, a mighty oak. It’s such a cliché, I know. But all worries and judgment of clichés leave my mind when faced with an actual acorn. Examining it up close, considering its DNA. Same could be said, of course, for hanging out with babies. In my world, paying attention to small things that contain the ingredients of mighty future things is pretty much mind-blowing. 

And yet—back to the acorn itself, on the forest floor. It’s easy to ignore, all those little tops scattered about, leaves crunching underfoot, the turn of seasons something I can take completely for granted in fact. Yes, of course acorns and oaks. Yes, of course babies and the people they’ll become. Yes, of course nature and nurture and the perennial curiosity of that equation when it comes to who we turn out to be and the very world around us. 

In other words, this simple image ignites so many different directions of thought for me, it could offer enough writing material for ten prompts, one hundred, one thousand. But for today, we’ll just choose one. 


Your Writing Prompt: Write about a little acorn which may not be an acorn at all. Close your eyes for a few minutes before you start moving your pen. Better yet, take a walk and see what small thing catches your eye.  

If you like, you may post your poem in the comments section below.

Here’s a poem of mine that came from this prompt:


When I’m gone
what will they have left?
Ten thousand acorns
covering the ground
where I lived,
seeds everywhere
without a tree in sight.

Copyright 2021 Jena Schwartz

4 comments on “Jena Schwartz: Writing Prompt #5 | One Little Acorn

  1. Janice Shade
    March 26, 2021

    Walked into the woods

    And I become one of them

    Now I never leave

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Leo
    March 21, 2021

    I love my trees! Thanks for the prompt.

    one, by one, I pull
    them out…and toss them away
    a hundred year life

    to die in the sun
    yanked hard from their acorn roots
    just for space for blooms

    my Mora clock chimes
    encased in striated oak
    a gift left to breath

    Liked by 1 person

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This entry was posted on March 20, 2021 by in Opinion Leaders, Poetry, spirituality, Writing Prompts and tagged , , , .

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