April PAD Challenge: Day 11

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a poem about an object (or objects). Though you don’t have to confine yourself to straight up description, I do want you to focus on object and/or make it a central piece of your poem. One of the more famous poems of contemporary literature does this wonderfully in William Carlos Williams’ “The Red Wheelbarrow.”

Here’s my attempt for the day:

“Brainiac’s ‘Bonsai Superstar’ CD”

“Whatcha gonna do ’bout me,” asked
from the start. Let’s be honest: I
wasn’t so sure the first time I listened.
After all, it was kind of weird, this
little sliver of plastic that symbolized
Dayton, Ohio. Every local show was
an event: Part dance party, part
fashion expo. Broken drums sticks,
nonstop action, and always (always)
over before too early. “Well, look
at me now; I’m a wreck.” I was
in college when I heard the news:
Timmy Taylor, the lead singer, died
in an accident. He was the one
who consigned copies of my fanzine/
lit journal–even propped a copy
up on stage. So on the cusp of
“making it” that MTV broke the news.
And that was it: The Breeders broke
up; Guided By Voices faded back
into the alleys and garages. Even
this morning, that disc asks, “Who
do you think you are? Some kind
of bonsai superstar?” And it sounds
cheesy, but for a while there, that’s
exactly the way we all felt.


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907 thoughts on “April PAD Challenge: Day 11

  1. JL Smither

    The Ring

    The night before I left, I dreamed of a crash.
    In adrenaline-soaked panic, I kicked at the aft
    airplane door with both feet, causing my rubber
    sneaker soles to melt sticky.
    When I finally pushed the door open, I faced a great fire,
    heating up the plane walls and roaring into the cabin.
    I rushed to the back, beating at the flame-filled
    windows, and I called you on my cell phone, screaming
    that I love you, crying, assuring you that I was determined
    to make it and that you could always identify me
    later by the sapphire ring on my charred right hand.

  2. Maureen Hurley


    Ode to my lost penknife
    that once rested cool
    and sleek as a schooled minnow
    nosing in the murky depths
    of some young boy’s pocket.
    The deer antler handle, chipped,
    diamond cotterpin askew,
    Siamese twinned blades of grey
    carbon steel, pitted with rust,
    arabesqued from myriad sharpenings,
    blades that once carved goose quills
    or initials in wooden desks with inkwells
    and sweet hearts on slender saplings,
    in a silvery copse, now grown ancient
    with the ponderous weight of age,
    bark hearts splaying out into Crab nebulae,
    blades that once sliced eggs, cold potatoes.
    cleaned fingernails, and pared apple cores,
    picked teeth, and in that order.
    A small child’s penknife,
    a memento I carried for three decades,
    a small something from my grandfather,
    I carried it forth daily into the next century,
    played a final game of hide and seek in my pack,
    only to be flushed out by Homeland Security.
    No: Olly olly oxen free. Or Kick the can.
    or frustrated oceans of tears could save it.
    It was branded a threat to national safety,
    and as we missed our flight,
    in it went to the TSA dropbox,
    destined for the slag heap.
    No more feather quills to sharpen,
    no more words to carve and hone
    on formica desks or on the wings of planes,
    only this fleeting farewell.

  3. yolanda davis-overstreet

    Day 11

    The bike is red
    I know
    All can see
    From afar
    Beside the moving
    wheels moving

  4. Lauri Land

    (Since I read ‘Love That Dog’ by Sharon Creech, I have loved William Carlos Williams’ Red Wheelbarrow. I apologize to him, but I had to do it)

    Black elliptical

    so little depends

    the black elliptical

    piled high with clothes
    meant for the dry cleaner

    in sizes getting
    bigger and bigger.

  5. K.E. Ogden

    K.E. Ogden
    April 11, 2009
    Prompt: An object


    When I open the secret drawer,
    it is filled with my baby teeth.
    I hold them in my hand like mints,
    wonder how much I got for them
    those nights I slept waiting
    for the tooth fairy. The wood
    carving has been rubbed from the lid.
    I cannot feel the branches when I run
    my hand across the box top. Inside

    there is a folded paper–
    I love you, daddy, in purple crayon. It is too much,
    this box. I used to steal Susan B.
    Anthony’s off his bureau, but never
    looked inside this box. Today,
    it arrived in the mail, wrapped in brown
    grocery bag, a note from his wife:
    There’s nothing in here, but maybe you want it?
    I put my teeth back inside.

  6. LindaTK

    Day 11:
    My Purse (Free Verse)

    Besieged with controlled chaos
    Necessary clutter
    Compartments to keep items organized
    Keys here
    Pills there
    Wallet in here
    Checkbook in there
    Tuck in a pen
    A packet of stamps
    I need some gum
    And my cell – can’t forget that
    Never enough room
    Too much necessary stuff
    I really need a suitcase
    But that would be too heavy
    And it would look silly
    Or would it?


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