Instant Poetry

Instant poetry starts with a request:

“Can you write me a poem about new beginnings?”

Then I take that request & type out an original poem — right then & there.

Poof. Instant poem.

It’s also intuitive — “reading” that person in that moment. Which makes it personalized & unique.

The response is often a smile, high-five, even hugs and tears. Like this video.

I’ve written over 20,000 instant poems from Maine to Mexico, for kids age 5 to 95, even for a few celebrities.

Want to try it? See below.


Instant poetry is fun, terrifying, & changed my life.

Here’s how it might help you, too (links coming soon):


Favorite moments of poetry connection

Try it!

Tips & tricks (incl. teacher lesson plans)

Creative courage

A trail map for your creative journey

Art cross-talk

Conversations with artists of all genres



A few of my favorite instant poetry moments (videos in Stories above)


At the West Seattle Farmers Market, two couples were nearby. Couple #1 leaned in & whispered: “Our friends don’t know we’re pregnant — can you write a poem to tell them?” The best part was watching the other couple read the poem and yell: “No way!!”

“This was really incredible. And the poem was perfect – they wound up using it as their birth announcement on Facebook later in the day.” —James Frasca, poem requester


At the Austin Maker Faire, a man came up for a poem and said: “My partner wants to have kids, I don’t. We’ve been together eight years, but now we’re splitting up. Nothing’s wrong, we just . . . can you put that in a poem?”

When I finished, I snapped a photo of the poem and handed it over. The poetry line was long so I went right to the next person; like so many personal poems, I never got to see him read it, never saw him again.



On a sunny morning at the West Seattle Farmers Market, a young girl walked by with her parents. Her mom stopped and told the girl to get a poem. The girl was suuuuuuuper shy, kind of hiding beside her mom and eating an ice cream cone so she wouldn’t have to talk.

“How about a poem about you—about Lili?” her mom asked her.

“She was named after the flower,” her mom told me. Lili kept eating her ice cream, smiling but not speaking.

“Would you like a poem?” I asked Lili. She took another bite of ice cream, then nodded.

“What would you like it to be about?” I asked. Nothing. “Would you like it to be about Lili?”

More ice cream eating, smiling at the ground, then Lili finally looked up — and nodded again.