2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 29

First, I want to thank everyone for the good wishes. They’re all very much appreciated. I do feel a little better today, though I start to break out in a sweat whenever I sit up for more than 20-30 minutes at a time. I am noticing progress though, so maybe today and tonight will bring more improvement.

Second, I want to remind everyone to check out The Big 10 poetic form challenge that has a deadline of 11:59 (Atlanta time). It’s a fun (and free) way to try and get into the pages of Writer’s Digest magazine. Click here to learn more.

*****

For today’s prompt, write an ode. I’m thinking of odes in the more contemporary sense of being a praise poem, though if people want to get all old school with it, then that’s fine too. If I had more energy, I’d try to write a fitting ode to everyone of you participating in the challenge. This has been a terrific month (even with the strep throat). However, I had to settle for writing an ode about something else that just happened.

Here’s my attempt:

“Ode to a royal wedding”

Because there are wars,
because there are natural disasters,
because there are words said in anger,
because there are always people hurting,
because the world is so precious and unforgiving,
I am glad to see the spectacle of William and Kate.

*****

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0 thoughts on “2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 29

  1. shann palmer

    Sweet Charity (an ode)

    She paradiddles
    at Maymont Park
    in spring rain
    tap-a-taps simple beats
    and sings along.
    (Her lyrics say:)
    love will prevail,
    all men are good,
    life is too short.

    Her words echo
    against the trees
    who know no platitudes
    it’s been too long
    not even enough
    to bother
    for a ring.
    (She says:)
    the story of my life.

  2. K Kerns

    29 April Ode to Diana

    I was never much of a ‘Royals’ follower
    I only watched Diana wed Charles
    (that skalawag)
    So as not to miss out on history in the making
    With time though
    I came to respect and admire Princess Diana
    She didn’t let her hardships hold her back
    Nor her blatant mistakes and errant choices
    Diana grew into a winsome confident beauty
    Heart and soul

    Today I watched this Commoner marry a Royal
    With rapt attention to details
    And I too became swept up in the joy of
    Tens of thousands of commoners
    Cheering on the Couple and the kisses
    Watching William I think how pleased Diana would be
    Tears well and then spill as I realize
    Diana is the ‘why’ of my interest here
    William and Catherine are the next chapter in
    Diana’s legacy
    Even after her mortal demise
    Princess Diana is still bringing hearts
    And countries together ~

  3. MaryAnn McCarra-Fitzpatrick

    Resurgam

    resurging like the green shoots pushing
    through black, always reaching for
    heaven, so, too, I reach for you,
    best and brightest of all men

    I feel you still, in common streets,
    in pews of churches too, you linger long
    in and about me, wreathing your
    fingers, always, through my hair.

    in this short space not enough
    time or length to list your fairnesses,
    shining, sunlike, on these poor
    shoots, seeking only your attentions,

    a breath or two of yours to warm
    them, blossoms aborning, adorning you only

  4. Mike Bayles

    Ode to a Parakeet

    Because you squawk and talk
    because you mimic me
    because you entertain
    because you fly to me
    because you call to me
    I seek your company.

  5. Sam Nielson

    Sorry. I had to correct things and add the color I forgot. OCD or ADD I suppose.

    Smarties

    Oh, sweet round sweet!
    You in your glassine
    Display, pose provocatively
    With your army of friends.

    I loosen one twist of the
    Cellophane and herd you all
    Into my right hand palm,
    Calling order and sorting.

    Green I consume first.
    (My least favorite, you know.)
    I’m never quite sure what
    Flavor you profess.

    Orange comes next. It adds
    An unecessary tang to tang
    Already. Somehow it never
    Lives up to its citrus name.

    My yellow sunshine, a
    Quick douse on the tongue
    Then with teeth I nibble
    On your hard edges.

    Pink or red, you sinful shade,
    Fickle, can’t quite choose
    Your best side to show, a slow
    Melt seems best with you.

    Purple, you dark one,
    You must be eaten one at
    A time, meted out in a
    Appropriate dose narcotic.

    Then white, silent color,
    Or unerrant devotion,
    You scrub the palate
    For a new window display.

  6. A~Lotus

    An Ode to French Fries

    You are absolutely perfect
    for my gut
    when I’m craving for something
    salty and warm,
    especially after a well-deserved,
    cathartic cry.
    Or maybe a little bit too perfect
    around my gut as well
    with all the 500 calories of you,
    when I don’t have to be a pretty slick
    supermodel for a Friday date night.
    But I don’t care because it’s the only way
    I like my potatoes: deep fried,
    gently crisp and golden as the yolk
    in the middle of a sunny-side up egg.
    Guiltily, I must admit that it is even better
    than manna from heaven or the taste
    of sunlight after a summer’s rain.
    Next year, I think I’ll give you up
    for Lent because you
    make me weak in the gut,
    especially when you are cross-stitched
    or laced in ketchup melting
    every scorpion sting of my soul
    with your teddy-bear-like touch.

  7. Scott Mesrobian

    Ode To a New Day

    In the faint new light, moments before dawn,
    Life begins to stir, to start the new day.
    The robins call to wake each other and I,
    in turn, open my eyes to greet the new day.
    The curtain of the sky lifts from the stage
    of the earth, the overture to the new day.
    And as the sound of nature’s orchestra
    grows in crescendo, the yellow orb of
    the sun rises into view and all eyes
    turn eastward to welcome the new day.

  8. Diane

    Thank you, Robert, for another April Challenge. Thank you also for your persistence during your illness. I hope you are soon back to normal.

    Ode to the Compulsive Poet

    It is grand to realize the many people who
    put in a busy day at work,
    care for people in their home,
    deal with their own illness,
    and many other obstacles–
    who still draw aside
    to use a portion of
    the time they call their own
    to read a few poems for a short while.
    Then they take up a pen to sculpt their own.

    Thank you everyone for making this time richer with your participation.

  9. Iain D. Kemp

    I recieved this yesterday from my best friend Natalie, who only writes a little and is timid of sharing – so I thought I’d share it for her. it’s about me when I was young (& not so young)

    Scarred & Scared

    Youth misspent in self-loathing,
    Ignored and emotionally dented.
    Rejected, dejected,
    Resenting and lamenting
    The small boy hides inside his fragile shell,
    Aged and wearied by thoughtless words and emotional deprivation.
    Searching out warmth from any source
    Seeking a cure for his terminal loneliness
    Aching to be cherished and loved
    He clasps at faint, feigned or temporary traces of humanity.
    Giving unconditional, unguarded slices of his over- generous heart
    Receiving just the soured milk of human unkindness.
    Wounded once more he slips back into his delicate armour
    Unappreciated
    Unloved
    Alone

    Natalie Jones

    posted by Iain

  10. Jay Sizemore

    An Ode to Home

    A man driving a white jeep
    asked me for my mental road map.
    His frustration poured out the hole
    of his mouth like invisible molasses.

    Are you from around here?
    Are you from around here?

    I’m not. But I am.

    My home town feels like water
    cupped into my palm, spilling
    over the edges. I lose more
    than I can drink.

    The streets have become a maze
    of new stoplights, new landmarks,
    burned down houses. People
    moving around like beans
    in cheap magic tricks.

    In my mother’s house,
    collectibles and furniture
    survive the moves, pictures
    of my sister’s wedding day,
    of me with a guitar,
    still learning how to smile.

    I’m still not used to it,
    being a stranger,
    looking at photos of those
    who are gone for good,
    trading stories like long lost pen pals.

    Two hundred miles away,
    my brother is having his first child.

  11. Iain D. Kemp

    Dear Moosehead,
    Way to hit boys!! Oh yeah!
    I could write an ode to batters
    if I was poetic which I ain’t.
    Life is good; life is fine without them evil
    harpies o’ mine! Heh heh!
    I’m short and to the point today amigo.
    Unlike you, who is short and half-witted
    and live in Queens. Pick ya up at 6 –
    let’s see if we can roast them jays again.

    Yours dancing the dance
    Ringo the Howler

  12. Iain D. Kemp

    Ode to Glove

    How, oh how I crave you
    and your tender touch!
    The softness of your calf-skin
    against the roughness of mine.

    How, oh how I yearn to don you
    and feel warmth in my hand.
    Tell me dearest one how may I survive,
    the right hand is cosy,
    but of the left I am deprived.

    Will you not come to my whistle
    or heed to my call?
    A one-handed pair of gloves
    is no darned use at all!

    Iain

  13. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Whoops Lynn ….not sure how I could have missed mentioning you
    But from that teeming crowd now here personally a mention, a welcome
    And a tiny Ode too!

    Yay Lynn

  14. Lynn Burton

    A few favorites from yesterday:

    Katie Dixon – Ode to Second Hand Books

    Tracy Davidson – Loved your ode to Harrison Ford. I’ve always had a thing for him, too. …"and the stick insect you married" made me smile. And great last line.

    Gerardine Baugh – This prompt had me stumped, too. I enjoyed your ode to a mouse.

    Benjamin Thomas – Loved your Poets a-la-Ode. Great title.

    Kendall A. Bell – I’m not a coffee drinker, but your Ode to Coffee is delicious.

    Gloria – Love to get lost in a good book.

    de jackson – For the Love of Lashes. Beautiful.

    Janet Rice Carnahan – Enjoyed all of your odes, especially Ode to Grapes.

    Elizabeth Johnson – I feel the same way about grocery days.

    Catherine Lee – Ode to the Atlantic. Beautiful and touching.

    Buddah Moskowitz – I was feeling really unsure about this prompt, and you made my day with the mention. Thanks so much!

    This was my first time to participate in the PAD challenge, and just wanted to say thanks for all the fun! I’ve enjoyed reading each and every one of you.

  15. Autumn N. Hall

    Jane Shlensky-Thanks for the "outrageous" shout-out! And for the poetic reminder that I, too "need a nap, a book to weight leaden eyelids and facilitate the illusion of business."

    de jackson-I loved your eyelash ode, and I can hardly believe someone else thought of eyelashes; I’m so glad you took that idea out of the ether and wrote the poem I couldn’t today. I love the way "the salt water we are" sounds likes what it is saying (I can hear the waves in it!).

    Rose Anna Hines-thanks for making me feel like a real "wordsmith;" your comments were gratifumblingly complattering (gratifying, humbling, complimentary, flattering)! Silliness shared is silliness squared!

    Buddah-appreciate the nod and also your unique tribute to Groucho Marx, "A reluctant prophet whose mission was to deflate the world’s pomposity." We could use a few more profits like him!

    Domino-Thanks for including me! And I now have to go look up the story I assume lurks behind your poem before "He, tied to his fairy queen, departs!"

  16. Claudia Coutu Radmore

    ode to the land of the sparrowfart

    this language smooth as honey or rude as a two-pot screamer
    listen liquid off the tongue common moorhen mistletoe bird
    you want to hear more no worries common mynah blue-faced
    honeyeater currawong (his flutesong) pied magpie wattlebird
    macropods in the evening field wallabies padmelons potoroos
    tree kangaroos in the canopy oh the trees the karri karri the
    tingles the pencil pines of tasmania the nightcap oak the
    red bobble nut tree please preserve the barking frog of
    new south wales go larking in Wyong Toowoomba
    Wahroonga or Woolloomooloo be gobsmacked by fragrance
    lemon-scented bottlebrush orange jasmine murraya
    or curry leaf tree go walkabout never be seen
    again leave the rest of us up a gum tree until some
    stickybeak busybody decides to look for you a place
    of pozzies mozzies and cozzies because where
    a cackleberry means an egg for your brekkie where
    there’s a chook on the barbie where if you’re sitting
    on your acre you’re sitting on your own backside
    where you call your top golfer the great white shark 
    you’d have to get up at sparrowfart mate to find
    anything like it a purler of a place true ridgy didge

  17. Sam Nielson

    Smarties

    Oh, sweet round sweet!
    You in your glassine
    Display, pose provocatively
    With your army of friends.

    I loosen one twist of the
    Cellophane and herd you all
    Into my right hand palm,
    Calling order and sorting.

    Green I consume first.
    (My least favorite, you know.)
    I’m never quite sure what
    Flavor you profess.

    Pink or red, you sinful shade,
    Fickle, can’t quite choose
    Your best side to show, a slow
    Melt seems best with you.

    My yellow sunshine, a
    Quick douse on the tongue
    Then with teeth I nibble
    On your hard edges.

    Purple, you dark one,
    You must be eaten one at
    A time, meted out in a
    Appropriate dose narcotic.

    Then white, either silent color,
    Or filled in unerrant devotion,
    You scrub clean the palate
    Before a new window display.

  18. Babs Loyd

    PAD # 29
    Ode to Uncle Ode

    What a logical man, stalwart despite early
    losses of two daughters to odd ailments
    and his wife to early onset Alzheimers.

    Once, he let me know I was beautiful
    in his eyes and this gave me enough
    confidence to survive my teen years.

    Ode blessed us all like a steady compass
    guiding the way through rocky paths
    toward adulthood.

  19. PSC in CT

    Ode to Wolf Hill Reservoir

    Your bench beckons, always welcoming; you are ever
    promising new delights to discover; even dead winter,
    blanketed by ice & snow, your gentle silence sustains
    peacefulness of fir and pines, safeguarding infant spring.

    Around April, tiny iris & yarrow shoots peek through oak leaf carpets,
    forsythia abounds, Johnny jump-ups smile, pussywillow pops,
    followed by an avalanche of violets, multitudes of Canada mayflowers,
    plethora of periwinkles, lavish sprinklings of yellow trout lilies.

    May and June bring butter and eggs, columbines, pink lady slippers,
    wild geranium, anemones, mountain laurel blossoms, myriads of clover,
    and few odd “volunteers” – tiger lilies, sweet peas and sweet Williams –
    garden escapees, immigrants, who come and bring along friends.

    July proposes a profusion of cattails, jewel weed and water lilies,
    glimpses of ghost plants, dragon flies posed on purple pickerel weed;
    Summer proffers explosions of daisies, tickseed, black-eyed Susans,
    extravagance of Queen Anne’s lace, all persisting into autumn.

    October offers misty mornings; reflections of blue skies,
    white clouds, autumn glory colors carpeting the trail;
    fond farewells from the last of the daisies & asters, until finally,
    all your fine vibrance bleeds back into gray November slate.

    But then, somewhere along January thaw, enticed by dazzling sun,
    I’ll be perched on your bench once again, rapt, absorbed by your
    siren’s song, hum and ice crackle, snap of warming surface, beseeching
    my patience; insisting Spring’s already conceived, only biding to be born.

  20. Kathy in the Wallowas Bowman

    Praiseology: It’s all good fun

    it’s time to praise the illusion
    so kindly lend your attention and
    raise your tin can to the local bad guys
    who think they are the good guys

    but not too fast: that could be
    anyone – even you – or it could be
    our cattle rustler who at least doesn’t
    steal from the next door neighbors or

    the mayors spouse who hasn’t
    started a bar fight in mules’ years or
    the retired major who storms the state
    capitol, fulminating or the neighbors

    who fly a ragged flag all winter
    even at their RV in gadfersaken AZ or
    he-who-watches with a shit-eating grin or
    she who colludes in the non-Zen tonglen

  21. Jane Shlensky

    While I wait for today’s prompt, let me thank Robin Morris, Connie Peters, Sara McNulty, Nina Lanctot, Domino, and Michael Grove for their kind mentions yesterday. Robin, your Ode to Spring grabbed me this morning as well. It’s been fun reading you all.

  22. Carole Katsantoness

    Ode to “Antonie” During the Vietnam War

    Intrigue exploding, finding you near,
    moments we’ll cherish as never before.
    You whisper discreetly, moisten my ear,
    Your brown eyes penetrate my soul.

    Spirit aroused like a thunderous wind,
    With never fading smiles, we profess our vows.
    Cling to a slippery brink as life begins;
    thoughts of outstretched miles, is this the end?

    Brief affair fills our hearts to the brim,
    an intimate caress, mindful memories make.
    And now I yearn for the fruitless feud to end,
    for your pledged honor is to your country, save.

    My arms clench tight, never to unwind
    how can I turn, walk away or watch you go?
    If I’d known we were about to last,
    I still would have held you so.
    Carole Katsantoness

  23. Mary Richards

    Ode to Spring

    Spring’s such an ode-inspiring subject—
    but contemplate the season’s competition:

    Winter is endurance, ice-blue and still,
    a period of waiting and survival

    Summer is complacency and languor
    clothed in reds and golds and insect drone

    Autumn is nostalgia and regret,
    an ocher crispness yearning for what was

    But spring’s anticipation, a thousand thousand
    greens that promise us renewing life

    No wonder poets sing its praises like the
    nesting birds, the trees with new green tongues

  24. Carole Katsantoness

    Ode to “Antonie” During the Vietnam War

    Intrigue exploding, finding you near,
    moments we’ll cherish as never before.
    You whisper discreetly, moisten my ear,
    Your brown eyes penetrate my soul.

    Spiritaroused like a thunderous wind,
    With never fading smiles, we profess our vows.
    Cling to a slippery brink as life begins
    thoughts of outstretched miles, is this the end?

    Brief affair fills our hearts to the brim,
    an intimate caress, mindful memories make.
    And now I yearn for the fruitless feud to end,
    for your pledged honor is to your country, save.

    My arms clench tight, never to unwind
    how can I turn, walk away or watch you go?
    If I’d known we were about to last,
    I still would have held you so.

  25. Miskmask

    It’s lovely weather here in Sussex, so I’m spending the day outside working with my hubby in the garden. Thank you all for the wonders of another PAD challenge, and to Robert for pulling it together so beautifully. I’m looking forward to Wednesdays.

    To Pearl, Hannah, Jane and Sara, many thanks for your mentions/comments on my ode. As always your comments are appreciated and uplifting.

    I hope that everyone has a lovely weekend.

    Robert, bring on our last prompt — the brain is ready. 😀

  26. Agnija Bharathi

    Again, this was my 6th poem for NaPoWriMo, my ode to the Monsoon Rains.

    MONSOON RAINS

    The breeze brings in the scent of freshly quenched, far away Earth,
    a promise echoed in the dark gray clouds on blue-violet skies.
    Diamonds ripped from their silver-gold setting
    flung at the feet of the Earth,
    crowning her with a thousand tiaras.

    The Earth drinks to her heart’s content,
    healing her chapped brown skin.
    The wind lashes at the lanky palms.
    The ocean churns herself into a frenzy,
    upturned umbrellas whip up to the heavens,
    released in hasty, unintentional thank-yous.

    Gaggles of giddy school girls giggle in unison,
    shivering in their drenched skins.
    School bags become makeshift umbrellas.
    The whole world is an impressionist’s canvas!
    The Monsoon sings her song,
    cascading in melodic destruction.

  27. Agnija Bharathi

    My second poem for NaPoWriMo was written for no prompts. However, I think it would work as an Ode to Spring Poem, as well. Here it is:

    <a href = "http://agnija-b.blogspot.com/2011/04/spring-is-here-spring-is-here.html&gt; SPRING IS HERE! SPRING IS HERE!</a>

    The woodchuck in the yard and the foraging deer,
    The sunny daffodils and the blue hyacinth spear,
    The yellow forsythia bushes, shouting loud and clear
    Proclaim this to me: spring is near, spring is near.

    The gold and the green and the red fuzz on trees
    The tell tale scent of magnolias in the breeze
    The throbbing greens under the dry-brown leaves
    Proclaim to me: spring is near, spring is near.

    But what leaves me in no doubt, makes me absolutely sure,
    Is the pounding in my sinus and the clicking in my ear!

  28. earlybird

    ‘Ode to the village baker’
    Flour dusted,
    sleep lacking
    eyes grey smudged,
    he rises before dawn
    in still dark night
    to work magic leavening
    on long crusty loaves,
    flaky butter croissants
    and shining golden brioche
    for my breakfast.
    Thank you for
    my daily bread.

  29. Melissa Hager

    "Ode to Omar"

    Crescendo of metal and wood
    Perfect beats
    Matched only by a perfect smile

    Jerry Douglas, Viktor Krauss, and Omar Hakim gave the most incredible performance I have ever experienced on Saturday at Merlefest. You know I had to be moved by the amount of tears on my lap.

  30. Tanja Cilia

    Ode to A Dead Salmon

    Not fuscous, rubious, cretaceous, vinaceous, albugineous, sanguineous…
    Tstaceous, phoeniceous… melichrous, puniceous, flammeous…
    Chrysochlorous, luteolous, stramineous, porraceous, cinerious, fuliginous…
    Neither badious, piceous, griseous, coccineous, brunneous, caesious, Glaucous…
    Icteritious, ochroleucous, lateritious, niveous, plumbeous, olivaceous…
    Nor aeneous, castaneous, spadiceous, vinous, prasinous, porphyrous…
    Violaceous, citreous,miniaceous, chlorochrous, atrous, cyaneous, rufous…
    Or even cesious, pyrrhous, rubiginous, sulphureous, luteous, fulvous…

    But. Just. Plain. Pink.
    Salmon pink to be exact.

    As I look into your eyes
    Glazed over with the bleakness of death
    In a tomb of aspic jelly,

    I think of all the shades of pink
    That could have been…
    Fuchsia, amaranth,
    Carnation, rose, lavender,

    I think…
    Isn’t salmon a pinkish kind of orange anyway?

    Oh! Dead Salmon,
    On a bed of carrageen you lie
    Garnished with lemon and parsley.

    Oh! Dead Salmon,
    Surrounded by cucumber and tomato circles
    Instead of peers, parr and smolts…
    After death in semelparity.

    Oh! Dead Salmon
    Your cousin Trout has a Pout…
    And now, so do you, as you lie there
    On the buffet table.

    A journey of hundreds of miles, upstream, against strong currents and rapids, starts with your first agile movement… and ends on the dinner table.

    Oh! Dead Salmon,
    I salute you with this Ode.

  31. Tilly Bud

    I have two:

    An Ode To Spectacle

    The British do it
    rather well. Tourists gladly
    pay. Everyone wins.

    *

    *

    *

    An Ode To Spectacles

    Men seldom make passes
    at girls who wear glasses;
    but most modern lasses
    don’t care.

    They use lasers and lenses;
    drive Mercedes Benzes;
    and love how those losers
    must stare.

  32. Zeb

    have changed a word as realised (my excuse being that I was channelling Larkin) but I don’t ever call women ‘girls’, being one myself. Almost as bad as being called ‘a good litle woman’
    What was I thinking of, apologies.

    ‘On Bristol’s Downs pink chestnut flowers
    fall like wedding confetti along the road,
    above the saluting trees are ablaze
    with candles in the soft grey almost sunlight
    on the day our Prince marries his Kate
    at last. etc etc….’

  33. Tracy Davidson

    Ode to Harrison Ford

    Since Star Wars back in ’77
    you’ve been my idol.
    I think people were supposed
    to like Luke the best,
    but for me it was always,
    and only, Han Solo.
    I’d make the jump to hyperspace
    (or not) with you any time.

    Puberty hit with Indiana Jones,
    and my first real crush.
    A scarred and battered hero
    who never left his hat behind,
    you whip-cracked and wise-cracked
    your way through caves, Nazis,
    ancient boobytraps, even aliens.

    Still sexy after 30 years,
    though I question the earring
    and the stick insect you married
    instead of me.
    If you ever get sick of her,
    want a little more meat
    on the bone – look me up,
    I’m still Solo.

  34. Tracy Davidson

    Ode to My New Spectacles

    Thanks to you
    I can see again.
    I don’t need
    to hold things
    at arm’s length away or sit
    so close to the screen.

  35. CJillFriend

    Ode Among Lost Days Inside Hesitancy
    “we solve problems with bigger problems.”

    Within unity there is no humility.
    And when there is humility, therefore
    There is no unity.

    When there’s an impetus, there was
    Causation. If there were the idea of
    Causation, then there must have
    Been and Intelligentinigma. Gone. Lost in the darkeness and separation of the night’s lights, dropped into
    the
    Blasted stars,
    Like drunken dee-jays fucking with the thing play to humanity.

    Hey but what’s a Master’s Degree in the Liberal Arts but a born
    Identity into poverty. Fuck yeah, shop that Goodwill if it makes
    You happy that you can shop like you did when your grandparents
    And mom and stepdad were rAISING ya.

    Whoa. What just happened? Total psychological meltdown in intonation,
    Scythe, and technique.

    Now, back to odes of a different style?

    Wait. Did that just get slightly contemporary. Tell me the rules again, since I
    Have currently been diagnosed in the age of Postmodernism; and have
    You read that shit? Some of it is just so like you had to be there, or UHTBT. See
    …qq.e…eihgha o. Figure that one out sometime you want to get mind fucked.
    Ode to psychology of the nightmare dream, ode to the job to do, little who?

    Deep deep waters and
    Just one giant ocean [mind fuck] time to analyze
    Being gone….

  36. Tracy Davidson

    Ode to Robert Lee Brewer

    I promise to love and to honour you
    (in a friendly sorta way, not a
    bunny-boiling stalker kinda way),
    to obey the etiquette rules
    of the Poetic Asides blog,
    in sickness (especially when struck
    down with strep throat) or in health,
    for richer or poorer (well,
    pretty much poorer as we’re poets),
    with my body I thee…(actually,
    let’s skip that bit – nothing personal,
    it’s just beards bring me out in a rash),
    for as long as we both do use the internet,
    until the time the need to switch off
    and go do something else instead
    us do part.

  37. CJillFriend

    Intelligentinigma. Gone. Lost in the darkeness and separation of the night’s lights, dropped into
    the
    Blasted stars,
    Like drunken dee-jays fucking with the thing play to humanity.

    Hey but what’s a Master’s Degree in the Liberal Arts but a born
    Identity into poverty. Fuck yeah, shop that Goodwill if it makes
    You happy that you can shop like you did when your grandparents
    And mom and stepdad were rAISING ya.

    Whoa. What just happened? Total psychological meltdown in intonation,
    Scythe, and technique.

    Now, back to odes of a different style?

    Wait. Did that just get slightly contemporary. Tell me the rules again, since I
    Have currently been diagnosed in the age of Postmodernism; and have
    You read that shit? Some of it is just so like you had to be there, or UHTBT. See
    …qq.e…eihgha o. Figure that one out sometime you want to get mind fucked.
    Ode to psychology of the nightmare dream, ode to the job to do, little who?

    Deep deep waters and
    Just one giant ocean [mind fuck] time to analyze
    Being gone….

  38. CJillFriend

    Pleithinging, Germanu: Ellis Island 4020

    Intelligentinigma. Gone. Lost in the darkeness and separation of the night’s lights, dropped into
    the
    Blasted stars,
    Like drunken dee-jays fucking with the thing play to humanity.

    Hey but what’s a Master’s Degree in the Liberal Arts but a born
    Identity into poverty. Fuck yeah, shop that Goodwill if it makes
    You happy that you can shop like you did when your grandparents
    And mom and stepdad were rAISING ya.

    Whoa. What just happened? Total psychological meltdown in intonation,
    Scythe, and technique.

    Now, back to odes of a different style?

    Wait. Did that just get slightly contemporary. Tell me the rules again, since I
    Have currently been diagnosed in the age of Postmodernism; and have
    You read that shit? Some of it is just so like you had to be there, or UHTBT. See
    …qq.e…eihgha o. Figure that one out sometime you want to get mind fucked.
    Ode to psychology of the nightmare dream, ode to the job to do, little who?

    Deep deep waters and
    Just one giant ocean [mind fuck] time to analyze
    Being gone….

  39. CJillFriend

    Pleithinging, Germanu: Ellis Island 4020

    Intelligentinigma. Gone. Lost in the darkeness and separation of the night’s lights, dropped into
    the
    Blasted stars,
    Like drunken dee-jays fucking with the thing play to humanity.

    Hey but what’s a Master’s Degree in the Liberal Arts but a born
    Identity into poverty. Fuck yeah, shop that Goodwill if it makes
    You happy that you can shop like you did when your grandparents
    And mom and stepdad were rAISING ya.

    Whoa. What just happened? Total psychological meltdown in intonation,
    Scythe, and technique.

    Now, back to odes of a different style?

    Wait. Did that just get slightly contemporary. Tell me the rules again, since I
    Have currently been diagnosed in the age of Postmodernism; and have
    You read that shit? Some of it is just so like you had to be there, or UHTBT. See
    …qq.e…eihgha o. Figure that one out sometime you want to get mind fucked.
    Ode to psychology of the nightmare dream, ode to the job to do, little who?

    Deep deep waters and
    Just one giant ocean [mind fuck] time to analyze
    Being gone….

  40. Caren E. Salas

    Ode to Cheerios

    Oh Cheerios! My bowl of Cheerios!
    You’re a crispy taste delight!
    You make my mouth so happy,
    Each time I take a bite.

    Oh Cheerios! My bowl of Cheerios!
    You’re so healthy and they say
    You’re beneficial to my heart,
    So I’ll eat you every day.

  41. Shreedhar Iyengar

    I tried so many noble beings and things to write an ode to, and settled on poop instead. High time someone honored healthy bowel movements. 😛

    Hope you are feeling much better now, Robert, and here starts the bittersweet wait for your 30th brilliant prompt.

  42. Shreedhar Iyengar

    An Ode to Poop

    O you stinky devil,
    that dwells in dark passages,
    and rides down lubed tubes,
    to a hol’e’y release.

    O you being of many a form,
    slithering down, a slippery mass,
    or a sudden shower of muddy goo,
    with bursts of wind in tow.

    O you cheeky brownie,
    forgot to set your alarm?
    The poor thing popped a pill,
    and is yet to hear that plop.

    O be he a king or a pauper,
    if nature doesn’t come calling,
    or calls much too often,
    faecal peace is not to be his.

    O as I relax my anal muscles,
    and grant thee your freedom,
    I can’t help being grateful,
    for your smooth passage yonder.

  43. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Thanks to Katie, Autumn, Kit, Ivankus ( and yes there are Wednesday prompts that basically can move through the week and a November challenge…but there is something special about April), j. Lynn..thought I would be able to do more with it! …but the bounty of riches left only so much time before sleep!, thanks Mike. Grove for the cool birthday poem, MA …see…I knew I was drawn to you!  Happy just past mutual birthday!,

    Dear Janet, thank you, have been there as a great supporter from the beginning here at PA…. As I’ve mentioned I have GREATLY. admired the expansion of .Janet Planet, some truly terrific poeming and your commentary deeply, thoughtfully and creative,y has been a joy  Your words to me are a delight and a final birthday gift that will stay with me always. 
    THANK YOU!

    Michele CONGRATULATIONS… You are a wonderful poet and generous person…how lovely to share this resource in the midst of your own  moment…THANK YOU ,

    Thanks to Sara V, Richard Atwater,
    Sara M. Thank you… I love your line "…somewhere an. oyster is crying…"  Thanks your mentioning the line you enjoyed !, Domino thanks, 
    Buddah I love red licorice…if I made a hat….mhmmm I could eat it easily!
    Thank you Richard Atwater, Hannah 
     
    Dear Kit "what can you say? " you ask as loving incredulous daughters and sons one day ask…
    Ask Kit Cooley because she has said it beautifully….. To your father!

    Thanks to all for the happy birthday wishes they worked…it was a very happy day!
    .   
                 GOOD NIGHT ALL …. TO THE BITTERSWEET COMING IF THE FINAL PROMPT FOR THIS APRIL IT HAS BEEN WONDER-FILLED,

  44. de jackson

    Caught Birthday Girl Pearl on Facebook, but saw that it’s M.A. Dobson’s bday today, too (at least by my Pacific Coast time, for 45 more minutes). Happy Birthday, friends. May it be a poetically perfect year.

  45. de jackson

    Whew. Much ado today, and terribly late to the commenting party. Loved catching up with this explosion of odes, but only have the energy to comment on my very favorites…And so, In Praise of Phrase, loved these…

    Joseph Beckman’s:
    Great battles waged upon the blood soaked earth,

    Come to light and life upon sweat soaked words

    ACD:
    There are no need for temples and tombstones.
    Only the friend knows if we will ever be alone again.

    Jo Lightfoot: Ode to Spirit (the whole thing)

    Arielle Lancaster-LaBrea:
    Here’s to the last pieces of
    sunlight drifting slowly off
    to sea, giving way to her
    sister’s rollicking spirit.

    … Here’s to the breath, caught after
    the pull of lips.

    J. D. Mackenzie: I have GOT to share your Ode, to the Partners of Poets with my poor, sweet highly neglected husband.

    Too short a list for all the wonder, humor, and creativity here, but I’m too ‘ode’ to stay up any later on a crazy day like today. Many thanks to Linda Voit, Ivanius, Zeb, Daniel Ari, Sara V, Joseph Harker, Domino, Buddah, Karen Phillips, Connie Peters, Jacqueline Hallenbeck and Jane Shlensky for your kind comments today.

    In case tomorrow runs off into the hills out from under me, I just wanted to say what an amazing thing it’s been this month, to be writing alongside all of you. I’m in awe of the talent here. Please come back on Wednesdays!

    de@wordplaybyde.com
    De Miller Jackson on Facebook
    or click for my humble bloggy corner of the world:

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