2010 April PAD Challenge: Day 28

Since we’re so near the end, I’m going to start linking to the guidelines for any poets who wish to submit up to five of their favorite poems from the month (by May 5) to possibly be spotlighted in a future post on the blog. (Click to continue.)

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Also, I thought the voting mechanism for the Poet Laureate of the Blogosphere competition only allowed one vote total from each computer, but apparently (from comments I’ve read on other blogs) the thing re-sets every day. This calls into question the validity of the results, but it also makes it possible for any RLB-loving poets to vote for me again (if they haven’t done so in the past 24 hours).

Click here to keep me in the lead. (Or to vote for someone else if you wish.)

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For today’s prompt, write an end of the line poem. Maybe the narrator of your poem is at the end of his or her line. Other possible lines that have an end: assembly lines, phone lines, power lines, rail lines, graph lines, dotted lines, waiting lines, lines of poetry, etc.

Here’s my attempt:

“Good-bye Winter”

The mornings get happier;
the sun hangs around a little
longer each day; people break
out into improvised dances and
spontaneous songs singing tra-
la-la-la-la de-dum-de-dum or
whatever springs to mind.

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Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

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Attend my live webinar tomorrow on How to Publish Your Poetry Collection, which will cover everything from assembling the poems to promoting them after publication. (Click here to learn more.)

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297 thoughts on “2010 April PAD Challenge: Day 28

  1. Nancy Wearne-Navarra

    Day 28 End of the Line
    Don’t try to explain it’s the end
    The movie’s over – the end
    The last page turned – the end
    The phone hung up – the end
    The stroke of midnight – the end
    Vows were given- Until the end
    So cool it was The living end
    Supposedly 2012 – World’s end
    Punch bug –Ow, The receiving end

  2. Lauren Dixon

    CABOOSE

    You never see them anymore,
    trailing behind,
    Now automation makes sure,
    the wheels on the rails,
    are not causing sparks,
    leaving fires in their wake,
    They have been relegated to
    railroad graveyards, or
    greasy spoon dining cars,
    There is no man,
    in the hat,
    in the window
    in the back,
    who wave after you do.
    No rear brakemen,
    no flagmen,
    no bay windows,
    no cupola,
    no lanterns,
    swinging back and forth,
    It’s the end of the line
    for the last car on the train,
    conductors all lost their jobs,
    waving,
    computers don’t wav

  3. Monica Martin

    There’s nowhere to go from here.
    No forward, no back. Left or
    right, up or down. We have
    reached this point on our own,
    and now we must face
    whatever comes next.

  4. Angie Bell

    Mother

    There at the end of the line
    The hand of my dear mother
    Her sweet comfort, it was mine

    Never a woman so fine
    There is not another
    There at the end of the line

    Her spirit, gentle, kind
    None else would I rather
    Her sweet comfort, it was mine

    Growing round her like a vine
    Myself, my brothers
    There at the end of the line

    So lovely, so divine
    No, there is no other
    Her sweet comfort, it was mine

    For days of old I pine
    Yes, one after another
    There at the end of the line

  5. Paige

    End of the Line

    Someone drew a line
    Metaphorically, physically, literally

    Mimeograph lines in archaic symbols of lavender equations
    Working, always towards the bottom lines
    Drawn in the sand (J + J = J²), hearts crossed over
    Puzzling quiz’s of up and down lines
    On hospital machinery, graphs measuring HR, BP, respiration
    Drawing the end of the line

  6. Juanita Snyder

    > the note
    > by juanita lewison-snyder
    >
    > no time for regrets
    > in a street full
    > of vendors
    > hawking guilt
    > for a nickel,
    > white lies to
    > slash at your wrists,
    > jewelry to penance
    > around my neck
    > trinkets to
    > heavy our burden.
    > it all comes down to this,
    > to writing that note,
    > that infamous note
    > for friends
    > and loved ones
    > to turn over and over
    > in their hands
    > trying desperately
    > to make sense of,
    > until the fibers
    > holding back ink
    > eventually break and
    > become second skin.
    >
    >
    > © 2010 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
    >

  7. Rose Anna Hines

    It was the END OF THE LINE.
    I wanted to go on.
    I wanted to keep playing
    to continue the ride.
    But it was the END OF THE LINE.
    Nothing left to do but put down the final period
    And say “Good bye”.

  8. Shadrack

    the measure of lineage

    nothing moves

    not past that line,
    the cessation of track,
    the silvered streak bluntly
    cut off in the cush
    of rubber bumpers
    and an official sign

    ‘nothing beyond this point’

    there is no mention
    of the tall, dried yellow grass,
    the vetch with its low purple
    flowers garlanding the banks
    where trains
    one day might just run

    the commuters turn
    as they step down,
    glancing at watches and cell phones,
    swiftly pacing to the park
    where their cars await

    they do not see
    the down crowned thistles,
    nodding in the breeze,
    blowing tiny feathered bubbles
    tomorrows hope
    the seeds
    of virtue sown
    in the trust
    of the wind

    and ‘nothing’
    is just that – nothing
    so long as you let
    the bureaucratic glaze
    fix your perspective
    to the chain link fence

    not seeing beyond,
    the silent majesty

    maybe you could join me
    on the silent end of the platform,
    staring like fools
    nodding in reply to the thistles

    silent agreement
    that natures take
    on nothing is far superior

    and that mankind
    has yet to see
    beyond the end
    of his line

    © Shadrack K. Shadrack 2010

  9. Khara E. House

    This is only the beginning

    The end is breaching the border between here
    and where you want to be. It is lights,
    dancing colors and fireflies shining, angels
    in the middle of the road, siren warnings,
    ghosts and shadows and spirits awakening
    to raise you, to your feet, to your wings,
    up toward daylight and stars and galaxies expanding
    beneath your reach. It is severed wires,
    falling voices, drowning in sweaters and scarves
    floating in icy waters. It is shifting back toward nothing,
    toward things you forgot to dream of
    while you still had hours to sleep.

    The end is coming. It is reaching for your hand,
    grasping your fingers, twirling your hair, licking
    your lips and stealing your tongue from your own mouth.
    It is risking another sip of wine, another taste of cake,
    another flash of blood across the horizon, streaking
    like fire, like rain bowing down to the sun. It is deep
    heavy gasps and water pouring from your brow.

    The end is finding room for another world,
    for small yellow birds and deep blue ash to coexist.
    It is chime, it is ring, it is toll and toll and toll, and toes
    sinking deep into sand before the whole self sinks
    into sand. It is tea bags steeped in melancholy, groves
    and groves of oranges, and papayas, and papyrus leaves
    you use to sign your life over. It is learning to be
    one again, in an instant, whole and undone like laces
    of your blouse. It is climbing trees and mountains and clouds,
    gaping at the new moon, knowing tomorrow
    brings the last heave across Atlas’ back.

  10. shannpalmer

    Willoughby

    “In the vast design of things”
    there must be landmarks for each of us
    where we are given workable choices,
    lightning strikes that change everything,
    or possibly very little (just enough).

    A butterfly in China, an open window shut,
    a different sprinkle on an ice cream cone,
    small things we have no knowledge of
    wrestle the moments out of our hands,
    we roil in the consequences, good or bad.

    The duality of existence is more than this:
    we are or we aren’t- we’re happy or not.
    It’s the day to day humdrum and horror,
    the hurts we endure, the affection we desire,
    these give us hope to conquer love, quell anger.

    In the end, we choose which stop if we can,
    try to settle in the best location, tie loose ends,
    leave troubles on the train (betrayed by potential).
    Growing up has not been all that was promised,
    may Willoughby be more than wishful thinking.

  11. Teresa Dawn

    At the End of the Line

    I impatiently wait
    And the end of the line
    Looking for something
    To pass the time
    In my head
    I start a debate
    Should I leave now
    Or continue to wait
    I am unsure
    How long this will take
    It feels like forever
    And it’s getting quite late
    And just as I
    Decide to leave
    Someone asks
    “Can I help you please?”

  12. Susan Brennan

    It’s Turned You

    Once barked with ice
    now fresh with root
    sky-mouth, bank of pollen
    Lorca, let the crane go
    the moon stalks your
    Ghost steps, wakes me
    all night with horses
    their lunar gallop

  13. Yoly

    My Sisters,

    I spoke to David yesterday. He is not doing well. I think he’s at the end of his line. He stayed at Robyn’s when he got back to Chicago but only so that he wouldn’t sleep in the streets or with some of his undesirable buddies. Anyway, he wants to go to rehab. He mentioned a friend of his who was saved when he heard a voice telling him that he wasn’t going to die even as he prepared to end his life by overdosing on cocaine. This guy sold his children’s dog, their tv and so forth to fund his addiction. David seems to think that things have to get worse for change to happen, but also does not believe change is going to come. I believe this is his rock bottom. He doesn’t understand why God won’t hear him. He says he’s done with Jesus AND yet he told me he was going to call his friend who is all about Jesus and whose testimony David says inspires people.

    I also spoke with Robyn. Our conversation was short, but one of things that struck me hard was that if David continued the way he has, the next time we see each other will be at his funeral. Our brother, David needs compassion regardless of what may have occurred in the past or lately. It is difficult to believe that one of us is in such a dire condition. Robyn says that when you don’t have insurance, the places where a person can go for rehab are not good. We agreed that David should go to a place where he can detoxify and find out the source of why he’s on the path to destruction. Robyn also told me those places come with a monetary tag. She’s willing to split her share if we chip in and help pay for a program.

    I don’t have extra money. But I will dig anywhere for David. I know your cups do not runneth over with gold coins. Please let me know what you can do. And please pray for him. I don’t want to lose my brother to the devil’s hand. I will fight for his survival as I would do for any of you.

    Love,
    your sister.

  14. Richard B. Walker

    end? of the line?

    It’s near the end of April
    and the rain too I hope.

    The standardized testing is over –
    thank goodness – for another year.

    The school year itself
    is winding down.

    It isn’t linear at all
    and there’s no end to it.

    We get a reprieve,
    which we call summer vacation.

    It’s not even the length
    of the season it’s named for.

    And then we’ll be back again
    to start the cycle anew.

    The lines are parabolas,
    gentle curves rising and falling.

    When we graph the highs and lows
    of the barometer, the lines seem sharp.

    But that’s just the illusion
    of measured time, not the natural flow.

    There are no straight lines.
    They’re all circles and spirals.

    As if we were measuring the passage
    of time. As if that were possible.

  15. Clay Strickland

    The Last Session

    Below the line,
    metallic straight edge
    of razor knife blade,
    he felt the blue veins
    pounding to push it away,
    irregular direction vessels,
    nothing is straight away easy,
    memory burns like cutting cells,
    shows red streams running from
    past and segment spliced skin, he
    wonders if his pysch will also see
    an image of him with his family
    together in the afterlife, here in
    the curved outlines pooling his
    spilled blood Rorschach blot test.

  16. Barbara Ehrentreu

    Peggy,
    Your obsession over the details of the math shows how really math"geeky" you are:)

    Thank you for the kind words. My husband’s situation has a lot to do with his health. It’s like being with someone who is bipolar. When he feels good he’s okay. Then when he doesn’t all hell breaks loose.

  17. Kyhaara

    End of the Line

    In math class, we learn that a line has no end.
    It is a line segment that has both a start
    And a finish, a beginning and an ending.
    A line goes on forever, even a curved one;
    Even when you run out of the page,
    You just draw arrows and give up
    Trying to draw its entirety.

  18. Patti Williams

    It’s certainly a bump in the road
    But certainly not the end of the line.
    No, I’ve got years and years to
    Recover, heal and start over.

    I know blessings are waiting
    Around the corner, hiding
    In the craziest of places and
    I will act surprised each and every

    Time they present themselves but
    Deep down inside, I already know.
    The details I’m not sure of which is unsettling
    But their existence is a “for sure” with me.

    In my tired and worn out world,
    Beautiful beginnings are what’s
    On the horizon and a happy home
    Is way closer than what appears in the

    Rearview mirror. Goodness is up ahead.
    I can feel it in my bones.

  19. Ellenelizabeth Cernek-Kashk

    Balancing on line

    In the glooming time
    Where day exhales the
    Last of the oranges
    And the night inhale
    The violets of darkness

    There you will find
    Where reality and magic
    Can both be seen

    In the dawn
    Where night exhales the
    Last of ebony
    And the day inhales
    The first of gold

    Where magic and reality
    Both will find
    Me balancing on the line

    Where one can hear rainbows

  20. LBC

    I found more to add.
    A daisy chain of haiku. The haiku that never ends.

    distant horizon
    giving perspective of end (Walt)
    window to the world

    Window on the world,
    Reveals the biggest picture, (Janet Rice Carnahan)
    Love has no ending.

    love has no ending
    since the beginning of time (Walt)
    love has continued

    love has continued
    as its very creator (Marie Elena)
    God, who continues

    God who continues
    to love, to forgive and save, (De Jackson)
    hold me very close.

    hold me very close
    tripping monkeys with (CJillFriend)
    daisies and petals

    daisies and petals
    grow in beauty and stature (Walt)
    blooming without end

    blooming without end (LBC)
    child of mine so beautiful
    sensuous rosebud
    sensuous rosebud
    your scent speaks in undertones (Hannah Gosselin)
    alluring my mind

    Alluring my mind,
    Is the thought of love tonight, (Janet Rice Carnahan)
    Holding hearts open.

  21. LBC

    A daisy chain of haiku. The haiku that never ends.
    Update

    distant horizon
    the line where sea and sky meet (RJ Clarken)
    magical ingress

    Magical ingress,
    Into the earth’s heart deep core, (Janet Rice Carnahan)
    Sheer delight awaits.

    Sheer delight awaits
    in the heart of endless love (Walt)
    beating with passion

    beating with passion
    the percussive mission strikes (Linda Goin)
    home in the dancer.

    home in the dancer,
    hope tiptoes, twirls and tumbles (De Jackson)
    reaching for the sky.

    reaching for the sky
    Set free from boundaries (Tim Snodgrass)
    A child of the stars

    a child of the stars
    a glittering universe (RJ Clarken)
    waiting to unfold

    waiting to unfold
    regathered brillance lumbered (Jenifer McNamara)
    dawn’s golden invite

    dawn’s golden invite
    shows its breathtaking visage (Peter Amsel)
    near the edge of space

    near the edge of space
    coldness permeates all things (Peter Amsel)
    leaving us alone

    leaving us alone
    we bask in shadows and light (Peter Amsel)
    waiting for the dawn

    waiting for the dawn
    we keep our eyes fixed ahead (Theresa Cavicchio)
    on the horizon
    Walt Wojtanik

    Thursday, April 29, 2010 3:03:00 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
    Adding to the chain:

    on the horizon
    a new day is shimmering
    beneath the moonbeams
    LBC

  22. LBC

    Updating Walt’s chain:

    A daisy chain of haiku. The haiku that never ends.

    distant horizon
    giving perspective of end (Walt)
    window to the world

    Window on the world,
    Reveals the biggest picture, (Janet Rice Carnahan)
    Love has no ending.

    love has no ending
    since the beginning of time (Walt)
    love has continued

    love has continued
    as its very creator (Marie Elena)
    God, who continues

    God who continues
    to love, to forgive and save, (De Jackson)
    hold me very close.

    hold me very close
    tripping monkeys with (CJillFriend)
    daisies and petals

    daisies and petals
    grow in beauty and stature (Walt)
    blooming without end
    Walt Wojtanik

    Thursday, April 29, 2010 3:15:31 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
    Adding to the chain:

    blooming without end
    child of mine so beautiful
    sensuous rosebud
    LBC

    Thursday, April 29, 2010 3:25:21 AM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

    sensuous rosebud
    your scent speaks in undertones
    alluring my mind
    Hannah Gosselin

  23. Diane Truswell

    The End Of The Line

    First time in court
    traffic violations first
    felons second
    alphabetical order
    with a speeding ticket
    I was at the end of
    the line with my last
    name starting with T.

    When I was called
    only the felons were
    left in court, and a Judge
    and the policeman who
    ticketed me. I was to
    plead Not Guilty, Guilty
    or Guilty With An Excuse.
    Having already heard excuses

    I could hardly imagine I pled
    Guilty, deciding to be honest.
    What’s this? said the Judge.
    Two tickets? Yes said the
    policeman. At the same
    location? asked the Judge.
    Tickets number 69 and 70?
    Yes, said the policeman.

    Judge looked at me.
    Two tickets at the same
    location? he asked. Yes
    I said, but I was going
    opposite directions.
    The felons guffawed
    hooted and hollered, I
    felt like an entertainer.

    Judge and policeman laughed
    Judge asked how many
    speeding tickets previously.
    My answer was none. Judge
    cut the fine in half. Judge
    and policeman often told my
    story but never my name or
    that I was the end of the line.

  24. AC Leming

    ARGH! Spell check ignored…

    Exhausted from our silent battles
    we raise white flags, surrender.
    Our DNR filed, we are overcome
    by the effort to keep our relationship alive.

  25. AC Leming

    Exhaustted from our silent battles
    we raise white flags, surrender.
    Our DNR filed, we are overcome
    by the effort to keep our relationship alive.

  26. CrazyComposer

    Thank you for the lovely comments, but an especially big thank you goes out to Iain D. Kemp for his exuberant endorsement of Chainku – it is an honour to be known as the one responsible for your transformation towards this art form.

    I’ve always loved Haiku (again, I must blame my mother, my greatest influence in regards to most things creative, particularly when it comes to the use of the English language). Each three lined verse is, in its own right, a brilliantly balanced work of art with its own poetic life, replete with the expressive power of an epic, condensed into the 17 syllables that the Japanese saw as the synthesis of poetic perfection.

    The writing of Haiku – or Chainku for that matter – is challenging for many reasons, not the least of which being that it requires a great conservation of expression. While I am very comfortable in writing long essays, extended chapters, papers, and long poems, coming up with 17 syllables can sometimes prove to be an agonizing challenge … or, at other times, the lines can flow as easily as a summer breeze. I’ve included a few offerings for your consideration below … I hope you enjoy them.

    sitting in the sun
    watching as the clouds float by
    passengers of wind

    passengers of wind
    riding a maelstrom of change
    tranquility found

    tranquility found
    scattered amongst the flowers
    seeking fertile ground

    seeking fertile ground
    petals floating everywhere
    tempting little cat

    tempting little cat
    sitting on the back of chair
    waiting for the sun

    waiting for the sun
    watching as the clouds float by
    looking for the moon (rounding out the sequence to the first one)

  27. Margaret Fieland

    PS — After I wrote the ‘line’ poem I started obsessing about the mathematics — erm, geometry – -about whether Moebius should really be considered Line’s brother or his son and whether Tesseract really should have been Line’s grandson {shakes head}.

  28. Margaret Fieland

    Barbara,

    Lately I’ve been fighting with my desire to write unfashionable, unrhymed poetry. I realized a couple of days ago that when I had ‘nothing I wanted to write about’ that was only true if I wanted to turn out serious free verse ..

    I like your poem — all too many women have been there ..

    Peggy

  29. Barbara Ehrentreu

    I wanted to recognize Margaret for her hopeless poem. I’ve been through those kinds of days, Peggy!
    Also liked the one you did today about math.

    Here is mine for yesterday. I am still one day behind.

    One Too Many

    One too many abusive curses
    hurled at me for failing to do
    a small thing for you
    Vitriol tossed out willy-nilly
    into the open air
    Imprisoning me with your
    cage of words

    When do I say enough of this?
    Maybe,finally, possibly I will see the
    end hidden beneath my delicate ego
    Poking its head through the curtain
    you laid in front of us
    Begging for attention amidst
    parading anger

    How will I do it?
    Simply walk to the door and turn the
    knob or stand there with
    special shield deflecting the barbs
    until they fall in disconnected wads
    around your bloated calcium laden body.

    Or will I simply ignore the words and
    soldier on doing your bidding
    Raising my shields to cover my body
    when the incoming proves too strong
    as you continue to fire
    with me walking toward
    you arms outstretched for a hug?

  30. de jackson

    Colette D: Sooo true! They won’t be little forever (as I try to remind myself, as I am tripping over both Legos and Littlest Pet Shop! 😉 Loved it!

  31. stu pidasso

    End of the line
    by stu pidasso
    29April2010

    Oversized animal cracker boxes rumble by,
    each sporting modern art by unknowns.
    Shaded by my favorite elm tree,
    I am mezmerized by their beauty.
    Maybe they are messages sent
    by rail to loved ones afar
    or just lingering dreams that
    needed to be scribed somewhere,
    but they are there on the BNSF
    for all that wish to see.
    Kids with spray paint cans
    making their mark on the world.
    Criminals or genuises? Who knows?
    But when the inspiration to create
    is snuffed out like a candle flame
    then we will know we have reached
    the end of the line.

  32. Penny Henderson

    Hoping since this was a challenge, that the proscription against cutting and pasting doesn’t apply

    THE HAIKU THAT NEVER ENDS…

    A challenge within a challenge:

    The last line of this haiku become the
    first line of your haiku. Can the PA
    poets keep the chain alive?

    Rules: The intention is a "Barrel of Monkeys" kind of thing. The last line of the previous haiku becomes the first line in the next, and so on. The first continuance posted will be the thread chosen to follow.

    A daisy chain of haiku. The haiku that never ends.

    distant horizon
    giving perspective of end (Walt)
    window to the world

    Window on the world,
    Reveals the biggest picture, (Janet Rice Carnahan)
    Love has no ending.

    love has no ending
    since the beginning of time (Walt)
    love has continued

    love has continued
    as its very creator (Marie Elena)
    God, who continues

    God who continues
    to love, to forgive and save, (De Jackson)
    hold me very close.

    hold me very close
    I have a tendency to (Penny Henderson
    wander far away.

  33. Nancy J

    PLEASE WATCH YOUR STEP

    Everyone comes to the end of the line,
    politicians to ministers to stars. We all
    know someone, at least one someone,
    who arrived at the end of the line.
    Were they prepared? Are we?
    We spend our lives planning, or
    hiding. Some so eager, or fearful, they
    leap from a window into the passing scene.
    Some refuse to consider the very existence
    of a final destination, even when they feel
    the train slowing down. Completely
    prepared or caught by surprise, we
    will all hear these words someday.
    Ladies and gentlemen,
    this is the end of the line.
    Thank you for traveling with us.
    Please watch your step.

  34. Walt Wojtanik

    FAGETTABOUTIT

    It still irks,
    the pea had been extricated from my mattress
    and replaced by a bowling ball.
    And all I hear is Journey in my head,
    "Don’t Stop Believing". But, I gave up
    all hope of it making any sense.
    No closure. Loose ends.
    Unfinished business. And those
    insipid ducks! Consigliore clings to life.
    Or not. The head of the family is nuts.
    Or not. Paulie Walnuts is your last loyal soldier.
    Or not. And how do you get "Gabbagoul" from Cappicola?
    Suspicious eyes wander around the diner.
    Flipping the hit parade. In walks the missus.
    Glance at the menus. Junior arrives.
    Your daughter can’t parallel park. She’s getting whacked!
    Or not. A guy goes to the restroom, eyes meet; tension builds.
    Baby girl walks in, heads turn. Get the onion rings.
    And Phil Leotardo sleeps with the fishes, sort of.
    Fade to black; don’t stop believing.

  35. Walt Wojtanik

    LAST WORDS

    A gasp for breath, filling lungs
    with the energy to expound the
    final bit of wisdom before the end
    draws near, with all the pomp and circumstance
    of a one man band. Stand on your
    laurel hoping it had been enough
    to draw eyes and attach lasting impressions
    to your name after every epitaph
    has been uttered. There is felt a flutter
    inside and all tried and true lessons
    come to roost to boost your ego and
    bring forth the verbiage long awaited.
    It has been fated; to the showers
    and wash all previous failures away,
    a mantle of newness becomes a cloak
    and every word spoken makes a lasting
    mark. It becomes your last word.
    Until the next great idea explodes
    into the shrapnel of thought.
    They’ll be picking your brain for years.

  36. Walt Wojtanik

    LAST WORDS

    A gasp for breath, filling lungs
    with the energy to expound the
    final bit of wisdom before the end
    draws near, with all the pomp and circumstance
    of a one man band. Stand on your
    laurel hoping it had been enough
    to draw eyes and attach lasting impressions
    to your name after every epitaph
    has been uttered. There is felt a flutter
    inside and all tried and true lessons
    come to roost to boost your ego and
    bring forth the verbiage long awaited.
    It has been fated; to the showers
    and wash all previous failures away,
    a mantle of newness becomes a cloak
    and every word spoken makes a lasting
    mark. It becomes your last word.
    Until the next great idea explodes
    into the shrapnel of thought.
    They’ll be picking your brain for years.

  37. Nancy Posey

    This didn’t post yesterday. Oops!

    End

    Sometimes I just know, without any formal cues,
    when I’ve reached the end, and while a fitting finale
    to fiction or a surprising couplet at the soliloquy’s
    end satisfies, I can’t impose the same on my life,
    my deeds, my words. Perhaps Millay could put chaos
    into fourteen line, but mine sometimes expands
    to fifteen ,sixteen, or more or refuses to budge
    beyond twelve. Mistrust besets me, reminding me
    of those who claim they’ve seen the light but were
    snatched back from there to here.
    Hope too goads me on. Like the fifth book
    in Adams’ Hitchhiker trilogy, life goes on,
    even when an end makes sense. Mine is the muse
    of second chances, second helpings, second comings,
    leading me through a hall of mirrors, where I meet
    myself, and turn to find another way to travel on

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