2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 30

Here we are, everyone! The final day of poeming! For this challenge, anyway. After you write your poem today, you’ll have a few days to figure out your favorite poems and submit them my way. Click here to read the official guidelines, which includes how and how many poems to submit.

If I were able to submit poems to myself, I’d probably choose some from the middle of the month. That’s when I seemed to be hitting my stride. I’d definitely stay away from these last few days, since it’s just been a test to write a poem period. And yes, poets are allowed to revise their poems before submitting–just make sure you send them in on time!

Speaking of on time, sorry for the late post. I really feel like I’ve just been trying to pull myself over the finish line with this darn strep throat. I’m glad and grateful everyone has stuck through it with me. Let’s poem!

*****

For today’s prompt, write an “after leaving here” poem. This poem could be about leaving an actual place, a relationship, or even this challenge. We leave many places and things every day without much ado, including rooms, vehicles, people (both those we know and complete strangers), etc. And to make this poem even more interesting is that there is presumably something that will be done after the leaving, whether that’s something fun, sad, hopeful, or whatever.

Here’s my attempt:

“Midnight”

The poet looks across the room at the open window
and hears the laugh of a couple barge in on his poem.
It was going to be a desolate poem about a desert
or at the very least a deserted island. He planned
on searching and finding no one. Perhaps, he would
even write a message, tuck it in a bottle, and chuck
it out to sea–confident no one would ever read it.
But then, a rowboat carrying two young lovers comes
toward the shore, and the young man holds the bottle
in one hand and the message in the other and yells
to the poet, “Hey, you! Is all this sad gibberish yours?
We’ve come to take you back to the real world.”

*****

Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

And tweet your completion of the challenge on Twitter by using the #aprpad hashtag.

*****

For those who still want prompts, we do have another poem-a-day challenge in November. And through the rest of the year, we meet here on Wednesdays.

I also have a few interviews and guest posts to share with everyone as everything settles down in May.

Once again, thanks, everyone! It’s been a great month!

*****

Is there a secret to finding your creative mind?
As someone who rarely has writing blocks, I’m not sure. However, Thinking Write: The Secret to Freeing Your Creative Mind, by professional counselor Kelly L. Stone, includes methods used by bestselling authors to stay creative and productive with their writing. This book also includes an instructive CD with guided meditations specifically for writers.

Click here to learn more.

You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

284 thoughts on “2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 30

  1. Sara V

    Robert, be well and rest. Thank you and Tammy for everything. I know this post will probably only be read by you (and/or Tammy) sometimes, there just are not enough hours in the day.

    Before Floating Away

    The message in the bottle said:
    Thanks to all poets
    All the talent’s I’ve read
    The beauty the passion
    The feelings the trust
    Onward you muse
    The best poem or bust,
    It’s humbling always
    Inspiring too
    Hope to see you all
    Wednesday
    Really, I do!

  2. Linda Voit

    De, thanks for your amazing comment, and Walt, for including me, too. I sure do love this April challenge and the work of all you poets out there that feed me for 30 days and beyond.

  3. Sally Jadlow

    Thanks, Walt, for the kind words, and to all of you who commented. Keep your poetry engines humming until we meet again in November.

    Robert, thank you for the excellent prompts. They make it such fun to write. Hope you’re on the mend.

    Take care all. See you again soon.

  4. de jackson

    After leaving here…last night, I couldn’t wait to get back to read, this morning (after sleeping in, the ONLY advantage of no morning prompt).

    Such amazing things happened on this day, poetically. Here were a few of my favorites…

    Joseph Harker:
    All I need’s a pen and paper,
    open sky and roads to walk: contentment follows.
    This might just have to become my life’s mantra. Shall credit you accordingly.

    lori thatcher:
    to be continued –
    but I hope there’s flowers.
    YES.

    Sam Nielson
    Car’s dirty underwear
    LOVE that.

    Jerry Walraven
    Your title is exquisite. I pray the shock and fresh pain of this poem are past. Either way, my heart breaks and my prayers are with your family.

    Michael Grove:
    Love your “Taste the Stew” analogy

    Ivanius:
    A POEM IS NOT A PRISON, from title to last phrase. Wonderful.

    M.A. Dobson: AFTER LEAVING HERE. I’ve always said my muse is a mermaid. Loved this piece.

    Patricia A. Hawkenson: “Laundry Baskets”…both heartwrenching and hopeful.

    Laurie Kolp: Palindromes are tricky, crafty creatures. Yours is great.

    Jay Sizemore: “After hearing the news,” especially:
    and he will wait for his eyes
    to adjust to the darkness.
    What an amazing piece this is. Wonderful.

    Andrea Boltwood: Stalled. LOL, and great title.

    Beautiful Hannah: My friend, you already fly.

    Arielle Lancaster-LaBrea:
    I sat by the shore to listen to your beating heart.
    I swam out as far as I could to find the place where it stopped.
    Love this. So.Much.

    Marcia Gaye: Love this:
    These unruly wayward words
    will not be still. They climb
    and swing and slide and defy their author
    with giddiness and sly wry ways.
    Still, if they’d ever behaved
    I could not have written poetry.

    Kim King:
    weaving a salute into the crust.
    What an amazing visual this is.

    And muchas gracias to Diane, Karen Legg, Nikki, PSC in CT, Benjamin Thomas, Jacqueline Hallenbeck, Cameron Steele, Walt, Marcia Gaye.

    And THANK YOU to anyone who’s taken the time to comment all month long, on mine or anyone’s poems. We need each other. This is an incredible place. Thank you, Robert.

  5. Linda Simoni-Wastila

    melancholy

    april blusters in,
    a frenzied
    flight of words,
    petit fours of lingua,
    and spirals out
    geese gone south
    flung against
    a starker sky.

    ***

    Thank you Robert — a wonderful host and poet-leader. Your generosity every April astounds. I hope you feel back to snuff soon.

    And THANK YOU amazing poets for opening your hearts and gracing me with your words. I look forward to seeing you all next year.

    My final poem late to the game — I was at a writing conference with limited access to the internet. I wrote my poem yesterday but could not post. I always feel sad at the end of April because it is my annual poetry indulgence and the month’s end signals the time to switch gears and return to prose — what I mostly write the remaining 11 months. Thank you for reading my attempts at poetry, and for sharing yours with me. Peace…

  6. Chuck Puckett

    (For this prompt I previously posted a poem full of terror and blood. I post another poem full of hope and resolve.)

    After Leaving Here

    After leaving here, two roads we will take
    And even if it’s side by side they go
    They’ll grow apart unless we take the time
    To make them bend back to the paths we know,
    To lead our hearts back to familiar rhyme
    And not forget how easily we break.

    If chance brought us together here at first
    To leave it all to chance from this point on
    Is foolish to the point of losing all.
    The winds of life are winds that blow too strong
    And who knows what we’ll do pressed to the wall.
    A chance may save, or chance may leave us cursed.

    On leaving here, each step could be our last
    Step in time with each other’s matching step
    Unless resolved we make a solemn vow
    And every promise said must now be kept.
    Each moment focused on forever Now,
    Each breath and thought a future weaved in past.

    After leaving here, we must not be gone
    But hold onto this moment’s time and place,
    Cemented in our souls, the central theme
    Revolving round about this well-lit space
    ‘Til one day we’ll again beside this stream
    Relive in love the love we’ve always known.

    © 2011 Chuck Puckett

  7. Bruce Niedt

    I know I’ve been posting late in the day (sometimes even the next day) on many of these prompts, and I haven’t interacted with fellow poets as much as I’d like, but it’s been a busy month, and some days just squeezing in one poem has been akin to a chore. But I’ve prevailed once again with about 35 poems for the month, and that’s okay by me. I just wanted to say that even though my participation has been peripheral at times, I’m very appreciative of everyone who has taken the time to read and comment. This is a tight and talented community, and I’m happy to be a part of it. Onward into May!

  8. Joseph Beckman

    THE LAST ONE IN FROM THE WEST COAST, CLOSE THE BARN DOOR!
    Robert, the mechanical rabbit to my dashing greyhound, thank you very much.
    .
    .
    .
    .
    poetic endeavours
    .
    .
    after leaving here…
    my muse-ic box will not stop
    after leaving here…
    my thoughts just hop and hop-
    after leaving here…
    inspiration has no place
    after leaving here…
    it’s back to the same old rat race
    .
    after leaving here…
    my daily meets are all gone
    after leaving here…
    less friends, less love, less songs
    after leaving here…
    i am just the same old same
    after leaving here…
    poetic art or just a game?
    .
    after leaving here…
    my life is forever changed
    after leaving here…
    even my soul has gained
    after leaving here…
    daily living has such grace
    after leaving here…
    joy from that holy quiet place
    .
    .
    .
    © April 30, 2011 by Joseph Beckman

  9. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    Thanks, Cameron! =)
    I second Rose’s motion: Thanks Anders for that amazing search tool. It’ll make it easier for me to pick my top 5.
    I also second Pearl’s invitation: I’m here: http://www.angelfire.com/sd2/sadsam/index.html and also at facebook if someone wants to friend me. I accept friendships that I know only, so please make sure you mention PA in your request.
    Off to make my baby niece some breakfast. <3
    See you on Wednesdays. C=

  10. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    POETICALLY SPEAKING…..

    THANK YOU ROBERT LEE BREWER

    THANK YOU "MUSE" TAMMY FOR ALL YOUR WORK AND RLB’S LOVE FOR YOU AND YOURS WHICH SPARKLES UNDER, THROUGH AND OVER HIS WORK AND THIS "STREET"

  11. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    taking leave
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    and when i leave this place
    i will take with me
    my newborn memories
    and soothsayer skills
    to no longer burden you with
    the volition to choose sides.
    pundit attitudes was
    never your strong suit
    nor emo appetites
    that might otherwise
    stir mercurial dangers
    within you. perhaps
    it is best that you
    stand down this time.

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  12. annie mcwilliams

    what’s the point of talking

    unplugged coffee pot
    leave out— dryer’s off
    mouse house, nice spouse
    something’s there
    another scare

    spin, churn, take a turn
    ocd, ocd
    so a thing, just a bump
    or three, three, three

    still standing, so far
    so good, so so
    so much same old
    same old, sleep at night

    mornings up
    tea cupped
    doable, laughable
    snot-nosed-
    commendable
    lucky life
    every day, every way, safe

    clean cat full kitchen
    bed made, sweet voice,
    sweet lips, sweet meats,
    bright eyes, hammered edge
    fade, faded, fading
    life lines vital signs
    heart beat, hard seat
    tip toes, here goes
    going, going
    gone

  13. Salvatore Buttaci

    AFTER LEAVING HERE

    I’m hoping for the best
    though some insist
    I’m really going nowhere
    once that final breath
    leaves me breathless.
    They say there is nothing
    after this, don’t be naïve.
    Live life to the fullest.
    Don’t let fairy tales
    about heaven or hell
    take the fun out of life.
    But in quiet moments
    Deep in prayer
    I can hear the soul of me
    Join me in praising God
    A soul hungry for heaven
    Pointing the way for me

  14. Nancy Posey

    For all you first-time PAD’ers: Come back on Wednesdays. The challenged continued once a week because so many enjoyed the spirit of camaraderie found here, and Robert obliged. It may be less intense than the month-long daily challenge, but it’s great to anticipate.
    I hope to see you there.

  15. Melissa Hager

    Thanks, Pam and Nancy, for festive thoughts. Can’t wait to finish her up with Robert Plant today!

    "After April"

    Feeling like a wrung out sponge
    Can’t believe they’re almost done

    Poetry and music took over my life
    Beauty and beats o’er me, not strife

    Well wishes to all I’d like to send
    Music and poetry coming to an end

    After leaving here and entering May
    Won’t know what to do at the end of the day.

  16. Margot Suydam

    After Leaving Here

    Driving from Durango
    The desert road south
    We sing along to country
    Radio waves stretching
    Our vocal range widens
    Skirts the rims of distant
    Mesas bury cloudless sky
    I touch your arm in wonder
    If our voices can carry us
    Eyes on an endless highway
    You nod along as if this song
    Could take us home.

  17. Heiberg

    For me this has been a great workshop. I learnt a lot. I’m especially grateful to the poets who cared to leave a message for me – every word meant all to me.
    How can I say "thank you" to everybody?
    I can start saying thanks to Walt, Marie Elena and Pearl – and say thanks to you for sharing a seat with me in this classroom.
    But what about all the other wonderful poets in the classroom? Hopefully we meet again, right? I so much hope to see you all again.
    And to Robert: Your prompts are amazing! They inspire me so much – thanks for a great April. And Robert, I didn’t submit all my poems (they are all there) and what my editor thinks is the best, I’ll submit to your list.

  18. Heiberg

    ON THE LINE

    Tears stream down my Face
    Book
    and on to my
    keys
    on my
    computer
    and on to
    the
    table
    and down to the
    floor
    where they form an
    ocean
    of
    goodbye.

  19. Tanja Cilia

    And Then You Leave

    We meet, we have coffee, and you walk me home.
    And then you ask whether I’m OK, and I
    Cannot answer.
    And then you cup my chin
    Between your thumb and index finger
    And tilt my head up
    And kiss away my tears.
    And then you leave.
    And after leaving here…

  20. Tracy Davidson

    Adieu

    We leave traces of ourselves
    everywhere we go.
    A scent, an imprint,
    a memory, a poem.
    Part of us remains behind,
    proof of our existence,
    that we were there,
    making our mark on the world.

    We may leave here now,
    but we can return,
    reminisce, remind ourselves
    of the things that made us laugh,
    made us cry, made us think.
    Even the things that made
    us disagree.

    Part of us will always be here.
    And we are forever linked.

  21. Buddah Moskowitz

    (NOTE: I am posting this at 11:58 PM – whew! I cannot give the posted poems here proper consideration now, but I’ll be back tomorrow to read all the posts.

    Congratulations and thanks to all the writers here, I am honored to be in your company. Buddah Moskowitz)

    As I Leave the Time Machine

    Sitting here
    with the time machine,
    I make glorious plans.

    I am taken back to
    memories
    some golden, some bitter

    and taken to dreams,
    allowing myself the conceit
    of clairvoyance.

    In the time machine
    everything that I am not
    does not matter

    it’s just me
    these fingers
    this keyboards
    and these thoughts

    all
    somehow
    inexplicably
    working in concert

    for some creative
    common end.

    While a man sitting alone at
    a machine
    can hardly be called noble,

    sometimes
    if he strikes the idea
    just right
    and the Muse
    has been kind

    he’ll write something
    that might make a difference

    even if that difference
    is only
    a smile.

    So,
    I keep trying,

    though the ideas be
    modest or miniscule.

    Perhaps they’ll outlast me
    as an incomplete legacy,

    and
    as I leave the time machine
    of writing

    I will re-engage
    with the real-world

    long enough and
    deep enough
    to hopefully find

    still more
    to bring back
    to the machine.

  22. Angel V.

    Final Day

    Final day–final class–
    final bell–final chance.
    Shuffling through books–
    eyes stuck on her
    reflection in the window–
    envious of the glass
    privileged to paint her.
    Eternity’s wait–
    defiant of fate–
    prayer to part the sea
    that stands between her
    and me.

    Her friends recede–
    the crack in time
    I’ve rarely seen–
    on fleeting feet
    I cross the newborn shore
    headfirst into the depths.
    Inebriated off imagination–
    senses saturate–
    glimmer of green eyes–
    shimmer of sunshine
    smile she always wears–
    rapture of its sincerity.

    I trickle–she pours–
    tackles me with the tide–
    drowns all inhibitions–
    consummates our friendship
    I was too frightened
    to feed too greedily
    beyond Biology.
    She impregnates me
    with new life–mustard seeds–
    born again in her hug–high
    places crash–temples remade–
    beatified by the breath she gave.

    Closure crammed–in seconds
    her boyfriend steals her
    away. Her smile–the final gift–
    before she walks away.
    Through crowds I float
    on fairy wings
    weaved with words
    she blessed me.
    Thawed from cryostasis
    by her embrace.
    A second’s warmth–
    heats me for eternity.

  23. shann palmer

    Anyone Can Whistle

    So many ways
    to shape a face,
    “put your lips together and… blow.”

    The first whistler must have been
    amazed when sound
    was forced into the open air
    with a sharp gasp or a surprise inhale
    over fire or the burst of a baby
    from a place of many goings on
    but never such a raucous glob.

    Then came signals, songs, alerts,
    so many ways for skin to behave.
    Human flesh not rendered
    irrelevant, but busy,
    in need of help;
    invention calls
    for more complex methodology-
    better mechanics, finer sounds,
    technology.

    When breath stops
    the cavity depresses, exhales
    as all the muscles relax,
    the body makes a sound
    spirits hear,
    come to assure you
    to proceed to whatever’s next.

    Your individual whistle gone.
    Even recorded, pale
    remembrance.

    In the haste of dying,
    and the weariness of living,
    whistle
    for me.

  24. stephanie barbe hammer

    thanks for the good poems.

    after the lecture there is
    a silence that isn’t quite
    full of arrival.
    after the lecture there is
    the scraping of feet and something
    that is almost a sigh but isn’t.
    after the lecture you think there
    would be knowledge but that’s the
    one thing that the lecture never
    gives.

  25. John Pupo

    I just wanted to take the time and give a shout out to all the PA poets who made the entire month’s journey! It’s been a great ride and an honor to be among some great wordsmiths!

    I also would like to thank anyone who’s dropped a comment about one of my poems this month. It means a lot to me, and I’m honored to be in such great company!

  26. John Pupo

    A Night Out

    Bass-beat stuck,
    thumping, pounding –
    still envisioning bodies
    gliding, never quite touching;
    an almost sensual scene
    eroticism without intention.

    The darkness of night blares
    brightly, the moon a beacon
    compared the previous darkness.
    Disoriented from sensory-overload-
    not inebriation, but imagination.

    A euphoric sense of relief-
    angst and aggression all left
    swirling back somewhere on
    the dance floor.

  27. John Pupo

    A Night Out

    Bass-beat stuck,
    thumping, pounding –
    still envisioning bodies
    gliding, never quite touching;
    an almost sensual scene
    eroticism without intention.

    The darkness of night blares
    brightly, the moon a beacon
    compared the previous darkness.
    Disoriented from sensory-overload-
    not inebriation, but imagination.

    A euphoric sense of relief-
    angst and aggression all left
    swirling back somewhere on
    the dance floor.

  28. Gretchen Gersh Whitman

    PAD 2000- April 30
    Prompt: After leaving here

    Cherry blossoms fall,
    the young man
    waves to his parents.

    Gretchen Gersh Whitman

  29. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Thank you Walt …. Yes we all have continued to follow that shining yellow brick road ….the Emerald City still beckons whether we return to the farm and Aunty Em …. There is no place like this (PA) home…. 🙂

    Benjamin. How lovely to take a final peek and find your glowing words. Is there any way you can be read niw that April has ended?lease let me know….

  30. Daniel Ari

    2 hours until it’s over, Pacific Standard Time

    Sending and amazed gasp and a full heart of respect to all the other marathon runners here.

    ***

    (untitled)

    I’m going to the natatorium
    after here. (Built generations ago,
    the swimming pool still bears its old-time name.)
    In the locker room, the men move slowly
    as though it were some kind of museum.

    I will undress for submersion and go
    weightless in the brackish, skin-temperature
    prism. I won’t see Ira there, although
    he would have enjoyed it. (And my neighbor—
    this we will find out after coming home—

    returned the car seat for his granddaughter.
    Her tiny heart has finished its brief kiss.
    The heart asks why.) We emerge from water,
    and go under again. It envelopes
    us as we frolic or exercise. Oh,

    my heart! Seeing my girl grow while Janine
    has gone to the hospital with her son.

    DA

  31. Chuck Puckett

    A Worser Place
    Mucous blood-soaked leavings
    Perilous siege and hard fought breath
    Lookout mountain climbing vines
    Placenta with a Jesus face tears
    Walking away in definite stride
    Pushing tendrils from faces torn
    Apart in terror and hopeless
    Leavings, lost on a rotten wharf.
    I know you and your teeth
    Your carrion bloat, your dead limbs.
    Pulling life into its final pulsing,
    Weaving threads into dead cloth.

    I’d run if running were allowed
    But signs point to exit ramps beyond
    All human eye can see the colors
    Wrapped around the dead and lonely.
    Is there tomorrow or anything like
    A path or road or avenue
    That has more than empty laughter?
    Hollow tubes filled with yesterday’s
    Vile and fetid jokes? A past propelled
    Past perfect penitent prisoners
    Carving license plates whose numbers
    Spell a future filled with death?

    Take this ribbon and tie it to the
    Tree of life. Strangle a final breath,
    Gasp a word or two, then waltz your
    Feet towards daylight, like a torch.
    It knows you, remembers you name
    And pretends that roads lead somewhere.
    Somewhere other than this vacant lot,
    Somewhere solid, filled with crimson
    Twisted portions of regret. Somewhere
    Other than this empty, barren plain.
    I’d give golden memories to recall
    What hallowed saints stood by this
    Empty canyon calling angels
    Whose wings are broken screams.

    © 2011 Chuck Puckett

  32. Marcia Gaye

    de – there are so many wonderful poets here, but as some have said, "I’ll miss you most of all." I guess I should add your blog to my faves list and check in now and again. Thx for your kind inspiration.

    Thanks again to all the rest of you too.

  33. Marcia Gaye

    Thx to all of you for making this month so enjoyable. I’ve joined in for three years now and it is a welcomed repose from my usual writing. Now it’s back to book and stories and essays and articles and such. Happily, I’ve even won some poetry contests this year, and I can say your enthusiasm and example have been appreciated! Continue on … and I hope to re-visit next April.

  34. Susan M. Bell

    "The Interview"

    After I leave here, this room,
    this building, will they remember
    anything about me? Will they
    remember that I smiled a lot?
    That I was polite? That my
    breath was minty fresh? Or will
    they walk out after me, thinking
    only about what they’ll have
    for lunch? Whether or not they’ll
    be laid off? Will the Panthers go
    to the Super Bowl? Will they
    look again at my resume? Read the
    notes they took? Or will they flip
    a coin, hire someone and get on
    with their day?

  35. Kim King

    Thanks to Robert and to all the PAD poets who have been so inspirational, supportive and creative. I hope that we will stay in touch throughout the year.
    Back from a wedding. Will post, sleep and read tomorrow. Love and Hugs.

    The Pie

    The rhubarb leaves, ruffled fans waving from rosy
    fingers, signal his daughters like marine flags
    on the ship, to man the battle stations of piedom.

    From childhood, they watched him head to the garden
    after work, in dress shoes, shirt and tie, to pluck
    the sour stalks, one by one, from an earthen deck.

    He showed them the proper, two-handed pull––yank!
    Then he brushed off the dirt. Sometimes, after a rain,
    he would clean the stalks outside with the hose,

    muddy water pooling around his Florsheim shoes,
    before rescuing the dripping stems into the kitchen.
    Cutting board and knife prepared, he demonstrated

    the chopping technique that he learned “in the Orient,”
    blue eyes crinkling as he scraped the red and green
    crescents into the Pyrex bowl used for such things.

    And they watched and learned and baked his pies.
    The first rhubarb pie of the season was for his birthday,
    marking the start of the growing season, bleeding hearts,

    hostas and hummingbirds. He inspected their crusts,
    breaking through the top with his fork, and eyed
    the interior strata like a geologist inspecting rock layers.

    The daughters roll the dough on floured cloths from separate
    kitchens now. Fluting edges with pink polished nails,
    they each bake one pie a year, weaving a salute into the crust.

  36. Marcia Gaye

    (One for the road as I settle back into real life.)

    After Leaving this Haven

    After leaving this fascinating haven,
    this unrelenting pulse of poetry,
    my words shall again stretch and yawn
    and my eyes, blinking,
    raise from the page.

    After this April vacation
    my thoughts will again return to
    meander through memories of childhood,
    and flash and hint of stories
    I must tell.

    These stories demand cadence,
    sentences and paragraph,
    in punctuated grammar, tiny steps
    to trace the footprints and follow
    the breadcrumbs.

    Stories of near idolization,
    of slow recognition,
    of twisted endings,
    expected surprise.
    Stories that above all tell no lies.

    “It must be true” and “It could be true”
    will vie for my imagination.
    Words meant for the book keep
    tapping on my shoulder, saying,
    ‘Let us play in the story
    until we must sit down to work.’

    These unruly wayward words
    will not be still. They climb
    and swing and slide and defy their author
    with giddiness and sly wry ways.
    Still, if they’d ever behaved
    I could not have written poetry.

  37. Walt Wojtanik

    Started a slow read today…finally. Enjoying this place and remembering how it felt two years ago, thinking I had penned my last here and the friendship nurtured would be gone forever. Now two years down the pike, the old connections are no worse for wear, and the new acquaintances have been established. This place (and my place here)has changed in two years. But in a very good way. Catherine Lee and I had skirted the edges of Oz in two of our pieces and it reflects the "ending" Marie and I had in 2009. Then she referred to me as "the Scarecrow" penning the words emblazoned above my poem. "I’ll Miss You Most of All" is a tribute to that "union". Whatever became of her?

    The group of us who "bonded" together still continue to write amazing poetry from heart and soul and mind to find a niche in each of our hearts. I’ll name names and embarrass myself by forgetting someone: De Jackson, Joseph Harker, Hannah Bowles Gosselin (bet you thought I forgot), Barbara Yates Young, RJ Clarken, Richard Atwater, Jerry Walraven (Chev Shire), Earl Parsons, Pearl Ketover Prilik, Linda Voit, Salvatore Buttaci, Iain Douglas Kemp, Karen Phillips, Patricia McGoldrick (PM27), Anders Bylund, Kim King, Sara McNulty, Daniel Ari, Nikki Markle, Penny Henderson, Connie Peters, Buddah Moskowitz, Laurie Kolp, Patricia Hawkenson, Khara House, Pamela Cleary (PSC in CT), Sally Jadlow, Michele Breton (banana), all along for the journey since April 1, 2009. Not a bad list. And not a slouch in the bunch! 😉

  38. de jackson

    Can’t possibly do any commenting any justice tonight. Will read today’s poems tomorrow, and comment at some point. For now, let’s just say ya’ll ROCK.

    Just wanted to say THANK YOU to all of you amazing poets, for an incredible month of woven words. Looking forward to continuing to read you on Wednesdays, and again in November, for the Chapbook Challenge!

    And thank you, Robert, for all you do!
    de

COMMENT