2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 25

Wow! The reaction to yesterday’s prompt really was something wonderful. There was engaged discussion about faith and lack of faith in which everyone seemed to respect each other as poets and human beings. For me, it showed the best of how we can respect each other while still revealing ourselves through the written word. I’ve long felt that Poetic Asides is a haven for all poets, regardless of their experience, world views, etc. As long as you’re willing to be respectful of others, you’re more than welcomed and embraced here. Anyway, this is just a wordy way of me saying that I’m so lucky to have each and every one of you here. Thank you.

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For today’s prompt, write a falling poem. This could be about the physical act of falling (like someone tying your shoelaces together), or it could be symbolic falling (such as falling in love). With only five days left (after today), we’re quickly falling out of another poem-a-day challenge. Make these last few days count, or at least, fall forward toward the finish line.

Here’s my attempt:

“On waking”

Clutching my sheets,
my breathing heavy,
I’m glad I’m no longer
falling, though I can still feel
the whole world rushing around me.

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0 thoughts on “2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 25

  1. A~Lotus

    The Sound of Falling

    “One, two
    buckle my shoe.
    Three, four
    shut the door…”

    my own breath
    hits the cracks of every sidewalk
    and my shadow runs
    ahead of me, over the bridge
    diving into the creek
    just to snorkel with the water snails.
    after the chill,
    I walk towards Farm Road,
    leaving a bit of my wet shadow
    in each sunspot.

    “Five, six
    pick up sticks.
    Seven, eight
    lay them straight…”

    the leaves whisper
    among the cicadas
    as they cradle so many nests
    under the faint silhouette
    of the moon.
    the wind sifts through their veins
    until a leaf tumbles and twirls
    off a branch and lands in
    a rusty wheelbarrow
    encrusted with dirt.
    with the last gentle handshake
    from the wind,
    this fallen leaf flutters
    like the wings of a butterfly,
    then lets go of itself
    scattering dust of dirt
    in the air, walking
    its own drawn line
    towards the setting sun.

    stumbling over
    the katydid as it falls…
    a myrtle blossom
    “Nine, ten
    begin again.”

  2. Susan M. Bell

    I see him falling into the dark
    abyss that is his own mind. He has
    locked himself away from the world.
    Wrapped himself up in his sorrow and
    pain, a protective cocoon to occupy
    his mind. Trying to forget what he has
    lost. Seeing no reason to look to the
    future.

    I see him falling and I’m losing my grip.

  3. K Kerns

    25 April A Falling Poem

    They are not born they do not hatch
    By years end you may have a batch

    They twist and flutter all their days
    And keep me from the sun’s vast rays

    They fall like rain upon earth’s floor
    And pile up by my open door

    They’re mounds of play for kids at heart
    Now haul them off with bag and cart ~

  4. ideurmyer

    I Want to Hold You

    Your two year old heart is so trusting.
    You climb the highest slide knowing I am below.
    Swimming pools and oceans do not deter you,
    Knowing we will catch you if you fall.
    When you put up those dimpled arms,
    Saying,"I want to hold you,"
    I know I am falling into your charms.

  5. ideurmyer

    I Want to Hold You

    Your two year old heart is so trusting.
    You climb the highest slide knowing I am below.
    Swimming pools and oceans do not deter you,
    Knowing we will catch you if you fall.
    When you put up those dimpled arms,
    Saying,"I want to hold you,"
    I know I am falling into your charms.

  6. ideurmyer

    I Want to Hold You

    Your two year old heart is so trusting.
    You climb the highest slide knowing I am below.
    Swimming pools and oceans do not deter you,
    Knowing we will catch you if you fall.
    When you put up those dimpled arms,
    Saying,"I want to hold you,"
    I know I am falling into your charms.

  7. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    fallen
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    can’t remember the exact moment
    my father stopped talkin’ to me,
    but somewhere along the way
    i fell out of favor.

    gone are the days of helpin’ me hold
    that louisville slugger just right,
    or walkin’ ‘longside as i’m drivin’ a tractor
    his favorite cap backwards over my eyes,
    followin’ him ’round with a giant bag of staples
    as he stretches barbed wire mile after mile,
    holdin’ reins as i climb aboard the ponies,
    tiein’ ‘nuther one on my fishin’ line.

    why did this happen?
    when did i fall?
    how did i not notice
    ‘fore it was too late to call?
    what can i change now?
    who’s to blame here?
    where did i go wrong?
    when did i stop being your little girl?

    i grew boobs while my brothers grew other parts
    and just like that i’m suddenly out.
    "girls oughta be with their mommas,"
    my father said one mornin’ at the table
    and ‘maters/mottos that was that.

    suddenly it became all about my brothers,
    a secret fraternity of which girls were
    oogled, made fun of, ignored, shut out.
    why am i banned from dad’s heart and his toolshed?
    and how come the size of my hands matter now?

    how i wish for the days of dad helpin’ me hold
    that louisville slugger just right,
    or walkin’ ‘longside as i’m drivin’ a tractor
    his favorite cap backwards over my eyes,
    followin’ him ’round with a giant bag of staples
    as he stretches barbed wire mile after mile,
    holdin’ reins as i climb aboard the ponies,
    tiein’ ‘nuther one on my fishin’ line.

    my father almost didn’t show for my weddin’
    too busy drinkin’ with the boys the night before
    to bother walkin’ his daughter down the aisle.
    "grow up," he said, wiping vomit from the
    corner of his mouth with his sleeve.

    why did this happen?
    when did i fall?
    how did i not notice
    ‘fore it was too late to call?
    what can i change now?
    who’s to blame here?
    where did i go wrong?
    when did i stop being your little girl?

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  8. PSC in CT

    Just a few quick comments – then I’m off to spend some time with the hubby – who’s been gone all day. 😉

    Melissa Hager – don’t know how I missed your comment on the first read through – but thank you!
    Buddah – I am honored to appear on your list again with so many talented poets. Thank you!

    Janet Rice Carnahan – ahhh… wish I could take credit for coining the word “Seussical”, but that would be wrong. :-O Don’t know who first came up with it – but, in this instance, it fit perfectly! 😉

    MiskMask – Always nice to be mentioned. Thanks! 🙂
    Sara McNulty – Thanks for reading & commenting.

    j.lynn – I thought I said thanks (and wow!) before for your lovely comments. Maybe my thanks were eaten by the same gremlins that gobbled Sara M’s words? Anyway, you made my week with your compliment. Thank you! 🙂

  9. Salvatore Buttaci

    WORDS FAIL US

    If falling in love
    is a good thing,
    why not call it
    “rising in love”?
    an ascent,
    not a descent,
    a climbing upward,
    not a plummeting.
    It’s strange
    how words fail us.
    They never say
    exactly what they mean,
    like mirrors
    try to tell us
    what we see
    is what we get

    #

  10. ChapLynn

    Oops!

    Hands shake
    eyes meet
    head nod
    properly greet
    FIREworks
    mind blown
    heart melts
    knees weak
    connection made
    sparks flew
    Me
    falling in love with you

  11. shann palmer

    Skyscraper

    She’s never put on the observation deck herself,
    though she’s escorted a few friends up the elevator.

    There’s a secure area where she waits with excuses,
    “so many people” “seen it before” “meet you downstairs”

    She’s afraid of falling, having a spectacular accident
    where she sails over everyone and aims earthward.

    It’s illogical of course, impossible, she’s certain,
    but not crazy enough for therapy, she lives with it.

    So many movies where lovers don’t meet, miss busses,
    misunderstand directions, it’s nerve wracking.

    When she’s waiting for friends, she won’t look
    at strangers- HE might be the one and what if he is?

    They’d be doomed to meet there forever after, maybe
    marry there (it’s been done) veil all askew in wind.

    Better to stay close to the ground, take fewer chances,
    you can’t fall if you don’t climb, wear flats, look away.

  12. Diane

    Falling Behind

    I’m falling behind on this poetry thing.
    My muse has deserted;
    my pen will not sing.

    I’m falling behind
    though I try to advance;
    but my muse goes on strike
    when ambushed by chance.

    I’m falling behind,
    still I’ll strive to catch-up,
    with the help of fresh coffee
    to pour in my cup.

    (I am catching up some. This is poem nine of ten that I am posting tonight. I didn’t write them all today, just completed them. Yay! I’m only six behind now.)

  13. Domino

    Fear of Falling

    On another endless flight,
    a young mother told me she was nervous.
    She has a fear of flying, she said.

    And I thought about it and I wondered.
    Does she really fear the flying?

    Or does she fear crashing?

    Because the flying is spectacular.
    Covering more ground than
    pioneers could ever imagine,
    floating above the clouds.
    Glorious.

    But the failure of the plane,
    that’s what she fears,
    not the flying.
    The failure
    that would cause the falling
    and the crashing
    and the end, really,
    of our story here right now.

    How could anyone fear flying?

  14. Scott Mesrobian

    Trust

    Amidst a gath’ring of friends
    with arms outstretched, waiting for
    me to close my eyes and trust that
    they’ll be there to catch me.
    I stand high above the ground with
    my arms across my chest, taking in
    deep breaths, to find the strength I need.
    I fall back into waiting arms and am
    held in the cradle of trust, gently
    lowered back to the ground.

  15. Lynn Burton

    Falling for Words

    I open my notebook.
    The crisp pages snap
    between my fingers
    and then I see it –
    the funny blue pen mark
    on my hand that looks like
    a smile with no nose or eyes,
    and I smile, reminded of
    why I love to write – because
    I fall for words every time.

  16. Mike Bayles

    Falling Asleep

    After turning out the light,
    I look for the dividing line
    between thoughts and dreams.
    With eyelids drooping,
    I try to see the unforeseen.
    After night softens day,
    the stillness of unspoken words
    whisper to me.
    Deeds still left undone
    wait another day.
    A bounty of grace
    takes me beyond worldly fears.
    Thoughts of love consecrate
    the joy, on which I meditate.
    Meditations lie between thoughts and dreams,
    and I look for the dividing line
    after turning out the light.

  17. Sam Nielson

    Zeb, thank you for the kind comments. I’m glad you liked it. It actually is a fragment from a decades old recurring dream/nightmare. Maybe I should dig a bit more in that for some more tubers.

  18. Taylor Graham

    ROLLER COASTER

    for Elihu Burritt

    Elihu, did you ever ride Les Montagnes Russes in Paris,
    or Pennsylvania’s Gravity Road? Of course

    you had no time for thrill rides. Such urgent business –
    peace congresses, brotherhood of nations, and yes, abolition.

    Free Labor, Compensated Emancipation.
    You rode that line, breathless with its surging upward

    climb. From that high, you could see a liberated,
    peaceful Union spread before you, almost an angel’s vista;

    Lincoln leaning into the pitch – the twists and turns,
    unexpected new perspectives –

    your old confrère Amasa Walker called your plan
    “impracticable” – but then another giddy

    rise, the Cleveland convention, 1856 – nights
    of sleeping on a husk mattress, living on bread and water

    for the cause – and then another drop
    lurching the gut – John Brown’s raid, Ft. Sumter –

    a car breaks loose and plummets – the awful
    the downward plunge to

    Civil War. Who needs a roller coaster
    ride?

  19. Melissa Rossetti Folini

    “Falling”

    Fear of heights
    Fear of life
    Afraid to fall
    Afraid to live
    What if I fail?
    What if I don’t?
    Maybe I’ll fall or
    Maybe I’ll land
    What if on these two feet I finally learn to stand?
    What if I let myself fall into love?
    Afraid if I don’t
    try
    I’ll miss out on my life.

  20. Margot Suydam

    Falling Winter

    Snow, it buries us
    Flattens into bleakness
    Silence makes no fuss

    Collects in mounds
    Blankets in reserve
    A lone runner rounds

    The sadness of peace,
    Falling, he soldiers on
    Yet, cold will not cease

    Taut muscles in flight
    Burning against gusting,
    Escape the frigid, home

    As white still haunts
    kettles steam windows
    Fuel yearning to stay.

  21. ann

    the ice sank, not cracked;
    it fell and fell.
    so that, standing on the ice,
    I sank, too,
    into the darkening pool
    of your eyes
    where there was
    no bottom, no
    end to stop me,
    even when you
    turned away.

  22. Dennis Wright

    A Garden Unattended

    I walk through a garden,
    Both weedy and untended.
    It seems a windy morning,
    With sunshine through grey.

    Thistle and violets now grow
    With no need to feel defended.
    Wild strawberries now reach
    and spread through the beds way.

    Will this windy morning bring
    sunshine to conqueor grey?
    Flowers will bloom tomorrow.
    Will they be what I plant today?

  23. Sam Nielson

    Dream

    I dream that I’m awake
    Walking and talking
    To those around me.
    For some reason, later
    I always find myself
    Standing on the railing
    At the top the stairs
    Looking down at them.
    My fingers on both hands
    Swell so fat that I cannot
    Move them. Spoken words also
    In some agony of indecision
    I stand there for dream hours
    Until I jump, so real
    That the pit of my stomach
    Lurches. I fall but not
    To wreck and ruin.
    Instead I fall slowly
    Until I can count the
    Threads in the old carpet
    On the stair treads.
    Then I float down to
    The kitchen like a bird
    Flying down from a tree
    To peck in the grass for
    Insects.

  24. Emily Ferguson

    I discovered Poetic Asides only a few days before the April PAD challenge began, and I have to say that I love it. I absolutely jumped at the opportunity to participate in something like this. (Though being my shy self I haven’t posted my poems in the comments section until recently.) The prompts are wonderful things to work from, things that get the creative juices flowing easily for me. And the people who contribute to this site seem wonderful–y’all can count on seeing me here in days to come. I really hope y’all enjoy my stuff, and I would really appreciate your feedback, good or bad. = )

    The only problem is the time zones…by the time I’m awake to read the posts, it’s already late for everyone else… oh well. = )

  25. Emily Ferguson

    I could’ve sworn I saw a teardrop-
    or maybe two or three-
    falling up back to the sky,
    like suddenly they didn’t want to be seen.
    Returning to the cloudy eyes
    who only look right through them;
    was it a reflection or was it real?
    There are no secrets if you tell them.
    Lord, could You just tease me?
    Just give me one more taste.
    I’m an addict who has never
    even known the race.
    I’m lonely with these raindrops-
    I want a kiss, I want the sun.
    Tell me there’s no need for ultimatums, please-
    Lord, I want so much more than just one.

    ..Addict, 4/25/11

  26. Zeb

    Falling down the well of memory

    Just finished a long rambly thing of which this is the last part. Not going to inflict the whole on you today. Overawed by your images and metaphors but can hardly keep my eyes open to read them all as they deserve. Zeb

    ….that urge to fall
    to tipdive off the stony path
    trailing up Mellbreak, yellow gorse
    a prickly deterrent –
    Scree sliding surrender seems a good alternative.

    It’s also the one where the diaphragm heaves
    up mouthwards and freebases over the cold
    iron railing at the top of the tower
    or smashes through the plate glass
    in Cousin Bud’s Upper East Side office.

    All a long way away from that first flight,
    looking down on clouds
    and wondering what they would feel like
    before falling through.

  27. MiskMask

    Heiberg, yes, it was truly a red piano. My father hated it, so it was kept in the basement. I sat there an hour every day, often wearing a big woollen coat because the basement was not heated. At times it was quite scary for a little girl. I am glad that you liked that poem though. 🙂

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