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April PAD Challenge: Day 13

Categories: Personal Updates, Poetry Challenge 2008, Poetry Prompts, Poets.

Heart. There has been a lot of heart on display in your poems this month. I just wanted to get that out there and say, “Thank you.” It’s been a real pleasure this month to wonder how you’ll put life to each of my prompts, and y’all never let me down. And I think we’re synchronizing a bit.

For instance, Jay Sizemore sent me a message on Facebook late last night mentioning it would be really cool if I could put together a music-response prompt someday this month. I’m glad he thinks so, because…

Today’s prompt is to write a poem based off your response to a song. You get to pick the song, but I ask that you please indicate which song sparked the poem. You can do this by quoting a line or two from the song between the title and poem–as I’ve done a few times this month; or you can just put the song title and artist in parentheses after the poem.

I’m really interested in reading your poems for today’s prompt, but I’m just as interested in seeing which songs everyone chooses. As you may have noticed from some of my recent poems quoting songs by The Beatles, I’ve been listening to Abbey Road quite a bit lately, which is why today’s music-response poem is inspired by The Shins’ “Sleeping Lessons.”

“After April, there’s always May”

“So enlist every ounce of your bright blood and off with their heads.”
                              -the Shins, “Sleeping Lessons”

I wait for dandelions
and dream of seeds spreading
yellow through the grass.
There are reasons to forgive
invasion and the messing
up of perfection. Lawns
and lazy afternoons,
my thumb against stem,
want to break loose.

 

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About Robert Lee Brewer

Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

196 Responses to April PAD Challenge: Day 13

  1. Tanja Cilia says:

    Leaving
    [Daniel – Elton John “I can see red tail-lights, heading for Spain... oh, I miss Daniel... Oh, I miss him so much” ]

    The Moon frowns and hides behind the clouds;
    She knows an Empty Nest is a sad place to be.
    A collection of forlorn thoughts darts across her mind.
    Dark shadows she casts on the earth below;
    The new adult packs her bags and tries to look mature.
    Inside, she’s still a little girl who needs her mom.
    But life has to go on; and opportunities must be grasped
    Before they flit away, never to return.
    Weird shapes ooze across the meadows;
    Reflections of clouds scudding across the night sky.
    The streetlight catches the windscreen of her car, and glistens doubly,
    As the branches of the maple dance to the chilly breeze.
    The lonely widow cries, and hugs her only daughter, remembering.
    She sees her husband in the face she strokes –
    Aquamarine eyes, flecked with gold…
    Feather reminiscences float surreptitiously
    Down Memory Lane and she, too, weeps.
    Go with God! she sobs, and wipes her eyes in her apron,
    Both knowing she did her best to nurture her in faith and love.
    She leaves, swallowed into the night.
    Despondent, like the Moon, the bereft mother weeps,
    And stands behind the window.
    The red tail-lights fade.
    She misses her grown-up-but-not-quite kid, already.

  2. Linda Hofke says:

    Day 13 prompt – Use a song as inspiration

    Here is a poem using one line from the song Good Morning by Lenny Kravitz.

    Java Joe

    She said she
    preferred her men
    like her coffee–
    hot, strong, and black.
    That he was indeed
    so we nicknamed him
    Java Joe, though
    he didn’t know.
    How she loved him.
    Every time he
    flashed his
    pearly whites
    it made her melt.
    And his body.
    She’d drink
    espresso all day
    so she could
    play with it
    all night.
    In the morning
    she’d lie there,
    her pale skin
    like cream
    against his dark
    mass of muscles,
    yearning for
    another taste
    of him,
    wanting to
    consume of him
    every day.
    Marriage thoughts
    were brewing
    in her mind
    until she
    discovered
    he was having
    tea parties
    on the side.
    Now when she
    sees him
    she still thinks
    the coffee is hot,
    but the cream
    has gone sour.

    (the line from the song was the last: The coffee is hot but the cream is sour.)

  3. Laurie Kolp says:

    Beautiful Day

    U2 sings, "It’s a beautiful day"
    and, indeed, it is.
    Sun is shining,
    flowers blooming,
    birds chirping,
    bees buzzing,
    crickets singing,
    children out to play.

    You, too, can join them.
    Soak up the sun,
    smell the flowers,
    hear the birds,
    watch out for bees,
    sing with the crickets.
    Take a walk and
    enjoy this beautiful day.

  4. Karen Masteller says:

    "Time Won’t Let Me" The Outsiders

    I’d like to hold each one of you on my lap again.
    I’d like to curl my fingers around your baby-soft ones.
    I’d like to read bedtime stories again and play in-the-house hide
    and seek.
    But you’re all young adults now and time won’t let me.

    Grandma, I’d like to ask you more about your almost 100 years of
    living.
    Gran, I’d like to chat with you about your paintings.
    Grandpa, I’d like to discuss German and Latin and Greek with you.
    But you three are gone and time won’t let me.

    I’d like to run ten miles again like I once did.
    I’d love to get by on five or six hours of sleep like I used to.
    I’d prefer not to see all those greys and wrinkles.
    But I’ve grown older and time won’t let me.

  5. Raven says:

    To E, re Epiphany from Sweeney Todd

    coriander gravy
    flakes of toast
    larded crust
    there are all the people
    all around
    lying down
    we all deserve
    to die
    dripping blood
    in rictus grim
    given birth
    in assignation
    trepidation
    vengeance thine
    as all consumed
    none left to riddle
    or to ride
    the lies
    the lies

  6. Sarah says:

    Every moment of loving
    that we spend together
    becomes
    one more memory
    I treasure
    tucked away in my heart
    and every storm
    that we weather
    knits our hearts
    close together
    ’till the first time
    and last
    become one.
    ( Bryan Adams ‘Please Forgive Me’ from the "So Far So Good" album)

  7. LindaTK says:

    If Only

    If only I had more time
    More money
    More experience
    More self-confidence
    More connections
    More choices
    More opportunities
    More intelligence
    More resilience
    More energy
    More friends
    More breaks
    More luck
    More help
    More…
    "Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy."
    ("Take it Easy," by The Eagles)

  8. Bonnie says:

    When I Need You by Leo Sayer
    "When I need you I just close my eyes and I’m with you"

    Heading to the funeral home
    where my sister’s body lay
    My mind was on the task ahead
    as we traveled on the way

    The radio played quietly
    a song I’d never heard
    And the sound of its melody
    made me listen to every word

    The song echoed the emotions
    I was feeling deep within
    I needed to be with my sister,
    though I’d never see her again

    Now when I hear that ballad
    I am transported in my mind
    And I feel anew the emotions
    That I wish I could leave behind

  9. Lin Neiswender says:

    True Love Song

    You’ll Accompany Me – Bob Seeger
    "I feel it in my soul, it’s meant to be"

    Love has passed me in the night
    More than once
    It slipped away unclaimed
    But I have a hunch
    My heart still leaps
    When I hear that song
    Old rock’ n’ rollers can’t be wrong
    One day True Love will come along

  10. Lynn says:

    Still catching up…

    Lunatic Fringe by Red Rider

    I have fallen victim
    to the infite confusion
    that threatens everyone.

    The overwhelmng urge
    to withdraw completely
    has claimed another soul.

    It is waiting and watching,
    lurking and stalking…
    Run before it claims you too!

  11. Fire and Rain by James Taylor

    Long hours on the telephone,
    we talked about things to come,
    Content,until I suddenly
    found our dreams upon the ground.

    Bereft,I asked you why
    but no conscious plan this
    I turned and you were gone.
    It was just a good day to die.

  12. Lyn says:

    The LoDo Beat
    The bus rolled to a stop in the lower downtown
    doors opened to a reggae beat played
    against minor chords of Asian music
    Passengers feet caught the beat, heads bobbed
    The girl across from me texting with one hand
    while hanging onto the balance strap with the other
    looked out the window and commented
    "that’s creative recycling"
    She made me curious to look
    A boy had a collection of metal and plastic buckets
    in various sizes, attached by screws and bolts
    He drummed out the beat with wooden spoons
    An older man wearing a turban
    had the acoustic guitar case open between them
    ready, hoping, begging for tips
    The warning signal blinked, bus doors closed
    And we continued along the route
    their music following in our memories

  13. M Schied says:

    Oceano

    Laughing gulls serene in the background
    Lightly wheeling through the tepid air
    as a breeze reaches a finger to tickle my hair
    A low murmuring vibrato A
    fluid trickle of bubbling sound
    cascades over the strings
    Dialect of pizza and Pisa
    Calming sunsets paint my eyes
    as velvet longing pirouettes down my spine
    What was soothing
    now haunts a Tuscan duet
    Cymbalic waves juxtaposed with a drumming heart
    Echos of love swell, surge
    amass enveloping clouds of tranquility

    CRASHING
    Breaking
    lapping

    Languidness infuses eternity
    perpetually reincarnated
    gulls serenely wheeling through the air

  14. Sheryl Kay Oder says:

    The Easter Song

    “Hear the bells ringing, they’re singing you can be born again.
    Hear the bells ringing, they’re singing Christ is risen from the dead.’..

    Victory.
    Unbounded joy.

    At this Passover time
    I think of my Passover lamb.
    His shed blood was sprinkled
    on the doorposts of my heart.

    The Lord has promised
    He will pass over me
    and all who trust in Jesus,
    saving us from spiritual death.

    Jesus alone could raise
    Himself,
    Lazarus,
    Jairus’ daughter,
    the widow’s son,
    and one day, me.

    No wonder my heart sings
    when I think of this song.
    Hear the bells ringing;
    I’m singing…

  15. Robin Morris says:

    SONG

    I wanted to play "I’ll be seeing you," at your memorial service, but the technology failed and I could only show the slides, which is just as well, because I don’t know if I could have listened to it–the Billie Holliday version, of course, since you had been her fan and I think even saw her once–without breaking down. You were right about the music, Dad, they just don’t write songs like that anymore, songs that can express the longings of millions who are losing their loved ones for a dream of a better world, a world without tyrants sending ordinary folks to gas chambers. You did your part then and now I will be seeing you. Though you are gone for over nine months you appear in my dreams, in different guises: a dapper 83 year old, a bewildered 89. When you appeared last night, I wondered how I’d tell everyone who had come to your funeral that it had been premature. Three dreams now, perhaps the task is done and we can rest.

  16. Lauren Wayne says:

    Piercing

    "Could you wear something that celebrates everything you love, and maybe what your family hates, ’cause that might be what it takes." — "Your Fire, Your Soul," Dar Williams

    [written in my husband's voice]

    It always coincides with birthdays,
    this desire to tag my skin
    with a mark that says,
    Look at me, I’m different from you,
    and maybe a little bit younger.

    Growing up, you told your sons
    they’d be disinherited
    for earrings, but didn’t say a word
    about eyebrows or noses.
    The thing is, I’m past the age
    of worrying over inheritance,
    because I’m past the age
    of thinking you’re rich
    just because you’re my dad.

    There’s a lot I don’t want to inherit
    from you, along with your debts
    and mortgage and bric-a-brac
    pack-rattery. I’m staking
    a claim here, with this pick
    through my face — that I disinherit
    you.

  17. Concerns of the Day

    “Que Sera, Sera,
    Whatever will be, will be
    The future’s not ours, to see
    Que Sera, Sera
    What will be, will be.”
    -Doris Day

    The concerns of the day quickly take hold
    Becoming concerns for the future

    We can only live one day at a time
    But we force ourselves to look to the future

    Try to forget the past
    Try to press on

    Daily routines are forgotten to
    plan, to
    make arrangements, to
    wrap yourself in
    a better life
    a better world

    But

    Life has a funny way of taking the reigns
    Steering you off course
    Sometimes for better
    Sometimes for worse

    But always

    Always

    For the way it has to be.

    -Justin M. Howe

  18. AlaskanRC says:

    Alyssa Lies by Jason Michael Caroll

    Childhood should be
    full of laughter,
    play and love.
    Yet for some this is but
    a fairytale.

    Bruises and scars
    are hidden from view.
    She knows not
    who to trust and if
    she’ll be believed.
    It’s hard to gather
    trust or faith
    when she’s only been
    shown the back of a hand
    or worse.

    Doubts and fear
    are as binding as
    the abuse.
    Some endure
    and live forever
    physically and internally scarred.
    Over time healing
    can occure but some scars
    never truely fade.

    God bless, the others.
    Angles handed their
    wings long before their time.
    No longer do they hide,
    tears flow no more,
    as they turn their faces to the
    light and are welcomed
    into a loving embrace.

  19. Kate says:

    Haunted

    “The constellation of my sisters and brothers spreading out into the darkness”
    Be Good Tanyas “Ootischenia”

    Sometimes when I’m driving another woman looks out from my eyes. I used to fantasize that she was my twin, separated from me when I was adopted. I felt her presence first when I was just a child, riding in the country in my parents car. Everything shifts, the familiar becomes strange, I’m seeing what she is seeing, someplace far from here. And it feels like she’s seeing what I see and my familiar haunts are alien to her. I’m a city girl, she’s country wild. She lives in a green place, halfway up a mountain. At night her dreams bleed into mine, together we drive dark roads winding through the hills, rain-slick in the headlights.

    Music conjures her up: banjos, fiddles, mandolins, anything with a jumpy circular tune, a foot-tapping, get up and dance beat. I don’t know her name but for the length of a song her heart beats an off-rhyme in my chest, and I swim in strange desires, the rhythm of her energy pumping through my veins. For a moment my insides stretch too big for my body, my soul doubling, busting at the seams, my hands beating time on the wheel. I’m edgy with restlessness for what I don’t really know. I’ve tried to hold onto that feeling, to get more than a fleeting glimpse of her life, it’s like movement in my peripheral vision, gone when I turn to look.
    .

  20. priya says:

    A Day Without Rain – Enya

    Not a cloud in the sky
    But even so, life lives
    On, without its Giver,
    Waiting for the day when
    All can finally and
    Very simply lift their
    Faces to the skies, hands
    Outstretched with welcome for
    The cold, soft tears shed by
    Clouds that fade away once
    Their sacrifice is made
    And felt by those who will
    Appreciate it.

  21. Crystal Cameron says:

    Inspired by The Joker by the Steve Miller Band (not the joker of kateri’s poems hehe)

    Cause’ I’m a picker,
    picking pears at dusk
    and selling them at roadside markets,
    constantly wiping away the dust they gather.
    I’m a grinner
    in the tops of trees,
    scattered like light beams
    on a trimmed lawn in spring.
    I’m a lover
    of polished pebbles
    and erosion, of white hot licks
    of ocean,
    and I’m a sinner:
    I’ve pulled the wings off butterflies,
    glued them on to rocks and set them in the sun,
    I waited for flowers to bloom.
    I play my music in the sun,
    too. A small song blown out
    across the mouths of glass bottles,
    wetting the long brown necks
    with my tears.
    Because the flowers never grew,
    rocks never flew.
    I’m a joker,
    I never meant to hurt
    those goddamned bugs.
    Now their twitching, wingless, haunts me.
    I’m a smoker
    of incense and peyote,
    of candle wicks beneath an arbor
    of pale moon mist.
    I’m a midnight toker,
    if you can tell me what that means.
    Sit down beside me, drink from cold
    green jars, amber liquid. Sometimes clear
    depending on the season.
    I sure don’t want to hurt no one,
    with the snaking thoughts
    of my ambition.

  22. Kimberlee Thompson says:

    “You’re the kind of girl who fits in with my world…”
    Bike, Pink Floyd

    You can have paints and pots and jokes
    I can wear capes and faces and tropes
    We can arrive at quarter to none
    and dance at a ball to which only mice come.
    Our pianos will have strings but no hammers.
    Even if we don’t match all the way around
    we can sit on church walls and set up a howl
    find dogs and teach them which way to growl
    borrow the moon and bring it
    to the bank on loan
    oh yes I think we can
    make it work.

  23. jane says:

    Oh my! Since music is my muse, I thought this would be easy, but I found it extremely difficult. The lyrics of the songs I love speak to me in such a way that I get stuck there. I could give you a song lyric for every 15 minute period of my day. In fact, I wake up with song lyrics in my head. Maybe they speak so I don’t have to, but this was hard – so hard, that I made myself do two. Tomorrow, I’ll want to take them both back but for now…

    "Nightswimming deserves a quiet night…"

    Leave work early.
    Take the afternoon off.
    Enjoy your wife.
    Laugh with your daughter.
    Call your brother.
    Dance in the kitchen.
    Sing in the car.
    Get rid of the anger.
    Don’t dwell on the pain.
    Fill yourself with love.
    Live in the moment.
    Live in the moment.
    Don’t waste a second.
    Not a second.

    "These things, they go away,
    replaced by everyday…"

    "Nightswimming" by R.E.M.

    * * * * * * * * * * * *

    "I keep on livin’,
    to keep from cryin’.
    I keep on dreamin’,
    to keep from dyin’…"

    When hope is gone
    Find hope
    When love is gone
    Find love
    When dreams are gone
    Dare to dream
    When life is gone
    Live on

    "You get right down to the bottom of the
    barrel and float back on top."

    "Bottom of the Barrel" by Amos Lee

    * * * * * * * * * * * *

  24. Lorien Vidal says:

    Control (Poe)
    "Don’t you mess with a little girl’s dreams cause she’s liable to grow up mean…"

    Amazing the length of my arm you were allowed to take
    When I wasn’t more than a mat
    All that yelling did good for my next one, though
    You squeezed the boundaries of what I was and could be
    In so tight as to choke
    So I broke

    Wish you could see how much better I am
    Without you

  25. Elizabeth Keggi says:

    To Matthew Falk
    Re: John Cage
    Brilliant! Made my day.

    Elizabeth

  26. Lydia says:

    Fly Me To The Moon

    I dream of having time alone with you,
    away from life’s hustle bustle in a private place.
    Times shared with you are always special,
    as if we are playing among the stars.
    Though we don’t meet often,
    we stay honest and true with each other.
    I adore you more than any other man in this world.
    You take me away to a place out of this world,
    for when I am with you, everyone else disappears.
    In other words, darling, I am true.
    In other words, I love you.

  27. Khara House says:

    I have always told myself I was going to write a song set to Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune … This prompt let me do it. True, in a rush; true, not my favorite, or my best … but at least I’ve done what I’ve always said I’d do …

    ‘Moonlight’

    The moonlight you compose
    Sets my feet moving ‘cross a field
    And my heart dancing on a breeze
    Something inside
    Starts now to wander on the seas, setting me free

    The crescent moon above
    My heart can dance in satin shoes and
    The dark seasons of the sky are
    Making me whole, setting my once bounded soul free
    Gasping, now grasping your sweet and ancient song

    I can hear you now whisper soft secrets, love
    I can feel your lost lingering spirit move
    And when you compose your melody upon moist blades
    Of crabgrass I hear

    Love, I hear love
    Pouring out of your sweet melodious sonnet
    Rain from the stars
    Voice of angels singing to my soul— In my soul
    Hear the music of the moonlight
    Stars … see the stars
    Dancing to your sweet song of the moonlight and now
    Even now
    I can feel your touch and
    Still feel you move and

    Now, even now— If you call to me

    The moonlight hears your call
    And I will follow on a dream
    And I will find you sojourning
    Under the storm
    If I could touch your waning face
    Here in my hands

    I long for memories
    I steal your melodies and
    Keep you here and
    Always near and
    Wait for moonlight … Moonlight … Moonlight … Moonlight … Moon … Light

  28. SaraV says:

    Eight Days a Week
    "Hold me, love me, hold me, love me, ain’t got nothing but love babe, eight days a week"

    My feet start moving on the intro
    Whether I’m at home or on the go
    I can’t sit still when my radio
    Blasts out the tune that I love so
    Eight days a week, a spatial anomoly
    Eight days a week, more time for you and me
    It’s just a simple song
    So easy to sing along
    But it touches me every time
    That’s why I wrote this rhyme

    Comment–love all the poems and writing one every day. Love how much Simon and Garfunkel there are because they were amazing poets. Congratulations to everyone who has long-lived love–my husband and I will be celebrating 20 years this May–and we’re both huge Beatle fans–can you tell? ;-)

  29. I apologize. The song I chose was "MFC" by Pearl Jam. "Leaving Here" was originally done by Eddie Holland, and re-recorded by Pearl Jam, amongst others.

  30. Yoli says:

    LOVING NIGHTFALL

    "Turn me, on never stop. Wanna taste every drop."
    -‘Insatiable’ by Darren Hayes

    The quiet evening.
    Moon shining brightly casts a glow,
    Gently illuminating the night,
    Caressing our skin with pale blue light.
    The silky softness of skin against skin carries us away on an intimate breeze,
    Higher and higher into the night sky,
    Through the clouds,
    Amongst the stars,
    Where we light up our own heaven,
    Together,
    Creating our own universe.
    You and I soar in the heat of our embrace,
    Leaving the world far below.
    Suddenly the world explodes into brilliant color and tenderly we kiss.
    Like slumber we fall to our surroundings,
    But not to sleep.
    Can’t close my eyes when I’m with you.
    There’s too much more we can do.
    So much more for me and you.
    As the moonlight creeps through the window
    Steadily across the room,
    So still we lie.
    Tangled together every breath I take is yours,
    And as I listen to our hearts beat in tune,
    It’s not sleep that invades my thoughts,
    Initiating a warm rush that colors my skin as your lips carelessly brush my forehead.
    Fingertips trace aimless patterns across bare flesh…
    Toes slink along the length of a leg,
    Tickling an ankle…
    A thigh brushes against a naked belly…
    Fingers twist and tangle in hair…
    Your lips reach down to taste mine…
    Closing my eyes,
    We begin to drift…

  31. Darla Smith says:

    Can’t Breathe (No Air by Jordan Sparks & Chris Brown)

    I can’t breathe without your love,
    my whole world is falling apart.
    The minute you walked out the door,
    you left me with a broken heart.

    The day that you told me goodbye,
    was the day you took my air away.
    Please, return to me, my love,
    I’m missing you more every day.

  32. ck says:

    (Day 13 post)

    Smile

    “Smile though your heart is aching.
    Smile even though it’s breaking.”
    –as sung by Jimmy Durante

    It could have been his theme song,
    My father’s,
    To smile even though your heart is aching
    And breaking, and crying and sighing.

    His heart did break, from illness,
    Irreparable cardio-pulmonary breakage.
    And still he smiled.

    On a day I thought for sure
    he could only be dead
    His eyes miraculously opened
    And he faintly implied,
    the slightest tug at his lips,
    “How are you?”

    He had the smile that’s in Durante’s voice.
    He smiled though he felt like crying,
    Smiled even though he was dying.

  33. Maureen says:

    ‘Saltwater’ by Julian Lennon
    “What will I think of me the day that I die? Saltwater wells in my eyes.”

    The Day That I Die

    What will I think of me that day
    when my life flashes before me?

    Perhaps that day
    I will think about all the injustices in the world,
    the wars, cruelty, atrocities
    and think – I didn’t do enough.

    Maybe I will look at how sick the Earth is
    forests destroyed, climate change, polluted oceans and skies
    and think – I didn’t do enough.

    Or I will look at my children
    what they have suffered, and the problems they have now
    and think – I didn’t do enough.

    I will think – I wish I had done better … more …
    but perhaps that day
    I will know that my life, just like the universe
    was ‘unfolding just as it should’.

    Today I am alive
    the sun is shining, birds are singing
    there is love around me, I will do what I can
    and know that I am okay.

    Maureen – from the land downunder
    I’m trying really hard to catch up!

  34. "Go ahead with your own life leave me alone"
    (Billy Joel–My Life)

    It wasn’t my first affair, but it was my first divorce.
    Fall of 1978.
    I was driving down the highway from my disastrous job
    With Billy Joel filling my head
    When that old American Motors Eagle caught fire.
    I grabbed a blanket from the backseat
    (you can imagine why that was there),
    jumped out of the car and opened the hood.
    Flames were all over the engine.
    I just started beating them with the blanket yelling
    "I don’t care what you say anymore this is my life!"
    The flames died.
    I started the car and drove on home
    for the last time.
    The flames were dead.

  35. Great job, people! Hey, Robert, I was waiting for this. I know just what song to do…

    "We Didn’t Start The Fire"
    [i]Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnny Ray,[/i]
    History, such a great thing. TITANIC! DUN DUN DUUUN!
    [i]Studebaker, Television, North Korea, South Korea,[/i]
    T.V. is the best thing in the world! I’m glad they invented it.
    [i]We didn’t start the fire! It was always burning since the world’s been turning,[/i]
    Yeah, I get it, life is tough
    But humans weren’t the cause.
    Other things before us were!
    [i]Mickey Mantle, Kerouac, Sputnik,[/i]
    Huh? Who’s Mickey Mantle? What’s a Kerouac? And what the heck is a Sputnik?
    [i]Children of Thalidomide![/i]
    Missing limbs! NUUUUUUUU!
    Greeeeat. Stupid pills that are wrong.
    [i]JFK, blown away, What else do I have to say?![/i]
    We didn’t start the fi-ah! It was allllways buuuuurnin since the world’s been tuuuuurnin!
    [i]Birth control, Ho-Chi Mihn, Richard Nixon back again, Moonshot, Woodstock,[/i]
    Richard Nixon? Oh, he was President of these United States once! Moonshot is when we tried to get to the moon! One small step for man, one giant leap for–UMPH! *muffled* Mankind….ow…
    [i]Hypodermics on the shores, China’s under Martial Law, Rock ‘n Roller Cola Wars, I can’t take it anymore! We didn’t start the fire,[/i]
    It was always buuuuurnin since the world’s been tuuurnin! We didn’t start the fi-ah! But when we are gone, will it still buurn on and on and on…..

    ("We Didn’t Start The Fire" by Billy Joel)
    P.S. I really DO know what Sputnick is. It’s a Russian spaceship!

  36. Secret Agent Man or
    Why I Want to Be a Spy

    Costumes. I want green contacts.
    I want to wear a wig. I want
    to sneak around inside
    another body. I want to paint
    my face another skin tone and thin
    out my lips with makeup. I want to
    blend sometimes.

    A coat, large, conceals;
    I want my body to represent the slick
    beautiful inside of my soul.
    I want my body for what it can do
    not what it looks like. I want to karate.
    I want to hide. Crawl on my stomach
    in the thick grasses. I want to geisha.
    I want to paint my ideal self
    and pretend I’m pretending.
    The mask I’m wearing is now
    Inside this thick skin
    of body. I wear my weight like
    a prosthetic. If I take it off
    my lacking parts will show.

  37. Jay Sizemore says:

    Ghost planet II

    Something rattles in the pipes
    and drips of this ambient sewer,
    something dark and menacing
    rising up through the fog
    and through the concrete
    and through the heart
    of this city,
    a gargantuan monster
    that breathes like a broken radio
    and speaks to the televisions
    filled with snow

    the planes fly in low
    through the wisps of clouds,
    pilots of gritted teeth
    and goggle eyes
    their engines communicate
    with the beast
    before the machine guns rattle
    and the rain starts to fall
    missiles fire leaving smoke entrails
    children stare up
    at the silver silhouettes
    and come running
    trying to catch the shadows
    there is a moment of peace
    before the world explodes

    there is a bustle of activity here
    buses and cars and taxis
    change lanes, stop and go,
    like blood cells in veins
    business men in suits and ties
    people walking, talking on phones,
    listening to Ipods or nothing at all,
    lights change, the sign says Don’t Walk
    then Walk, the shadows move
    like time lapsed clouds
    the sun sets and rises
    street lamps brighten and die
    the skyline becomes
    an ocean of stars
    a winking sea
    of reflected light
    he opens the door
    to the day
    stretching in the shade
    of his favorite tree,
    making sure his laces
    are tied and tight,
    the air is cool
    perfect for a morning run
    the mist of his breath
    keeping him company
    as he begins, legs pumping
    in a steady rhythm
    to get the blood flowing
    face brightened by the glow
    of a dying stars light
    still full of last night’s
    dreams and the future
    that he will never see

    black leather and dark sunglasses
    she walks out of the crowd
    a pale slick beauty
    a black mamba
    with a poisonous smile
    unsheathing a blade
    like a set of filed canines
    she slinks toward her fate
    all the dancers oblivious
    writhing to the blinking strobes
    shadowy hands waving
    he sits at a table
    his back to her
    perfect for the silent kill
    but she knows better
    even though she can’t see
    he’s smiling

    the enemies stand
    face to face
    seconds spinning out
    like eternities
    the swords collide
    in a fury of screams
    the gathered crowd
    a riot of panic
    that scatters
    like windblown rain
    a voice shouts
    get the door
    get the door
    their bodies now weapons
    of precision flying
    fists and kicks and thrusts
    until the world slows down
    like a dying heart
    as she runs up a column
    and does an impossible flip
    to come within a hair’s breadth
    of being sliced in half
    adrenaline kick starts
    the machines of war
    their hatred redoubles
    going into overdrive
    like a choir of voices
    singing them to doom
    and crimson colored eyes
    their fists spackled
    with each others’ blood
    until the music stops
    and they are both
    impaled
    on folded steel

    chains rattle in the gloom
    and fog of silence,
    the flies buzz
    over the dead,
    littering the streets
    among the newspapers
    and tattered signs
    warning of the epidemic
    that only the computers
    were immune to,
    but their batteries
    can’t last
    forever
    their voices
    are fading
    satellite transmissions
    echoing
    in
    a
    vacuum

    the boy’s feet splash
    through darkened puddles
    his breath erratic
    as he runs
    down the empty streets
    slick with blackness
    he stops at a wall
    glances back
    with eyes wide
    dilated by fear
    and although the shadows
    fail to appear
    he knows they are there
    nipping at his heels
    his legs burn
    his throat is filled with razors
    but he can’t stop
    he has to run
    sprinting
    to outlast the demons
    of memory and nightmares
    that only
    come out at night

    she walks onto the stage
    as the music swells
    the bass drum kicking
    everyone in the face
    she becomes a myth
    shrouded in the smoke
    of cigarettes and mirrors
    gliding up, down, around
    the silver steel pole
    like a phallic testament
    of human obsession
    she exposes nothing
    but a masked husk
    to this room of starving eyes
    and grubby hands
    throwing money
    wadded into balls,
    fingers extended
    to touch a dream
    that doesn’t exist

    there’s a single beat
    that unites existence
    a thread pinning everything
    through the center
    and binding to the fabric
    like bare feet walking
    through overgrown grass
    are connected to the heavy boots
    of the mountain climber
    inching his way
    closer to the snow-capped peak
    his wind burned cheeks
    and watery eyes
    staring as blue and undaunted
    as the sky
    that she sits below
    counting the lines
    in her palm and the veins
    in the leaves
    holding them up
    to the light
    the green glow
    and the scent of summer
    as crisp and new
    as the frigid air
    in the thin atmosphere,
    ice in his beard
    and chapped lips
    cracking to smile
    at the glory
    of living

    the wasps
    are not at war
    with the butterflies
    but they will kill them
    for the sake
    of preserving peace,
    they are not suicide
    bombers
    such as the bumble bees
    that sacrifice it all
    for the gift
    of honey
    they protect their own
    simple insect brains
    that sense the change
    of light and dark
    replicate
    to become food
    for bats

    windows are breaking
    as the explosions
    engulf the air
    somewhere
    a ghost is playing
    the guitar
    in a haunted typewriter
    the sound of dirty
    fingers tapping
    in an decrepit tape recorder
    recording the voices
    of the dead and forgotten
    coming through the speakers
    in slow motion
    the language of need
    speaking
    but the translation
    lost to time

    Armageddon comes stomping
    into the sky,
    an unwelcome guest
    with a healthy appetite
    the silver discs of another
    intelligence,
    causing drivers to abandon
    their cars and walk
    fixated on the unknown
    heads tilted back
    and slack-jawed
    stumbling through
    the traffic jam
    to the epicenters
    of our civilizations
    gathering like ants
    awaiting the focused
    rays of fire
    to stream through
    the magnifying glass
    and hear god
    scream
    silence

    the saws are cutting
    through the hardened trunks
    of ancient trees
    thinning out the foliage
    like a cancer
    or virus attacking a host
    stacking the logs
    separating the canopy
    from the open sky
    like a widening wound
    of empty space
    worms eating the apple
    from the inside out
    bulldozers shoving the dirt
    and stumps aside
    to create more desert
    and the temperatures rise
    the tides rise
    the storms intensify
    until the levees break
    and not even hope
    can survive

    there is no sound
    in outer space
    except what we create
    and the controls
    are set for the heart of the sun
    a suicide mission
    to restart the flames
    of hell
    in order to allow
    heaven’s myth
    to propagate on Earth
    the nuclear thrusters
    propel us further
    past the point of escape
    and the ghosts of our fathers
    are welcoming us
    with a cold embrace
    inside the white out
    blink of an eye
    and the broken promise
    of the future

    the procession drives
    forward in a single file line
    following the polished black
    paint and the memory
    to the hole in the ground
    watching the casket descend
    with a handful of dirt
    and dark umbrellas
    that shield people from everything
    but the fear of death
    or the frozen breath
    of winter wind
    a rose bows in the breeze
    as its petals start to freeze
    atop the altar
    of dew and stone
    a monument
    to the one phobia
    inherent
    with inhalation
    until infinity ceases
    to be an idea
    behind closed eyes

    houses that were once homes
    have turned into prisons,
    streets vacant, abandoned
    except for the tanks
    and gas-masked guards
    that stand on corners
    M-16 in hand,
    martial law enforcers
    of the new age
    the foghorn voice
    of air raid sirens
    signaling the change
    of night and day
    or warning of the next
    terror threat
    the distant hum
    of jets
    overhead

    the world will return
    to the sound
    of music in the night,
    the crickets’ whisper
    and wind in the grass
    sighing through the leaves
    the distant croaking
    of frogs
    on the untainted melody
    of the breeze
    when all the machines
    have stopped.

  38. Corinne says:

    The Needle and the Damage Done (Neil Young)

    And really it is a miracle
    in and of itself that
    we stumble through at all, but

    if I close my eyes and drop into my heart
    it is, after all, each one, every one
    that makes up the liquid that
    is released into the vein when I plunge the needle.

    You, and the lack of you, are the damage,
    that longing without remedy except
    to love and be loved.

    Corinne

  39. Cari says:

    Amazed by Lonestar

    this was my wedding song. my husband and i will celebrate our second anniversary april 29.

    Our first dance as husband and wife.
    We circle the shiny wood floor,
    your arms around my waist, holding me tight.

    Four minutes alone, all eyes on us,
    our eyes on each other.
    "I can hear your thoughts, I can see your dreams."

    My twirling white dress engulfed in your strong arms.
    Our young faces glowing with love, excitement, and happiness.

    I fall into your kiss, the applauds fade into the corner of my mind.
    "I’m amazed by you"
    My love, my heart
    Our love, our hearts.
    I love you.

  40. Jolanta Laurinaitis says:

    I found this one really hard to do as I love all kinds of music, so just to pick one was a massive task! So i also decided to write a little something about my relationship with music as well. ENJOY! :)

    "gabriel" – Lamb

    "i can fly
    but I want his wings
    i can shine even in the darkness
    but I crave the light that he brings
    revel in the songs that he sings
    my angel gabriel"

    I can fly
    To places unknown
    With strength given
    by a song thats been sung
    I have my wings
    That I escape with
    Escape this world
    To see better thoughts
    I close my eyes
    And I’m floating away
    I soar above the clouds
    And naught can reach me
    My Angel watches me
    As I revel in its love
    And sing with my heart
    To cease all time
    I breathe a bit slower
    and faster at the same time
    I rest my eyes
    And enjoy this life
    Though Gabriel lifts me
    I must return to earth
    When the song is sung
    And the record turns off.

    MUSIC

    My passion
    My life
    My one true love
    You have never lied
    You have only spoken truths
    You share your thoughts
    You don’t judge my trials
    You are there to wipe the tears
    You are there to share my love
    I fear you at times
    For the emotions you instill
    Can be too painful,
    Too real
    Too much for me to feel.
    But Music, my love,
    My one and only true adoration
    I would be nothing without you
    I would be nothing without you.

  41. Emily Blakely says:

    Sorry I’m a day late! Here goes:

    Sky above, blue and dotted with clouds
    seems too big to comprehend
    and nearly needs a larger word
    than Spacious

    Farm land stretching for miles
    filled with grains
    amber, and ready to harvest
    send a sweet perfume

    Mountains stretch to heights
    great and majestic
    painted deep purple
    crown America…so beautiful

  42. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    The way my shower behaves

    I can turn it on when I want to
    and though,
    it runs hot and cold
    I control that also
    it’s not so old
    so, I can move the head
    where I want to water to flow
    you’d think I’d enjoy my shower
    all of that great water, still,
    I can’t use it all the time
    There’s the water bill
    And just like the shower
    the bill is all mine. . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer Prompt #14. Thought I would write about an inanimate object.

  43. Tonya Root says:

    Don’t Speak

    "I really feel I’m losing my best friend, I can’t believe this could be the end."
    – No Doubt, "Don’t Speak"

    Three kids in a car turn the song up.
    No one speaks as the song commands.
    Silence is the order of the day.

    Inseperable friends these three
    have been during this most influential
    time of life. Now the boy is leaving

    the girls behind. The song says don’t speak.
    All are dumb. They can’t imagine ten years
    from now they won’t have spoken in ten years.

  44. Jay Sizemore says:

    Sorry this is late. I had to work late last night, and after work just felt like drinking and watching John Carpenter’s The Thing. But here is my attempt at this. I did a stream of consciousness sort of thing while listening to NIN Ghosts. This is just my interpretation of disc one, Ghosts I and II, with another to follow of disc two. The music is so awesome, it takes your mind many places.

    Ghost planet I

    Sunlight ripples reflected in waves
    blowing across the pond,
    he walks alone
    picking up leaves
    his face a stone
    and his hands like chalk
    drawing lines in the dirt
    to find his way back home
    but there’s an alarm
    quietly sounding

    tension builds like static
    a humming thousands
    of insects’ wings
    and a breeze tosses the barley
    like a blonde girl’s hair
    everything is so enchanting
    a haunting image
    burning into the negative
    of a photo destined
    to be lost

    an army of stealth assassins
    are beginning their march,
    sharpening their blades
    on the bones of the past,
    feet splashing through blood
    and mud and tears
    eyes as dark and cruel
    as the empty black of a new moon
    dragging behind them
    a giant coffin
    of rusted hinges

    the record skips
    and skips
    and skips
    at the end of sound,
    the needle out of the groove
    with no one to reset it
    there are two white shapes
    walking like sheets
    through floating petals

    he examines every vein
    and stacks what he finds
    in uneven piles precarious
    drops of rain
    in a pattern
    dropping into a jar
    dink, di-di-dink-dunk, di-dunk, dink
    but the jar is always empty
    so the echo is the same
    a natural music to soothe
    the lonely scientist
    counting leaves

    underfoot, in the jungle
    of grass and dirt and cobweb
    a new language is speaking
    through the mandibles
    of crickets and the fangs
    drinking the blood of flies
    to fill the bodies of spider babies
    the masses of ants
    and mites moving in lines
    in and out of cracks
    carrying food
    worshipping the gods

    the giants’ feet
    of zombies in synch
    moving to the beat
    teeth gnashing
    fingers clawing and clenching
    the steering wheel
    driving to and from work
    driving to the grave
    eating the flesh,
    wiping the blood from the chin
    using the shirt sleeves

    she is alone
    at the window
    in a white gown,
    her dark hair is long
    and her fingers comb it
    like she is waiting,
    the boards of the floor
    collect her footsteps and tears
    everything else is ancient, gray
    falling apart around her

    the guns sound
    the hands clap
    this is the beginning
    of the end of time
    a butterfly fluttering
    through a war zone
    giant machines and gears
    thrumming, pounding steel
    into the ground with iron fists
    windshield wipers squeak
    across the glass
    and no one sees
    the reaper

    clouds stack upon clouds
    growing darker and looming
    before the wind
    but in the distance
    there is thunder
    and a man standing on a ledge
    his hair floating
    in and out of his eyes
    that stare out toward
    everything and nothing

    he’s falling now
    in a slow motion salute
    to the breeze
    when he hits the ground
    he explodes
    into a million birds
    that scatter like pennies
    in all directions
    taking wing

    the seconds tick
    on the clock in the room
    light sneaking in through blinds
    gathering the dust
    the empty bed, blankets destroyed
    the empty chair, jacket crumpled
    shoes and papers strewn
    with clothes in the floor
    and piles of books and music
    there is a faint heartbeat
    a faint whisper
    of the person
    that once was here
    but is no more
    a quiet breath
    a ghost asleep

    in the hive
    the bees work
    and build their little world
    every movement a signal
    and design
    in octagonal architecture
    honey dripping
    into the bear’s mouth
    pollinating the flowers
    and giving the planet its oranges
    feeding the queen

    he opens all the cabinets
    and screams
    there is no medicine
    there is no medicine
    he is losing it
    here in this tiny room
    filled with garbage and sweat
    the voices are starting
    to interrupt
    his wanting

    robots and computers
    working
    working
    LED lights fluctuate
    scroll, illuminate hallways
    the distant synthetic voice
    of the mainframe
    coordinates all things
    an assembly line
    of sparks and wires
    creating the next generation
    bow down
    before the hastening
    of destruction

    but from the floor
    of this pitch black cave
    the cool rock and water
    soothing my skin
    my eyes have adjusted
    and I can see just a glimmer
    of hope
    that sounds like rain

    a million miles up
    in the ions of the atmosphere
    someone stands like the rising
    tide of suns
    before an army of stars
    watching
    all of the fallen
    all of the haunted
    singing the whale song
    of sorrow passing,
    gather in pools of light
    and disperse like sperm
    fertilizing the universe.

  45. Judy Roney says:

    He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother

    “The road is long
    With many a winding turn
    That leads us to who knows where
    Who knows when
    But I’m strong
    Strong enough to carry him
    He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother”
    – The Hollies (and thousands of other artists)

    He’s a Maverick man (the smokes of his choice)due to
    circumstances that brought him to my back patio table in
    Florida. His road went from ownership to burning all his
    bridges. He then begins his dream life, prospecting in
    Nevada in a vein of gold he knew would strike it rich
    but not for him, not now. He works his claim
    for two years and I have a sample before me as I type
    of quartz infused with fool’s gold and other minerals.
    He worked it until he got sick and ran out of money and
    had to call home for help. I’m in trouble Sis, he says
    in a voice I’m not used to hearing, one of disbelief and
    fear. I sent him money to get here. He came home
    where family and friends gather round on his last days before
    the lung cancer shuts off his life in a slow dissolve on the
    screen and I hate that this man who was my protector all
    those years is now a beaten man at fifty-nine. I am his
    caretaker now. I clean up his messes and wipe his brow.
    I’ll have a chance to pay him back for those years he watched
    over me when we were young and he‘s all I had between me
    and a predator world.

  46. Sarah says:

    Oops. I posted my little intro and the lines from the song, and then I forgot to post the actual poem. Here it is:

    So Cruel

    He shook my hand,
    and it felt like the first time.
    Intoxicated by his social ease,
    his laidback ways, I fell
    into the same camouflaged hole
    where others had gone before me.
    But I didn’t see it coming.
    I missed the trap’s carefully arranged covering,
    ignored the puddles at the bottom
    where dirt had mixed with tears,
    pretended not to see the finger marks
    where my unfortunate compatriots
    finally saw him for what he was–
    flawed–and scrabbled out of the pit.
    I should have known.
    That same well, that trap,
    was in his blue eyes
    when he shook my hand.

  47. :Eleanor Rigby: (Beatles / Remade by Godhead)

    "Lives in a dream
    Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
    Who is it for?" – Paul McCartney

    Eleanor and I
    sit by the window sill
    peering out at the world
    never peering back
    We make up conversation
    sweet and chipper cherry
    red delicious conversation
    but the world
    will not converse back
    We have swept the floor oft
    we have ironed every curtain
    we have scrubbed the floor
    till our knees wouldn’t bend out
    and still
    the world will not come knocking
    So when the days chores are done
    when all is filled, folded and flat
    we sit and stare out the window
    hoping to find the world
    is staring back

  48. Sarah says:

    Too many people chose Simon and Garfunkel songs. I was bummed. In my obsession with uniqueness, I had to pick a song by a group no one else had chosen yet. I practically wore out U2’s Achtung Baby album during my first two years of college, and this particular song always reminds of the time I totally lost it over a boy during that period.

    So Cruel

    "We’re cut adrift
    But still floating
    I’m only hanging on
    To watch you go down" –"So Cruel," U2

  49. Pam Winters says:

    OK, seems to be working now.

    First post here (well, second, if you count my test post).

    I had the same idea as Robert, totally independently: to write a poem a day in April. I’ve managed to get something out every day so far, with pretty inconsistent quality.

    My blog is at oncedailyasdirected.blogspot.com.

    I’ve used Robert’s prompts only once (for a "place" poem). But, weirdly, I turned out a poem based on a song on April 7. Great minds think alike, indeed!

    Mine evokes the folksong "Tam Lin," which I know from the singing of Sandy Denny of Fairport Convention. (And it’s long; I usually write very short poems. Sorry to take up so much space.)

    TAM’S WOMEN

    I. Janet

    Janet never rocks her child. Her crèche
    sits on sturdy legs, to keep the baby
    close to the earth. She must resist the pull
    of the father’s people, that fey wobble,
    that hover. His dust still hangs in the afternoon sun,
    like pollen.

    She remembers the rain, the white steed,
    the rider: how she wrapped herself
    around him, felt the magic tremble
    in the soul in her womb. She has had enough
    of magic.

    She drapes her babe in the green
    of fiddleheads in oak shade, huddles, hidden,
    hearthside. She prays to a new god. She stands
    by the cook-pot, the corners of her bare feet
    solid on the stone, cuddles her child,
    unmoved.

    – – –

    II. The Fairy Queen

    The Queen of Fairies spins like a top,
    pingpongs. Spring cleaning.
    Dust upon dust. Her jewels
    are dirty, and no amount of rubbing
    can make them shine.

    Her heart is a hard red bean that will never sprout.
    There is gruel in her belly. In her head,
    the massed buzz of every bee whose thorn
    she has pressed into a man’s flesh
    under her dainty foot.

    She watches her face in the rain barrel,
    sees the shimmer like love, shudder
    across her white brow.

    She gazes out to the road, looks for him,
    believes yet again
    that he can change.

    – – –

    III. Elene

    Janet’s daughter has old eyes.
    She sees the row of white birches
    at the edge of the wood, where dark forest
    meets plowed soil.

    All of her line is gone, like the top of the oak is gone,
    snapped in an ice storm: the body still blooms,
    and, below, a memory of old water.
    Something will never be made right.
    She digs her hands into the soil, like roots.

    She thirsts, like the cat, broods,
    like the dove, wonders, like the hound.
    She is never quite at home.
    Naked, in the rain, she wraps herself in nothing.
    Nothing hides her. Nothing comforts her.
    Nothing keeps her warm.

    – – –

    By the way, I’m really enjoying the range of songs that have inspired people. Music is such a big ol’ wonderful world, isn’t it?

  50. Pam Winters says:

    Sigh…trying in vain to publish my comment…..

  51. Shirley T. says:

    To Where

    Come,
    Follow the tides,
    back and forward,
    ebbing and flow,
    light and shadow,
    rhythm and pulse;
    Ocean wave, lake lapping,
    river run, brook trickle,
    All to the sea and back again.
    See if the world
    lies flat, after all,
    or an arc cascading
    waterfall, drop over drop
    ever after. Choose
    Where to live or
    Where to be eternally.
    ###
    (Corcovado by Antonio Carlos Jobim)

    "Here is my song for the asking…" Paul Simon

    Play me the music
    I’ll make you a rhyme.
    That’s how it always is,
    Time after time.
    Music’s the poetry
    Any can hear,
    Verse the music
    To a listener’s ear.
    The notes of a poem
    falling in tune,
    Speak to the soul
    Like ancient rune,
    While the words of a song,
    What they impart,
    Speed like an arrow
    Straight to the heart.
    Heart and soul meld,
    Together belong,
    Like union of music,
    Poetry’s song.
    Whenever my versifying is done,
    I know then, too, will my song be sung.
    ###

    Shirley T

  52. peggy verdi says:

    The Crow

    The crows, cawing, sounding an alert
    flock to the tops of trees, overlook
    their domain, search for food.
    This crow hops around the yard,
    afraid of the barking dog,
    it hides behind a tree
    jumps away when the dog nears.
    One wing dragging behind
    it reaches the woods, partially hidden.
    The dog with prey so near
    strains at the leash.
    Oddly, the bird chooses cover
    rather than test a bent wing,
    and fail to soar to the sky.

    Peggy Verdi PAD #11
    something that doesn’t fit

  53. KP says:

    “I’ve got friends in low places
    where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away
    and I’ll be okay.”
    -Garth Brooks, “Friends in Low Places”

    Blame it all on my desk, my work is a mess, and I ruined my chances of promotion
    To the meeting I was late, not up to date and now my firing’s been set in motion
    I saw the surprise and the fear in my boss’ eyes
    When I took his dry erase marker
    And when I made a few changes, he said I may be fired
    But honey, he’ll never see me retire!

    Cause I’ve got coworkers with blank faces
    Where the lunch break drowns and the personal email chases our cubicle blues away
    And we’ll be blasé!

    I’m not big on water cooler gossip
    Think I’ll stay away to avoid a pink slip …oh
    I’ve got coworkers with blank faces
    Where the lunch break drowns and the personal email chases our cubicle blues away
    And we’ll be blasé!

  54. Kevin – loved your emotional imagery. AC – wow, thanks for sharing something that felt torn from your heart’s pages.

    I’m still playing catch-up:

    Us and Them
    Pink Floyd

    Crazy red orange yellow blue purple pink
    Fabric thready and barely lit up by the
    Weak spring sunshine through the apartment window
    Carrying dust motes to settle on the quilt
    On us as we turned to each other, our heads close
    In conspiracy, voices held for the reverb and sax
    I had come home to you
    And the Dark Side of the Moon
    With the Nintendo on the floor
    Since we couldn’t afford
    A coffee table
    And didn’t need anything else
    Just us
    No them

  55. peggy verdi says:

    Wind
    PEGGY VERDI
    #9 choose a word

    The wind bends the trees
    nearly to the ground, howling
    like a dog when thunder rumbles,
    lightning cracks the sky
    exposing the earth.
    The wind blows the leaves,
    pine needles from an old Christmas
    tree hauled into the woods.
    It winds up the storm,
    as I wind the skeins of yarn
    into balls to knit the wool sweater
    finished barely in time to wear
    once or twice before winter winds down.

  56. Jacquie Wareham says:

    So let go, jump in,
    what you waiting for?
    It’s all right
    cause there’s beauty in the breakdown-
    It’s so amazing here

    Let Go by Frou Frou

    Let go

    I want to turn the left side on my brain off-
    unclasp the heavy buckle
    that binds my heart closed,
    swing doors and windows wide
    to sun and breeze,
    rush of love in and out;
    I want to live at the centre
    and breathe everything.

    April 14, 2008
    Jacquie Wareham

  57. Carol A. Stephen says:

    Dream Laundry

    Dreams, mere shades
    dissipate on waking,

    ideas lost
    in the black maw, their

    shadows fall against the sun
    halo’d, featureless,

    alter egos of fallen
    angels and patriots.

    Prays that they return
    vibrate in the ear of Jude,

    patron saint of lost causes.

    The day turns
    on its axis of the ordinary.

    The wordspinner mourns, while
    her sub memory stirs

    into fissures of celestial space,

    grasps handfuls
    of light and stars,

    puts them on spin cycle,
    folds into stanzas

    to birth her next sonnet
    in a whimsical word laundry.

    ("Fallen angel,
    casts a shadow up against the sun", from Fallen Angel by Robbie Robertson)

  58. Nancy says:

    Without the bane of MTV
    my musical memories came
    without video. The sound
    from the turntable in the
    huge wooden cabinet left
    me to fill in the pictures,
    a Rohrshach test
    in High Fidelity.

    "I’ve Never Been to Spain"
    brings back images of
    my red shag carpet.
    "Candida" is a van ride
    to the bowling alley,
    our chaperone ignoring
    the necking on the back seat.

    When Emmylou starts "Feeling Single,
    Seeing Double," I’m years and miles away,
    leaving my college dorm, fake ID in tow,
    sign-out sheet falsified. I wish she’d
    thought ahead and sung "Love Hurts"
    with Gram instead.

  59. Essa Bostone says:

    This is the second try…hope it’s not redundant. I have been delinquent and absent due to family pressures, but I’m back on the horse today with your kind permission and indulgence, pretty please.

    Cigarette holder,
    She wigs me,
    Over her shoulder,
    She digs me
    Out cattin’
    My satin doll – "Satin Doll" by Duke Ellington

    DUKE’S SATIN DOLL

    You could almost believe
    That a man like the Duke
    So perfect and charming and neat
    Wrote “Satin Doll” for a real femme fatale
    The song gives off so much heat

    The story unfolds; you can see her
    She’s wearing a shiny red gown
    It’s made of the stuff in the song that he wrote
    She’s a queen, though she’s wearing no crown

    Her elegant arm is held out at an angle
    With cigarette holder in place
    Ruby lips parted; a hint of a smile
    And mischief all over her face

    She looks over her shoulder
    But plays it real cool
    The Duke falls right over
    Becoming a fool

    Can they go out steppin’?
    He imagines the rhumba
    She speaks in the Latin
    He asks for her number

    But maybe the doll’s just a fantasy girl
    Created to fit into swing
    For he penned it with Strayhorn and Mercer
    Could be “It don’t mean a thing”

  60. Shana says:

    A paper-thin heart?

    “Mother, teach me to love with a paper-thin heart”
    paper thin, paper dolls, paper doilies:
    fragile, lacy, insubstantial, decorative

    A paper-thin heart,
    able to love more easily? superficially? move on more readily?
    a heart more sensitive? more responsive to love’s every nuance and change?
    able to shift course as needed? not mired down in a deep, thick Mississippi-mud love?

    But what could be better than a deep, squelching, chocolate-brown kind of love? thick and textured and real and deep?
    Unless it turned to quicksand … suffocation, mired, flailing.

    Paper thin, paper cuts, able to slice to the quick, draw blood
    Paper thin, balled up and thrown away effortlessly
    Paper thin, a symbol of free? free love? easy love?

    A paper-thin heart?
    is that what I want?
    what she wants?
    and would our mothers teach us?

    (Detours, Sheryl Crow)

  61. Vanessa O'Dwyer says:

    Halim – Natacha Atlas

    I first heard your voice
    In a Korean movie.
    But those words –
    Words exotic and foreign,
    I knew,
    Were not Korean at all.
    You caught me
    You spoke to me.
    You entranced me

    With searching high and low,
    I found you,
    You wonderful spirit!
    And better yet I found
    Your Halim.
    Listening to this song
    Over a thousand times,
    You accompanied me
    While I stitched,
    While I stretched,
    While I practiced.

    I noted the rhythm
    And all the instruments.
    I translated your song
    Only to discover
    A treasure in its story
    And in your presence I perfected
    Each step,
    Each gesture,
    Each subtlety.

    And then I shared you
    And your wonderful song
    With my friends
    Old and new.
    With care and honor
    I shared the essence
    Of that song.
    Of that message,
    Of your elemental being.

    ~Khalas~

  62. Interstate

    "Sliding
    Out of reverse into drive and
    We will be turning right
    Then Straight
    Off in the sunset we’ll ride"

    "Leaving Here"
    Pearl Jam

    Out amongst the crazies
    Testing every reflex I have
    Rigorous mental challenge
    Physically taxing
    But oh, the Freedom!

  63. Christiane says:

    Inspired by Miles Davis “So What”

    So what
    If I dreamt of a better day

    So what
    If I wanted harmony

    So what
    If I deserved better

    So what
    Says life to me

    When the day after my birthday
    My car was stolen

    So What?

  64. tim says:

    Barbara Manatee

    how silly
    two adult should
    be excited to hear
    the songs
    yes it was for the children
    but also us
    then by
    and by the time passes
    stealing the memory of the anticipation
    of laughter and innocent joy
    watching a poorly animated stuffed manitee dance
    with larry

  65. JL Smither says:

    Sweet Caroline

    Because she was your ex,
    I agreed to hate her
    without meeting her.
    I even resisted humming
    “Sweet Caroline” near you,

    resisted that swell
    of hand touching hand,
    building images of a choreographed
    urban street dance, all smiles
    reaching out, touching
    me touching you.
    For two years I resisted,

    until you rolled over in bed
    and mumbled “I love you, Caroline,”
    after which our good times
    didn’t seem so good.

  66. k weber says:

    The Highway is a Clogged Artery Through the Heart of it All

    "And you wake up
    to the sound of a horn
    that reminds you
    that you’re not dead"

    — "Traffic" – Chad VanGaalen

    I am well-travelled
    but only between
    the same
    two cities; I am
    a master
    of highway
    hypnosis

    My car
    radio has been
    asleep for two
    years, I have too
    much time
    to think about
    how many
    people are passing
    by with bodies
    in the trunk

    In Ohio
    it is orange
    barrel season: every
    inch of us
    is under
    construction
    with broken
    roads
    and hearts

    In the fast
    and slow
    and stop
    and go
    again
    we are large
    eyesores
    running quickly
    out of gasoline

    And even
    in the right
    direction
    I am headed
    the wrong way

  67. Terri says:

    Is there any way to edit boo-boos after the poem is sent?

  68. Terri says:

    Souvenirs – by Dan Fogelberg

    And here is a sunrise to set on your sill
    The ghosts of the dawn moving near
    They pass through your sorrow and leave you quite still…
    Sitting among souvenirs
    ~California 1971~

    A key to a cabin,
    A matchbook from that
    restaurant in Destin,
    A button pulled form
    your shirt in the throes of passion.

    A poem written in gold ink
    on a leaf that you’d found
    just like the lady from Monterey
    in our favorite song,
    pressed flat between Robert Frost’s words.

    A couple, she in braids, he with long
    hair blowing into his eyes,
    sitting on a on a porch swing,
    The frame is intact, but the glass is broken.

    This shoebox of souveniers, my ghosts–
    They haunt me from the netherlands
    of a past best buried,
    Yes, their sorrow leaves me quite still.

  69. Lisa McMahan says:

    Arms Wide Open

    I’m standing here with arms wide open
    Ready for you to come in
    Waiting patiently for you to return my love
    Anxious for our life to begin.

    The catechism to my soul
    Left open to your touch
    My heart beating wildly
    Because I love you so much.

    Lingering just out of reach
    Afraid to let yourself feel
    Not wanting to risk your heart
    For a love you don’t believe is real.

    My arms are feeling heavy
    Holding tons of empty air
    Weighted down by loneliness
    And a love you don’t want to share.

    I will wait an eternity
    For you to find your way home
    My arms will remain wide open
    Refusing to be left alone.

  70. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    Thank you Iain, I will check out all 3 albums. I have a huge collection of cds, certainly don’t mind adding more.

    Rod.

  71. Jolanta Laurinaitis says:

    This is a really tough one, I think I’ll have to have a real think about it! I love my music so much that it will be tough just to pick one!
    Also I’d love to say a big thank you to everyone for sharing their poems, I’ve been a bit of a silent observer… but before I started this challenge I thought I had lost my muse completely as I hadn’t written in months. But now I know when this month is over, I will be very sad :(
    It’s like you have all become an extended part of my family, I love reading everones poetry and now I can recognise names and styles too.
    Thank you for being a part of my life :)

  72. Iain D. Kemp says:

    As they say in the business: One more for the road, this was a special moment, a special day & I wanted to share…

    I did that!

    Down to the drugstore to be with the crowd
    Can’t get a soda pop for crying out loud
    All day long sittin’ on a stool
    Drinking milkshakes and gigglin’ like a fool

    Milk shake Mademoiselle by Jerry Lee Lewis

    Saturday, just after lunch
    The rush has gone and the diner’s quiet
    The girls clean up, set up, get ready for more
    I’m in the kitchen trying to catch my breath

    I look out the hatch, straight down the room
    Sitting at a high bench, on swivelling stools
    Three young girls with pony tails a-twirling
    Sipping milkshakes, listening to the Killer

    The moment was priceless,
    You couldn’t have scripted it better
    And I turned to my head girl and smiled
    And said “ I did that!”

    Later, same Saturday around 5 o’clock
    A kid’s birthday party, all dogs and fries
    Eight little five year olds dancing on the seats
    Hearing rock´n´roll for the first time

    Donna says she’ll make them sit down
    And I say don’t you dare, not this time
    They’ll never forget the first time music touched them
    I laughed and said “ I did that!”

    The Little Red Rooster Blues Diner & Grill is long gone now & I’m in a different world but that
    was one of the days that made it all sooo beautiful. Way too cool to be real!

  73. Iain D. Kemp says:

    Rod, no worries, I’m a member of a facebook group of people that always have to spell their name! & BTW its Iain! Oh & if you want to listen Wishbone Ash’s best stuff try the album Argus or Live Dates Vol.I. The track I referenced, No Easy Road is on Wishbone Ash IV.

    Robert, hope when all this is done you find somewhere to put all the poems from april so we can go back and read again. Its hard to find the time to read 100+ poems a day especially with the time difference & I’d love the opportunity to re-read them all at leisure, I’m sure others would…?

    Everyone: If this carries on, count me in! Like others have mentioned this challenge has reawoken my poetry genes! Love it!

  74. Mary says:

    People are strange
    When you’re a stranger
    Faces look ugly
    When you’re alone

    They stare at you blandly
    As you go walking
    Silently walking
    nowhere to roam

    The stranger you feel
    The world is surreal
    Eyes peering in
    Souls dismal and bleak

    No one remembers your name
    when your strange
    You’re just the old hippie who needs
    no company and don’t fit into their game

    So I’m strange
    I’m so strange
    I’ll always be strange
    And no one remembers my name.

  75. Shannon Rayne says:

    Both Hands
    ~ Inspired by Ani DiFranco

    I am watching your chest
    rise and fall
    your breath beats a rhythm
    faster than the break stuttered dub step
    rattling the dance floor.

    I wonder is it love?
    Is it drugs?

    I scan for the signs:
    Eyes. Dilating well. Check.
    Voice. Steady, unpatterned, unpressured. Check.

    if I could
    I would take both of your hands in mine
    to look for shaking
    to look for stiffness in your joints, knuckle cracking
    the certainty of both hands

    but I can not hold the hand
    of a man that is using drugs
    you are left unchecked.

  76. Joan Pinto says:

    Robert,
    love the poem you wrote today. (the one in response to the song). lovely lovely lovely.
    Thanks for making my monday morning beautiful.
    Joan

  77. Robert,I just wanted to say thanks for doing this Poem a Day with us this month. I’m really loving the writing each day forcing me to compose whether I’m inspired or not and also enjoying reading everyone’s work. This poem is inspired by "Moon River". After I saw the movie I met my husband to be and we had our first date in the same theater where I saw "Breakfast at Tiffany’s".

    Moon River wider than a mile
    I’m crossing you in style someday
    Old dream maker, you heart breaker
    Wherever you’re going I’m going your way
    Johnny Mercer and Henri Mancini, sung by Audrey Hepburn

    Moon River

    The plaintive notes of Audrey singing
    as she strummed her guitar remained
    in my head mixing with girlish
    anticipation for adventure and love
    Eager to find my "Huckleberry friend"
    your manner attracted me and I knew
    we were destined to be together.

  78. Robert,I just wanted to say thanks for doing this Poem a Day with us this month. I’m really loving the writing each day forcing me to compose whether I’m inspired or not and also enjoying reading everyone’s work. This poem is inspired by "Moon River". After I saw the movie I met my husband to be and we had our first date in the same theater where I saw "Breakfast at Tiffany’s".

    Moon River wider than a mile
    I’m crossing you in style someday
    Old dream maker, you heart breaker
    Wherever you’re going I’m going your way
    Johnny Mercer and Henri Mancini, sung by Audrey Hepburn

    Moon River

    The plaintive notes of Audrey singing
    as she strummed her guitar remained
    in my head mixing with girlish
    anticipation for adventure and love
    Eager to find my "Huckleberry friend"
    your manner attracted me and I knew
    we were destined to be together.

  79. Robert,I just wanted to say thanks for doing this Poem a Day with us this month. I’m really loving the writing each day forcing me to compose whether I’m inspired or not and also enjoying reading everyone’s work. This poem is inspired by "Moon River". After I saw the movie I met my husband to be and we had our first date in the same theater where I saw "Breakfast at Tiffany’s".

    Moon River wider than a mile
    I’m crossing you in style someday
    Old dream maker, you heart breaker
    Wherever you’re going I’m going your way
    Johnny Mercer and Henri Mancini, sung by Audrey Hepburn

    Moon River

    The plaintive notes of Audrey singing
    as she strummed her guitar remained
    in my head mixing with girlish
    anticipation for adventure and love
    Eager to find my "Huckleberry friend"
    your manner attracted me and I knew
    we were destined to be together.

  80. Matthew Falk says:

    John Cage: 4’33"

  81. Lorraine Hart says:

    Into The Mystic

    "…I wanna rock your gypsy soul…just like way back in the days of old…and magnificently we will flow…."

    I couldn’t save you but
    could promise to hold on
    till you asked to let go
    couldn’t give you the
    viking funeral you wanted but
    could sing you into the mystic
    before the wind and the waterfall

  82. Marcus Smith says:

    “Pain is forgotten”

    “under your protection there are no delusions, years fly by, pain is forgotten.” -Carlos Gardel, "Mi Buenos Aires querido (My Beloved Buenos Aires)"

    So many dictatorships preached hope
    but left only broken promises and lost souls
    so many disappeared, so many died
    “The torturers played tango music
    to drown out the cries…”

    Now she is on the verge of rebirth – of hope renewed –
    change is in the air swirling and lifting
    fedora topped suits jousting with flowing red rose gowns
    Carlos Gardel bearing his soul
    “Mi Buenos Aires querido.”

  83. Jaywig says:

    Jabbin Jabbin

    Jabbin jabbin kirroo ka
    Kurra kurra kirroo ka
    (All the birds are calling, Rise!
    Open wide your sleepy eyes …)

    It was sorting through the old yellowed
    sheet music did it, and reading what I wrote
    as you died.

    Memories of this lullaby, others, yours
    and Mum’s harmony, we two girls
    in the room with kerosene lamps,
    louvred windows wide, heat and mosquitoes
    clamouring to reach our sweet skins.
    Heat always won, those oven-ish
    outback summer nights when sleep
    was escape.

    You never sang Jabbin Jabbin in a lively
    way, always the rise and fall of lullaby.
    But at school we got the folk dances:

    days we whirled around the world, stamping
    feet. Winter terms, not summer.
    And the folk songs from books now
    tattered, acid makng them gritty to touch.

    We loved our concerts. I kept so much
    of what you printed to advertise.
    The words and music of alternate universes
    call up a father vital and intent
    on harmony, peace, beauty, song,
    fighting and arguing for it as
    an integral part of school curriculum.
    To open not just our sleepy eyes at dawn.

  84. Bill Kirk says:

    Although tempted to resubmit my “50 Ways” song adaptation from yesterday, today I’ll use “Leaving On A Jet Plane” (Peter, Paul and Mary version) as the song beckoning the muse. It has been a recurring theme during the 38 years my wife and I have been married. The times are almost countless when one of us got on a plane and left the other, sometimes bound for places that neither of us knew exactly where. The latest was a trip to the airport this morning at 4:00 a.m. as my wife flew out to see our daughter and granddaughter. So…

    Jets Just Can’t Fly Fast Enough (To Bring You Back To Me)
    By Bill Kirk

    It’s 3:00 a.m. and now
    It’s nearly time to rise—
    Once again you gotta
    Fly the friendly skies.
    With any luck, the schdule
    Won’t require three tries.
    Oh, won’t you hurry back home to me.

    That’s how we started out
    So many years ago.
    Leaving sometimes
    Even though we couldn’t know,
    When we’d be back
    Or if we’d even show.
    Please just hurry back home to me.

    Just we two then,
    Way back in ’69.
    Soon after Woodstock,
    That’s when I made you mine.
    We just knew that life was
    Gonna be just fine.
    ‘Cause you always hurried back home to me.

    Southeast Asia came
    And jets took me away,
    I left two behind then
    With nothing else to say.
    That eternity was
    One year and a day.
    Then I hurried back home to you.

    Through the years, we seemed
    To cover lots of miles.
    London, Tunis, Rome—
    Yes we had our trials.
    But at last, we’ve now been
    Settled for a while.
    Now each of us hurries back home—to thee and me.…

  85. M J Dills says:

    I’ll rub your feet at the end of the day,
    When you’re tired and all done in.
    I’ll read out loud the daily news
    And let you win at Gin.
    I won’t look when you sop the gravy
    When I make your favorite meal;
    I promise to look the other way
    Even though you know how I feel.
    I won’t point out your graying hairs
    The wrinkling ‘round your eyes
    The extra pounds from all that beer
    I know how to compromise.
    I thought it’d be good to grow old with you.
    We got along so well.
    Seems like whenever I was sad,
    You could always tell.
    You read my like a book, you said.
    I knew your every move.
    We went together like butter and bread;
    A piston in a groove.
    I’m tired of this lonely life
    These years we’ve been apart.
    Come back to me, mi amor
    And bring with you my heart.

    My inspiration was two songs, both on a CD called Johnny Cash, artist’s choice, music that matters to him.
    They are Desperado, by the Eagles, performed by Linda Ronstadt
    and Loving Her Was Easier Than Anything I’ll Ever Do Again, written and performed by Kris Kristofferson

  86. Diane says:

    OK, I’ve got too much going on, so I’m going to post a poem I wrote a long time ago. As a five year old I remember staying awake rewriting "Rock-a-by Baby", but I could never make it work very well. Still, I thought letting a baby be in a cradle that could fall wasn’t very smart. Just before my first child was born, I finally got it right. Hope you don’t mind a lullaby…

    Rock-a-by Baby

    Rock-a-by Baby,
    Safe in my arms.
    Sheltered from danger,
    Protected from harm.
    Mommy, she loves you,
    Daddy does too.
    But, most of all, Jesus
    Takes care of you.

    Goodnight

  87. Angela says:

    "just to lay here"

    "If I lay here… if I just lay here,
    would you lie with me and just forget the world."
    ["Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol]

    this song has a haunting melody,

    yet alluring and enchanting as well-

    that’s why this poem is here.

    it’s so nice to lay together…

    chasing memories and desires;

    watching the world float by

    in the clouds chasing each other.

    touches… tender embraces, warm

    words and promises neverending;

    our time is now, here and now-

    just stay with me; forget your

    troubles and my problems-

    let the music wash over us,

    as we chase this beautiful dream.

    the past is gone and the future

    just doesn’t matter right now-

    we have so much do for sure,

    however, time is not endless-

    this melody of life waits a while,

    but for now it is only you and me.

    ADE 2008

  88. WALK THE DINOSAUR (By Was Not Was)

    Heat exhaustion set in at Mile 2
    (with two more to go)
    I’d ceased to sweat, which was
    good because the white paper sports
    tape bracing the arthritic knees stopped
    peeling, but bad because it signaled
    a step closer to a DNF
    which is Did Not Finish,
    which I Did Not Want to
    tell people happened
    to me at my first triathlon.
    Chills and shakes, rapid
    irregular pulse, dry hot skin.
    Perhaps heatstroke?
    All the others in my age group
    (or wave, as the know-its call it)
    were ahead of me, most having
    crossed the finish line by now.
    For me, for now,
    no choice between running
    and walking,
    and no chance to catch up,
    carefully shuffling up hills and down them,
    singing to myself, all alone except for the
    curious female turkey
    who came out of the manzanita
    at Mile 3 and waited until I passed.
    Ancient bones have no business being out here,
    but here I am, I thought.
    Slow
    and lumbering, resigned to
    being the last of my kind.

    NOTE: finished the course in just under four hours…and as I predicted, last!

  89. Monica Martin says:

    "You got the the degree
    In philosophy
    So you think
    You cleverer than me…" (Help Yourself by Amy Winehouse

    I know you’re tired
    I know you’re stressed
    I know the weight you bear –
    I bear it too.

    I want to help you
    I want to lighten your load
    But you have to help
    yourself first.

  90. VS Bryant says:

    4/13/08 –

    I’ve Learned

    I’ve learned to live without you
    I’ve learned that I was always able to stand on my own
    I’ve learned I am my rock and God has always been my earth
    I’ve learned to love you and not worship you
    I’ve learned that you were only human and therefore had to one day go
    I’ve learned that I am much stronger than I ever knew I could be
    I’ve learned by just having you there for the time you were I was blessed
    I’ve learned to be me no matter what
    I’ve learned to live

    Inspired by the song “Sober” by Kelly Clarkson off of her album December
    Dedicated to my mother

  91. Deb Hill says:

    April 13, day 13

    Because You Loved Me

    I was two an so alone-
    In a please only infant zone
    You saw my need
    and you agreed –
    because you loved me.

    I held your hand the day you died
    praying you would stay alive
    but I survived –
    because you loved me

    At eighteen I had a son
    A beautiful daughter at twenty-one
    I understood what I had won –
    because you loved me.

    The miracles you had me see
    Unseen forces won’t hurt me
    You gave me knowledge carefully –
    because you loved me

    Phone is ringing the child’s alone
    In an please only infants zone
    More calls again just weeks apart
    each child did touched my aching heart –
    because you loved me.

    Ten little feet
    I saw their need
    and
    because you loved me
    I agreed.

    This is a true.
    The song (“Because You Love Me” by, Jo Dee Messina) is Our Adoption song 5 children big and small were adopted together 2001

  92. Tria says:

    handscrawl taped to the drivethru window
    had apologized for the caterpillar invasion
    tufted stowaway crawlers foisted upon gardens
    where Rubber Soul then Green River pour over
    the fence, frowning I poke Dianthus bedders down
    unconscious glimmerings pushed from my throat
    waver billow dive and glide over celadon up to blue
    until windowpane sunlight sends my reflection back
    to ground me dirtcaked sweaty lump of earth

    by Tria Wood
    (after overhearing the mentioned Beatles and CCR albums on the neighbor’s stereo while gardening)

  93. Jeanette J McAdoo says:

    I’D REALLY LOVE TO SEE YOU TONIGHT

    I met a wonderful man named Pete,
    He invited me to visit him.
    When I worked up the courage we did meet,
    It happened one day on a whim.

    Together we were from that point on,
    He said I’d really love to see you tonight.
    Pete made me feel like I belong,
    To me for sore eyes he’s a sight.

    We stayed at home and watched tv,
    Being with him is a treasure.
    What we did didn’t matter to me,
    Because my man Pete is a treasure.

  94. Earl Parsons says:

    I Wish We’d All Been Ready

    An evening quite some time ago
    A concert in New Brunswick
    Woodstock, if I’m not mistaken
    On a cold Canadian night
    The music played
    And the crowd praised the Lord
    Me included
    Although not sure I belonged there
    Until the end
    When the invitation began

    “The King is Coming’ started
    And the pressure mounted
    My hands began to sweat
    Then my brow
    And down my neck
    My heart rate increased
    As they made their case
    For heaven or hell
    If only I could make it through
    This song, I could go home
    But then,
    It went on
    Verse after verse
    Word after word
    Eating at my lost soul
    Calling me to repent
    And give in
    To a Savior
    That I needed to know
    But didn’t
    Or wouldn’t

    Then it ended
    The song, that is
    And several people bumped their way by me
    On their way to the front
    Answering the call
    The call I was fighting
    Could I go home now?

    Then the voice over the loudspeaker said
    “Now is your time….your time to answer His call”
    Then another song started
    More powerful than the last
    A song that hit me hard
    A song that broke me down
    A song that started my feet moving
    Toward the front
    To accept Him
    Once and for all

    “A man and wife alone in bed
    She hears a noise
    And turns her head
    He’s gone
    I wish we’d all been ready.”

    “I wish we’d all been ready”
    A sad song of truth
    About those left behind
    When the eye twinkles
    And He returns for His own
    To take us forever
    With Him
    On high
    That’s where I’ll be
    Because thanks to that night
    And that song
    I am ready
    And I pray you will be too

  95. Judy Stewart says:

    I Hope You Dance

    Dance, I hope you dance
    when you see the first light of day.
    Dance, I hope you dance
    When you feel the first light rain
    Dance, I hope you dance
    when you see the birds fly
    Dance, I hope you dance
    when the sky is gray
    Dance, I hope you dance
    when times are not so good
    Dance, I hope you dance
    when all is good or bad
    because dancing can bring you
    through good times and bad!

    I wrote another Sorry poem so going to share it now too.

    Sorry

    oops, oops, sorry, oops
    didn’t mean to step on your toes
    just trying to get to my seat right over there
    to watch this fabulous movie

    Oops, oops, sorry, oops
    didn’t mean to step on your toes
    as you try to teach me a new dance step

    oops, oops, sorry, oops
    didn’t mean to spill that wine
    on your new white suit!

    oops, oops, sorry, oops
    didn’t mean to be so clumsy
    but I am just so sorry
    and not full of grace!

    just would like to add that I am enjoying this too and like to read what others have done

  96. Ridin’ West

    I stare up at the underside
    of your baby grand piano
    as your fingers draw sweet notes
    from black-tie keys.

    Close my eyes, sink into the melody
    as my fingers dig into the thick carpet.

    This is my favorite place to be—
    at your feet, under the spell
    of the music you release.

    The notes linger and you lean down—
    checking to see how I weathered
    the cacophony of your love.

    — This was inspired by an instrumental (piano) song by Jon Schmidt of the same name.

  97. Sally DiUlus says:

    #13
    My poem is inspired while listening to a remembered song, that still speaks warmly to my heart.

    "Nights in White Satin"
    "Just where you want to be — you’ll be in the end.
    And I love you……………Yes, I love you…………..
    O How I Love you………O How I LOVE YOU……………"
    Moody Blues

    "INTANGIBLE"
    by Sally DiUlus
    April 13, 2008

    Look Up Up Up
    at the sky sky sky
    I’m floating
    On rolling, rocking, rippling sea waves.

    From the shore, from their vision
    Sometimes I’m invisible
    And I hear someone
    Call my name,
    Just to be sure I am not lost.
    I stick my hand up
    to ease their uncertainty.

    Sometimes I feel invisible
    though never transparent,
    no never transparent.
    My thoughts linger in
    Dreamy.

    Focused breath
    Healing energy
    Shines Sun Sun Sun
    On me me me.

    Sea waves – sensation of Love
    I am held gently.
    I am comforted.
    I am twilight.
    I am rain.

    I am BOLD thunder
    When I speak out for you
    Words dance, or climb,
    Or shout from my pen.

    Shimmer, Shimmer
    And I love you……………Oh How I LOVE YOU!!!
    Sally DiUlus sdiulus@cefe.org

  98. I knew that girl too

    “I’ll bet she’s driving in somebody’s car
    “I’ll bet she’s dancing on somebody’s bar
    “I’ll bet she’s screaming like daytime TV
    “I’ll bet she’s not even thinking about me”

    “Crazier” by Fred Eaglesmith

    Hey, I knew that girl too.
    The one you were singing about.
    Man, she was wild.
    We went out once

    For a late Saturday evening dinner.
    When I finally came to my senses
    It was the next Wednesday
    And somehow I’d lost my shoes.

    I remember dancing in a bar,
    In the bed of a pickup truck,
    And somewhere in the middle
    Of a pine forest.

    It was quite trip.
    But I never called her again.
    My knees and my
    Bank account couldn’t take it.

  99. LBC says:

    Winning Glory

    "Glory days well they’ll pass you by
    glory days in the wink of a young girl’s eye"
    Bruce Springsteen

    Basketball
    physical game, mind game, winning game,
    not just a game,
    an all consuming struggle to the pinnacle of success.
    Play the game on and off the court.
    Be on top of your game
    front the post, box out, take a charge,
    sprint to the help, rebound,
    stand alone on the foul line
    she shoots, she scores.
    The roar of the crowd,
    adrenaline pumping,
    fast break, take it to the hoop.
    The buzzer sounds
    game over,
    defying gravity
    the team remains unbeaten.
    Cameras flash
    team pictures,
    smiles through tears,
    the Lady Spartans pose
    arms linked,
    state champion medals around their necks,
    standing for a moment in the glory days.

  100. When I’m 64

    I must remember to remind
    my children not to let me
    wear white anklets and plastic shoes
    not to mention a flowered muu-muu
    even when no one is at home.

  101. Cara Alson says:

    How joyous and surprising to find where the prompts lead us – often not at all where we think. This is a great gift you are sharing with us, Robert. It’s amazing to read all the poems shared every day. Thank you, kindred spirits!

    #13

    Last Promise

    “Stars fading but I linger on, dear –
    Still craving your kiss.
    I’m longing to linger till dawn, dear…”
    – The Mamas & The Papas
    “Dream a Little Dream of Me”

    remains of her dark curls
    and pale pink scalp
    are wrapped in lilac

    her jade-green eyes glow
    searching the sky
    memorizing each star

    medication is offered
    refused with half a smile
    the battle rages on

    “…he may not get here -”
    her wave cuts the voice in half
    she summons energy

    “I’ll wait for him…”
    energy sapped
    she drops to her pillow

    “…almost dawn…
    he promised…”
    she closes her eyes

    a puff of breath
    barely heard
    “a kiss goodbye…”

  102. Susan M. Bell says:

    (Inspired in part by Hurt – Johnny Cash version)

    Feel

    I sit alone, always alone, speaking to no one,
    talking to myself. I cut my skin, trying to feel
    something, anything. Even pain is better than
    this absolute nothing. Can you hear my cry for

    help? You see the marks on my arm. “Why did
    you do that?” You ask. “I don’t know.” My reply
    is quiet. I wait for the yelling. “Shouldn’t do that.
    It’s stupid.” You turn back to your coffee, fixing

    your makeup. I watch you. I want to be you, cold,
    aloof. I return to my room, listen to the music of
    your youth. Old records that try to speak to me. I
    cut my skin, and wonder if these records made you

    feel.

  103. Tad Richards says:

    I wish I could be like
    the guy in Warren
    Zevon’s song
    about jungle work

    parachuted in
    and then they
    parachuted
    out sten gun in each hand

    Africa
    Nicaragua
    a true mercenary
    strength and muscle and
    jungle work

    or steal secrets
    from trusting employers
    like James Mason in
    Five Fingers
    or betray my

    partisan comrades like
    Victor McLaglen
    anything but
    this cold vigil
    this infernal border

  104. Elizabeth Keggi says:

    Love, Virginia

    Caught out running
    With a little too much to hide,
    Running like the wind
    with the dogs tearing at my side.

    The circles that you love
    Dark beneath my eyes,
    They hold other thoughts
    Ones best kept tucked inside.

    Please read the letter
    I nailed it to your door.
    It’s tangled up with my relief—
    You’ll care for me no more.

    Please read the letter that I wrote.
    Please read the letter that I wrote.

    Too late, too late
    To find me in the night.
    Those dogs will lose my scent at last
    When I reach the river’s side.

    With stones in my pocket
    I’ll set out for the sea;
    Those dogs will pace the shore
    Till they lose sight of me.

    Please read the letter,
    I nailed it to your door.
    I’m sorry that I fled this life,
    You made it so much more.

    Please read the letter that I wrote.

    Elizabeth K. Keggi

    This poem is based on, and uses some of the lyrics of, the song “Please Read the Letter,” by Led Zeppelin, later recorded in 2007 by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. The original lyrics are so much better than this pale imitation! To see the Plant/Krauss performance of this song, cut’n’paste: youtube.com/watch?v=JL29_GH91f8&feature=related

  105. Victoria Hendricks says:

    To Give Myself To Love
    based on the song,"Give Yourself To Love" by Kate Wolf

    I say love is what I’m after,
    So I give myself to love
    At least I believe I try to,
    word by word,choice by choice,
    year by year, tear by tear
    I wish it were easier.
    hope to hope, give to give.
    love to love, live to live.
    Sometimes I’m not so sure.

  106. Bruce Niedt says:

    To Lyn Sedwick – Good poem, but you need to correct the first name of Mr. Simon: PAUL Simon is the singer/songwriter, NEIL Simon is the playwright (The Odd Couple, etc.).

  107. Karen says:

    Lonely People

    Eleanor Rigby by the Beatles

    All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
    All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

    Does Anybody Hear Her? by Casting Crowns
    Does anybody hear her?
    Can anybody see?
    Lord does anybody even know she’s going down today?
    Under the shadow of our steeple
    With all the lost and lonely people
    Searching for the hope that’s tucked away in you and me
    Does anybody hear her?
    Can anybody see?

    I don’t think of myself as lonely,
    But I long for my husband to come back
    While he’s away, working in another town.
    When I walk down the city sidewalk I see the confident businessman
    Suited perfectly with his daytimer or messenger bag or attaché,
    And I forget bravado could be a façade.
    From the opposite direction strides the fashion-conscious woman,
    Chatting with an equally trendy lady.
    Sure, they’re smiling and laughing.
    But do they, like I, hide a longing to be understood,
    To be known and accepted in a way that’s rare?
    Last night I listened to women widowed or divorced,
    Women dealing with burdens I know nothing about,
    Burdens they carry on their own.
    Brave women.
    Alone.
    But not lonely.
    Someone walks with them
    Every moment of the day.
    And He walks with me too.

  108. Linda says:

    Corrine (and whomever else…) I already have a small poetry group going in a google group – I can ask the others if they’d like company! I also like the release from the never-ending novel (it helps that my protag write poetry!), although I am not sure I’m up to writing a poem EVERY day after April. Once a week perhaps?

    BTW, I’m the Vitamin P person ;^}

    Holler at drwasy@gmail.com or visit my blog: http://leftbrainwrite.blogspot.com

    Peace, Linda

  109. I admit that I panicked. As soon as I needed to think of a line from a sing, I couldn’t. There are so many! My seventeen-year-old son said, "Okay, then think of a song." I couldn’t. There are still so many! "Okay," he said, "I’m going to give you a line from a song." So I owe this poem, with gratitude, to him.

    Water Also Flows Downhill

    "Sheep go to heaven, goats go to hell" from a song of the same name by Cake

    Because they are soft and pliant, as pillowed
    as the clouds that waft across the summer blue,
    following each other and so easily fleeced,
    they ascend, lighter than air, or perhaps vacuous.

    Shorn of wool, three bags full,
    and any ovine panic, they can crop
    the bluestem and fescue that thicken
    between the bricks of those gold streets.

    The goats can only wink their strange eyes
    and caper down the rocks. They have seen it
    all before, and they look before they leap,
    even when the trail leads down
    from their alpine meadows.

    The grass is always greenest
    in the valley, a lush extravagance
    on the other side of the bridge.

  110. "[soundbite] The way he was, and the way he is, somehow said goodbye.
    [lyrics] Sunrays in your face: You will love me again, in one instant."
    – Front Line Assembly, "Schicksal"

    – – – – – – – – – –

    In One Instant

    His hands were cold, raw, unclean,
    like vegetables before they’re boiled;
    his eyes were too quiet and too blue;
    his chest was inert, soaked and soiled –

    in one instant, they wheeled him away
    and left me in a labyrinth of wires,
    of screaming beeps and lost machines
    of helpless horror and all it inspires –

    I still see the shape of his absence,
    the imprint left on a reddened bed;
    still feel the heat of hospital lights
    and the pain of punchy, puzzled dread

    as I sat, slumped and silent,
    so patient in my plastic chair,
    plucking the petals off a potted plant
    and training myself not to care.

  111. Bruce Niedt says:

    The First Time I Heard “Tomorrow Never Knows”

    Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream…
    – The Beatles

    And I did that,
    as I lay on my bedroom floor
    between ersatz headphones,
    the boxy speakers of my portable stereo.

    I slipped downstream
    as sped-up tape loops keened
    like fantastic creatures,
    and otherworldly flora sprang up on the banks.

    John’s voice, the psychedelic gondolier,
    poled me through this riverworld,
    unprecedented to my 15-year-old ears,
    and when the closing strains swirled away,

    I got up, opened the door,
    and walked in.

  112. Linda says:

    I’ve been listening to Keane a lot lately, and SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW reminds me of a special friend and the secret dreams we share – despite the fact we’ve never met.

    Great prompt… peace, Linda

    —-

    LOVE SONG ON THE INNER LOOP

    “This could be the end of everything…”
    –Keane, “Somewhere Only We Know”

    Wipers smear, taillights flicker red,
    then fade; the world a greasy rainbow residue.

    She sips tepid coffee as the radio
    drones its headlines into tinny white noise –

    Gunman opens fire, Marines press to remove Iraqi
    forces, Turks angry over House genocide vote –

    then segues into scratchy guitar wails
    of unrequited love that curls

    through a grey crush of monotony.
    The familiar yearning flames from her gut

    to her chest, catching her mid-sob. The sky opens;
    God slices through the lifting fog

    in brilliant gilded diagonals; for a perfect instant,
    the City’s towers puncture the horizon,

    shimmer into opalescent minarets, the receding cloudbank
    transmutes into snow-capped pinnacles.

    She smiles through her sip, and her heart
    wings East, over the ocean to another continent.

    To him.

  113. Sara McNulty says:

    Masters of War by Bob Dylan

    . . .”You who never done nothing
    But lie and deceive
    A world war can be won
    You want me to believe . . .”

    They are the Masters
    Sitting behind desks
    Deciding strategy
    For the youth of our nation
    That is the extent of their participation

    So young people die
    Or are maimed for life
    Their brains unable to reason, their
    Blood spilled on foreign land
    In a senseless war no one can understand.

    But do not deign to ask for assistance
    For sorely needed medical treatment
    Or psychological tools to help them,
    So society can deem them normal men;
    The Masters will replace them again and again.

  114. Christa R. Shelton says:

    WILDFLOWER- by New Birth

    I remember the first time I heard the words to this song
    "she’s a free and gentle flower growing wild"
    This song sparks so much within me
    I always feel the soul of the man singing it
    I feel like the wildflower he is speaking of each time I hear it
    I feel like I’m that woman in the garden he so eloquently describes
    There is so much meaning behind the words that he expresses
    The same stirring that I’m sure was within his heart while recording
    is the same whirlwind that surrounds my heart as I listen
    This is one of my favorite songs of all time
    I believe this song honors the plight of a woman like no other
    I was not yet even a woman upon the first time hearing it
    but he gave me a clue into what I could be
    and how I should be viewed and upheld
    and I will always be reminded of this when I hear it
    "she’s a free and gentle flower growing wild"
    that I am
    and will continue to be

  115. Valerie says:

    Smiles in the Streets (I wish I could come up with better titles!)

    Bare-footed, cracked and calloused feet walk up and down
    the street all day for only five dollars.
    With hopeful eyes that long for help and understanding,
    he offers his hand out, grabbing dollars from passing cars.
    It’s not enough, never enough, but five dollars will have to do,
    have to s-t-r-e-t-c-h the entire day to feed his family.

    The children stand out in the street, too, craving
    clean water and food and arms around their frail bodies.
    Uneducated and poor,
    AIDS stripped them of moms and dads, of homes, of love.
    In a small, broken down house,
    three boys share an unclean mattress in a corner of a room.
    The wall next to them is permanently brown, but
    the kids—surprisingly—still know how to smile and sing
    and dance. They form large groups and clap their hands
    to music; they are as strong as the beat, and they raise
    their small hands to the sky like they’re praying together.

    The things we take for granted are the things
    these kids don’t have. Perspective rushes around the corner
    like a train, speeding past us, past us quickly, and then
    it disappears again.

    Oh, perspective—why won’t you stay? If only
    we could all come together in small ways. Perspective,
    you don’t need to rush off like that. You could be GREAT.
    You could help these kids. The broken families who
    still smile and laugh and play in the streets.

    (Brett Dennen – Ain’t No Reason)
    This feels a little disjointed to me, but I guess that’s what revisions are for! :)

  116. halfmoon_mollie says:

    um – my song was Red Winged Blackbird, I meant to make it the title of my poem but, I forgot.

  117. halfmoon_mollie says:

    He is the harbinger of spring
    more so than the robin
    and now I live near
    marshy spots I suppose
    he’d call them fens
    in his delicious
    Scot tinted Canadian
    the one whose trilled
    notes I almost missed this
    morning as I walked in
    not so springlike cold
    but realizing who sang
    I smiled
    indeed, I did
    hear a Red Winged Blackbird
    down my road this morning

  118. Ang says:

    "Photograph on the Piano" was a song on an old 45 that belonged to my parents. I played it over and over when I was a kid and still remember all the words, but I don’t know who sang it.

    Snapshots

    "There’s a photograph on the piano
    And it makes each day worth while
    ‘Cause whenever I pass that photograph
    I have to stop and smile"

    Photo memories
    Scattered around the house
    Baby pictures, birthdays,
    Graduations, Christmas
    Posed in studios, dressed in costumes
    Hiking in the mountains
    Sunsets at the beach
    Vineyards, momuments,
    Waterfalls in Georgia
    Generations of families
    Mixed and blended
    Loved ones now gone
    Someone blinking, little girls pouting
    Blowing a kiss, holding the cat
    A slice of life captured
    Each with a story to tell

  119. Ang says:

    Grace
    "’Twas grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home" – John Newton

    Forty-nine years of grace
    An uneventful childhood
    No stitches or broken bones
    I drove home that New Year’s Eve
    Though I don’t remember how
    Four children,two surgeries
    And a rollover in an SUV
    His grace was over me
    His mercy suffcient
    Now I have to lean on Him
    I’m spent, confused, sad
    Things I tried to control
    I see I could not
    I can not
    I need His grace
    To lead me home.

  120. Carol Brian says:

    I Got a Name
    Like the fool I am and I’ll always be
    I’ve got a dream, I’ve got a dream
    –Jim Croce

    Oh Jim, just when the world
    started to notice you—
    Natchitoches, Louisiana
    those trees at the end of the runway.

    I want you to know
    how many times
    when I needed someone to say
    “Keep on dreaming,”
    you did.

    Carol Brian

  121. satia says:

    The following prose poem was inspired by The Birds’ Turn Turn Turn which was, in turn, inspired by a passage in Ecclesiastes. I am dedicating this to my mother who broke her Bird’s lp accidentally and who has not forgotten the lyrics.

    To Everything There Is

    This is the season of forgetting. You send me emails with details that cannot align themselves with the stars of our past; the experiences you have had that cannot have ever been. Later when I enter your room you look blinking, pulling a memory that will tell you I am your daughter. I read to you from books until you fall asleep and your lids flutter. Do your memories come out to play in your dreams or are your dreams as confused as you are when you lean over my shoulder to try to discern the words you yourself taught me to read when I was the child, confused and grasping to find meaning in the glyphs, trying to remember the sounds of letters. When I visit and your face shows you know me, I forget not to cry and want to say a child being held instead of letting you go ever.

  122. Alfred J Bruey says:

    FLYING

    He floats through the air

    The daring young man on the flying trapeze
    from "The Man on the Flying Trapeze

    Notice that the man floats
    because man does not fly
    because man can not fly
    but if man could fly
    would he be more powerful?
    I don’t think so
    because if flying
    made you powerful
    wouldn’t birds rule
    the universe?

  123. Teri Coyne says:

    Take a Peek

    "She’s got everything she needs, she’s an artist, she don’t look back."
    — Bob Dylan "She Belongs to Me"

    There is more here than what you read
    the truth of fiction is truer

    I cannot say it is you
    I am not sure,
    she is a mother, like you
    and she lived in my heart
    as you did
    and I made her up
    but I made up things about
    you too

    you would prefer
    if I told your story
    the one about how hard
    it was to be you

    it was
    I know

    You worry about what I revealed
    the reflection without your filter
    I’m not sure what you will see
    the mirror grants each of us
    a different view

    If you dare to look
    try to see
    that’s the trick
    of love
    isn’t it?
    not to project
    but to protect

  124. Corinne says:

    Actually, someone else started the Vitamin P thing in here, early on, but it went with a Vitamin P for Pleasure "thang" that I got goin’ on in my life these days.

    I’m up for however we can keep it going. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a big administrative deal for whoever took that on.

    Corinne

  125. joe says:

    Artist: Norman Greenbaum
    Song: Spirit in the Sky

    ”When I die and they lay me to rest
    Gonna go to the place that’s the best
    When I lay me down to die
    Goin’ up to the spirit in the sky”

    One Last Prayer

    The songs we love the most
    Are the ones that strike a common chord.
    Somedays I’ll just kick back
    And give a listen to a few
    About the Lord.

    I’m told since I don’t go to Church,
    I’m wrought with Catholic guilt.
    But I’d rather hear “religion” in my music
    Then in the house He built.

    I hope He takes a last
    request
    on the day that I die.
    Just give me one more blast
    of my favourite,
    “Spirit in the Sky”.

    When they go to bury this feller,
    Then please play a million seller.
    Of all the songs about Him
    I’ll praying that’s the one
    He says
    He loves the best.

  126. Lyn Sedwick says:

    So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright
    (Neil Simon and Art Garfunkel)

    I heard this song on a record when
    I was in college, its haunting, minor
    Key melody, guitar tuned weirdly (same way,
    I think, as a Chad and Jeremy song, Willow
    Weep for Me)–and recently on a CD of a live
    Concert from l969, with Art explaining he studied
    Architecture at Columbia, and dared Neil
    To write it; dared or inspired–what vision
    FLW had–Fallingwater, the Guggenheim, Taliesin,
    I will so sadly say so long to all of them,
    Or just their memories,
    One of these days.

    Lyn Sedwick

  127. Wow, great piece, Rod, very powerful. Thanks for sharing it.

  128. Anahbird says:

    This is a poem I have been wanting to write all week, but it also goes along with a song by Jack Johnson called "Upside Down" which has such a happy-creative-hopeful feel to it that it always reminds me of writing and creativity and imagination. This month has been a long, tough month for me and a lot of people have helped give me hope and inspire me in their own little way, and this poem is for all of them!!

    Muse of Hope

    I smiled
    Truly smiled
    At the end of a long, long day
    First time that day
    When it stuck me
    The token
    Of your silent gift
    Not one for big pronouncements
    Not one for taking credit
    You gave me a little push
    In your quiet helpful way
    Without giving away your intentions
    Until I thought upon it later
    And realized you had fooled me
    Realized you had helped without a word
    Realized that you cared
    More than you cared to share
    And in your quiet way
    You rejoice in your deceiving
    Hiding from me your silent tokens
    And thinking I will never know.

  129. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    Before I go to bed, I promised to post my best poem ever. IMHO that is. Here it is, It was written a year after my daughter was born, during the Rodney King Riots, you can see some of that in the poem. I am sorry, this was not inspired by any songs Robert, I hope it is ok, that i post it. It was however inspired by the Rodney King Riots and a situation in my classroom with a child going through a gender identity problem. As well as the kids who made fun of him and taunted him on a daily basis.

    Humanity’s End

    It takes us by surprise
    Slowly entering our lives
    Wearing many a form
    Sometimes it hides
    Behind a disguise
    Of hurt and anger
    Through labels it will justify
    Acts of inhumanity
    Through prejudgment
    It will generalize
    Breeding the insanity
    Through generalization
    it will intensify
    In popularity
    and though it may grow
    In intensity
    it will spread
    In density
    In ways we can stop it
    Instead, we readily adopt it
    Then, when someone dies
    in the madness
    Everyone cries in the sadness
    about issues of equality
    But, the solution to this cancer
    gets lost in the pollution
    of it’s rhetoric
    and in the end
    we all have to answer
    to the damage created
    Not, by those who were hated
    But, by the hatred…..

    © Rodney C. Walmer 2/9/96

  130. Matthew Abel says:

    Elias – Dispatch

    They sit with hope
    It shines in their eyes
    at every desk
    at every corner.

    The hope shines long
    as they hear of heroes pasts
    and lives not their own
    and people who care.

    They look at now
    not thinking of then
    or before
    But what comes now.

  131. Good night, Rod, hope you feel better :)

  132. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    I am off to bed, I am not feeling well, but, I will respond to all posts directed to me, after 3 tomorrow, when I return from work. As well as write a new poem or so for the next prompt. Have a great night everyone.

    Rod.

    Robert, I am sorry we are using so much bandwidth here, but you have created something really good, and strong here, we just want to make sure it continues. You really, should be proud of yourself, you have started something wonderful in my opinion.

  133. Oh ok, I stand corrected. Corinne is it ok if I call it Vitamin P? :)

  134. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    John that sounds like a great idea, lets see what Robert wants to do first. Corinne coined Vitamin P. You would have to ask Corinne.

    Perhaps we could all take turns coming up with prompts. Or we could use several ideas from different people, then have poems written about as many of the ideas as we choose.

    Rod.

  135. If we don’t end up continuing it here, I have an account over at ning.com that I can use to set up a social network for it. Just so we don’t clutter things here, send me an email and let me know if you think it’s a good idea. Rod, since I think you coined it, can I call it Vitamin P?

  136. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    Wow, the beginning of that last post disappeared.

    Corinne, I also find writing a poem a day a great way to just release the tensions of the day. There is certainly something very exhilarating and freeing, about writing a poem or two.

    If Robert would like . . . See prior post.

    that’s what should have posted.

  137. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    If Robert would like we can continue here, if not, we can always set up a newsgroup email thing in Yahoo, I currently belong to many, and get emails from each daily, there is also the chat room scene, in which we can meet at certain times, however, that may be difficult for many of us, as we all have lives outside of the computer.

    Rod.

  138. Michelle H. says:

    I hope you don’t mind, I don’t usually do two, but the one about my Dad made me feel a little down. I needed to end my day with something a little lighter.

    My children gladly sing of what their ears do hear,
    Birds and wind and lakeshore waves crashing on the shore.
    My children gladly sing of what their eyes do see,
    Rocks, trees and animal tracks pressed into the ground.
    Nature is our playground, our home
    Wonders to be discovered and be retold
    Our earth through children’s eyes and songs I love to behold.

    April 13, 2008
    © Michelle H.

    “This Is My Father’s World” Amy Grant
    My Children and I love this hymn and I will find them enjoying the outdoors singing this hymn and then making up there own verses to add to it.

  139. Michelle H. says:

    Dad

    Music
    He could sing and strum a guitar,
    “Wabash Cannonball” comes to mind
    He could hear a song on the radio,
    And come home and play it on the piano

    Humor
    He always had a good joke to share
    A contagious and ready smile
    A laugh that was a part of you

    Brave
    He was handsome and strong
    He packed a Colt 42
    He was our very own Colombo.

    Discipline
    When he snapped his fingers
    You stopped and gave him your full attention,
    Knowing you were in the wrong.

    Cancer
    Then in the prime of life
    Cancer came calling.
    He fought a valiant fight.
    It only took eleven months
    To go from 39 to 80 and then
    Softly and Tenderly Jesus was calling.

    Last Conversation
    You called me on my birthday
    But then you got confused
    When I tried to correct you
    You felt flustered and abused
    We both hung up in dissatisfaction
    I knew it was the cancer and chemo
    And the end was very near
    But I was only sixteen, sweet sixteen
    Bitter-sweet sixteen

    Death
    When the end came, there were tears and relief
    Mountains of memories and grief
    Softly and Tenderly Jesus was calling
    You who are weary come home.

    April 13, 2008
    © Michelle H.

    Softly and Tenderly was my Dad’s favorite hymn. It was sung at his funeral.

  140. Corinne says:

    Abbey Road is on my top ten, too!

    I am also interested in having this continue. I’ve not written a lot of poetry before this, but am needing to get into writing every day on my very neglected novel. Would love a forum to post a poem every day. Vitamin P, for me, where the P stands for Pleasure. It’s energizing.

    I forget whose poem it was where she bacame the muse with the grapes, but that was WAY oool.

    Corinne

  141. Cheryl Wray says:

    And because this one really inspired me I had to do one more. (Such sweet, sweet memories I have of singing his songs with my Dad!)

    “Peace Train”

    (“Now I’ve been smiling lately, thinking about the good things to come; And I believe it could be, something good has begun.” Cat Stevens)

    Dad and I sang it in the car,
    on the way to school,
    every morning.
    And, as a child,
    it sure was easy to believe.
    (Of course,
    it’s easy to smile when
    riding bikes,
    drinking from honeysuckles,
    and singing with a cool dad is your life.)

    Life gets older,
    things get colder.
    and bills,
    and arguments,
    and “what are we going to do?”s take over.

    And yet, in my mind,
    I can hear our voices.

    They sing to me as a reminder
    that life is oh so good.

    Especially when you still have a father,
    and three daughters,
    who you sing Cat Stevens with.

  142. Maria Jacketti says:

    After "A Kiss from a Rose" by Seal

    I love these pop rose ditties;
    in fact I collect them like jeweled ear-plugs,
    most days, I make a poor representative
    of this famously female flower,
    not one of the pastel-oozing Peace variety,
    not a even an exotic, rare ‘Blue Girl,’
    A kiss from me
    would have to be more cacti-like.
    The Venus fly-trap makes survival sense.
    Still I will continue to try
    to make my many rose bushes bloom:
    for within their breath, that ancient perfume,
    there is truth protected by thorns,
    like tiger claws.
    And I want it.

    Maria Jacketti

  143. Kateri Woody says:

    "This move may erase the troubles in your head
    Or expose the absence of your soul."
    – Carbon Leaf "Paloma"

    "Diatribe of Love"

    Tangled in this web we weave,
    spun from words and actions
    that were not of our design
    but completely in our control;
    stuck together, cemented by
    our heart’s desires to see
    each other done in, so very
    enchanted I am with the idea to be
    your ultimate, penultimate
    ruination, destruction, demise…
    your disgust urges, drives me
    to only worm my way in closer –
    such an elusive subject full of
    opaque and translucent lies
    combined and hidden beneath that
    disgusting, perturbing mask
    complimented with a shadow so large
    it reaches just past the eclipsed
    sunlight that gets caught on
    the edges of my smile –
    so glad to see that scowl aimed
    at me, aimed to cut and slice
    into my psyche so easily
    but deterred by years of exposure
    that I only welcomed with
    open arms and a tattered
    needy heart; I cannot truly
    blame anyone else but myself
    for this wretched, endless
    tete-a-tete that will one day
    end only in tears of mirth.

  144. Cheryl Wray says:

    “More”

    (“Though I know I’ll never lose affection for people and things that went before. I know I’ll often stop and think about them. In my life I love you more.” The Beatles)

    One—
    Oh-so-cute Bobby F.
    We’d play basketball at recess and I’d sigh
    only as a first grader could.

    Two—
    That boy in junior high (I think his name was Scott?).
    Blond curls, blue eyes.
    But, of course, I was oh-too-shy to talk to him.

    Three—
    My best guy friend,
    who made it impossible to listen to Chicago songs
    without
    my heart racing
    and my mind wandering.

    Four—
    In college,
    I began to consider that someone might be The One.
    Your sweet smile,
    Your gentle heart
    Made me think it might be you.
    (and, dammit, the way you wore those jeans didn’t hurt)

    Five—
    Oh!, The One!
    So relieved to know I’d never
    have to date,
    have to wait
    again.
    Until you left…
    ring and daughter and all.

    Six—
    When you least expect it,
    It comes and takes your breath away.
    A dance,
    a kiss,
    a touch,
    an honesty,
    an opening up,
    a promise,
    a commitment,
    a staying.

    And, so, those that came before
    will always be.

    But in my life…
    it’s you.

  145. maeve63 says:

    On daze, like this
    In times like these
    I feel an animal deep inside
    Heel to haunch on bended knees
    – Sisters of Mercy; The Corrosion
    Backward and laying on the beach
    singing in the distant sun
    the arrival of new flesh
    Still passion absorbed into the night
    a hooked moon on breaking glass
    the loneliness of domination
    The kind of love one waits for
    beckoning the day but falling into
    something else entirely
    Howl for the ever after
    and turn the shell upside down.

  146. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    I hear what your saying John, but without the challenge to motivate me, I am not certain I will be able to just write off of prompts that I make up.

    luc, Abbey Road is one of the best albums ever IMHO.

    Rod.

  147. luc says:

    the shins are cool too!

  148. luc says:

    abbey road kicks ass!! got to be one of the best records ever.

  149. Kimberly K says:

    River, river carry me on
    Living river carry me on
    River, river carry me on
    To the place where I come from
    Peter Gabriel "Washing of the Water"

    big river
    moves without moving
    feel the constant
    flow

    muddy water
    logs float along
    blood flows
    in my river veins

    running water take me
    somewhere else
    leave, without moving,
    myself behind.

    downstream
    there must be relief
    here, only suffering
    pulls me under

    water womb
    calls me back
    peace exists
    somewhere

  150. Don Swearingen says:

    Deep Kim-chi, sure enough

    "Oh my that’s damning stuff,"
    They’d said, and it seemed rough
    From where I sat, they’d caught me by the scruff
    Of my neck and said I wasn’t so tough,
    And all my bravado and bluff
    Didn’t mean a wisp of fluff.

    And I’d better come clean.

  151. Dee IKJ says:

    Young Love 4/13/08

    “April Love” by Pat Boone

    A springtime dance
    Young love, forbidden love
    “One little kiss will tell you this”

    Strong attraction, mutual attraction
    Young love, forbidden love
    “One little kiss will tell you this”

    Bittersweet the slow dance together
    Young love, forbidden love
    “One little kiss will tell you this”

    Long ago, but not quite forgotten
    Young love, forbidden love
    “One little kiss will tell you this”

    Sweet innocent memories of one slow dance
    Young love, forbidden love
    “One little kiss will tell you this”

  152. "I have always been somewhat prolific, but in spurts. There are times I don’t write for months"

    I’ve always had the same problem. For a while now, my goal has been to be able to consistently bang out at least one a day and this challenge has helped me a lot with that. To keep it going after the month is over I’ve been making list of any ideas/prompts that come to mind. I doubt that I’ll be writing anything unrelated to the challenge until it’s over, so the list should be nice and long by then.

  153. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    Robert, it is almost half way through the month, I have to tell you I have truly enjoyed this. I am hoping that you can find a way to keep it going in some way shape or form after this month is over. I am already missing it, and it’s not over yet.

    The interesting thing about this is, I have always been somewhat prolific, but in spurts. There are times I don’t write for months. With these prompts, I find I am writing more then ever. Perhaps those of us, can find a way to meet online after this challenge, and continue to remain friends. I know I would like that, I would hope others would as well.

    Second interesting point, my wife is finding some(not all) of my work from these prompts to be some of my best work ever. Though nothing I have written to date has been better then a poem I wrote about the injustice and inhumanity of intolerance. That poem is called "Humanity’s End" if anyone is interested I will certain post it. I used to have a website with much of my work on it, but since I was reluctant to share, no one visited, and Geocities closed it down.

    Lastly, Id’ just like to say, I feel that in this short time, I have gotten to know many of you through your work. I feel in some ways closer to you, then I do with friends I have known for years.

    Iian, great poem!!!! I don’t know who Wishbone Ash is, but after reading your poem I will look into their music. I have to confess, I am primarily a country fan. Especially that old classic whiney stuff, that everyone else hates. :-)

    Rod.

  154. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    Iian, I am so sorry. As an educator, I often mispronounce kids names, or they mispronounce mine (intentionally on their part). I would never do that to anyone intentionally. I just hope you accept my apology man.

    Rod.

  155. Rodney C. Walmer says:

     Fantasy Life

    He met her online
    For her
    He gave up his job
    for which he worked so hard
    all for a good time

    She was like a wisp in the wind
    Going from man to man
    for her a relationship would just begin
    and she was out the door again
    leaving behind someone trying to understand

    He read the note she left behind
    It said she was leaving
    and little else
    she didn’t even bother to sign
    the only one he had been deceiving
    was himself
    into believing
    she was the perfect find

    She was a strange girl
    they had a good time
    then she went back into the world
    all they really had in common was their sign
    he would return to his former employment
    beg and plead, for their enjoyment
    Go back to his wife
    resume his former life
    make promises, he probably won’t keep
    then dream about her, every night in his sleep. . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer 4/13/08 Inspired by the Cat Steven’s song “Wild World”

  156. Lori says:

    You Found Me

    "You’ve won my heart. Now I can trade these ashes in for
    beauty, I’ll wear forgiveness like a crown." ~ At The
    Foot of the Cross By Kathryn Scott

    My life was in ashes as I wandered.
    Attempting to find purpose but finding
    pain and sorrow in it’s place.
    The outside looking okay, normal even,
    but the inside swimming out from under
    waves of depression every morning,
    hoping to just get through, to survive,
    to make it one more day. Wanting
    to find joy in the sun, and the love of friends,
    but feeling trapped in Sylvia’s famous bell jar.
    Looking out at the world from inside my mind.

    Here you found me.

    Slowly, gently, You drew me out, with Your great love.
    Pursuing me, as a man pursues a woman he desires and loves.
    Showing me who You are. Revealing Your heart for me.
    I didn’t understand at first. I thought I did.
    But You wanted so much more than I thought I had to give.
    I was afraid. Afraid of what You wanted.
    Of why You would want me. Still,
    You never gave up, You romanced me
    until I finally understood. You wanted all of me.
    I didn’t have much to give but when I gave myself to You,
    You made me so much more. You changed the ashes to beauty.
    You gave me freedom. You made me Your princess and
    showed me my purpose. You are my first love,
    My Lord and my God.

  157. Rebecca says:

    Insomnia

    “It’s late and I’m feeling so tired/ Having trouble sleeping/ This constant compromise/ Between thinking and breathing” Trouble Sleeping, Corinne Bailey Rae

    The hot pillow no longer
    Caresses my cheek as racing
    Images explode my exhausted
    Neural transmitters
    Prompted always by a restless thought
    Undisciplined monkey mind
    Needs training like a recalcitrant puppy

    Sleep keeps no company
    With manic mental gymnastics

  158. Linda Brown says:

    Day 13 – song (“I Only Have Eyes For You”)

    Romantic and young, with more of my life ahead
    than behind, I thought you were all I’d ever want or
    need and I never dreamed that you would lie to me
    or cheat on me or that I’d leave you, run away to
    Nashville, write country music, and have a nervous breakdown.

    We called it the “glub glub” song, a non-romantic
    title for a foolish girl like me who’d given
    you her heart and soul and body in a time
    when “nice girls didn’t.” The summer
    made me tanned, and the nights
    made me heady and your kisses
    made me bold. We danced to “I only have eyes for you”,
    while you were planning your future:
    making money, being a success, having a trophy wife
    and breaking my heart without so much
    as a second thought.

  159. 3 AM

    "It was 3 AM when I heard the sound"
    Jonathan Coulton-"The Big Boom"

    By the time we heard the sound
    it was already too late.
    We knew that more were bound
    to suffer Michigan’s fate.
    In the mindless din of screams
    and stray car alarm peal
    we watched as the stuff of dreams
    brought a nightmarish ordeal.
    The rising of the sun
    just made the sight more appauling
    as we heard that one by one
    all of the cities were falling.
    Now forced to move by night,
    just one thing is understood.
    We’ve all given up the fight,
    hope is now gone for good.

  160. Iain D. Kemp says:

    All dressed with some place to go…

    Watch me join the circus
    Watch me steal the show
    There ain’t no easy money
    There ain’t no easy road

    ……………………No Easy Money by Wishbone Ash

    We were all dressed up, Keith MacDonald & me
    Sports jackets, best trousers, polished shoes
    I laugh now but we even wore ties
    Huge knots and short tails
    It was 1973 after all

    We were heading for our first adolescent adventure
    A twenty-five minute train ride into Manchester
    Let’s not even talk about the last train home… can you dig it?
    We were just 13!
    We were going to our first Rock Concert
    No parental supervision, we were so Cool
    We looked like private school geeks (we were!)
    We had no idea

    Off the train and a short walk to
    The Manchester Free Trades Hall, we got the first clue
    No-one else was smart/casual
    Everybody was in denim and leather
    The air was thick with a sickly sweet odour
    (Found out about that in’74)
    We queued up, got in and bathed, nay! Wallowed in the atmosphere

    Some one shouted: Walley! And Walley! came the reply
    We were too nervous and oh too conspicuous to join in
    I can’t remember who the support act were
    Can you ever? but for sure it was one of the few times
    I sat through them
    Future years would see me and the guys in the bar
    Chugging a case of Newcastle Brown Ale
    ‘Til the main event started

    Even in the cheap seats, way up high, the Balcony
    (they called it the Gods) it was electric
    We jumped and sang and cheered and clapped and shouted
    The sound was amazing, the loudest I’d heard
    And we were there, in the same room as our heroes
    The weren’t just posters any more,
    Not just photos in an album sleeve
    They were real

    They played The King Will Come and Blowin’ Free and
    All our favourites except No Easy Road (which needed horns).
    It was heaven, up there in the Gods
    We were ecstatic, stupid in our preppy clothes but overwhelmed
    By joy and love and peace and rock’n’roll
    Literally dancing on the seats in the encores we were sweating For ten men each
    And singing all the way to the train and all the way home and All the next day
    And, for me at least all the way to today.

    We never ever dressed up for a concert again, our mums bowed to
    Our superior fashion sense and ripped denim and
    Patch covered jackets
    Become the order of the day
    And the next time the tickets were down low, near the stage
    And I shouted: Walley! And someone shouted back

    But no gig was ever quite as exquisite or quite
    As heady as the first
    And Wishbone Ash never played quite so loud or for so long
    And no-one ever made me dance on the seats in the encores
    And I wonder whatever happened to Keith?

    Rod, Thanks for your comment yesterday. By the way its iain like ian only Scots, not Lain. Don’t worry, none taken!

  161. Liza says:

    All I want

    Sometimes I feel like were strangers
    other times I see a glipmse
    of the one I loved who knew me.
    Where has he gone?
    My heart cries at the thought
    that we’ve lost interest in each other.
    "all I want
    is a memory or two
    like the ones I had with you"
    All I want is to go back
    to those cherished times we shared
    without a thought of the past
    because it was new and wonderful
    I want us to be okay
    as I look at you while turned away
    busily typing on the keyboard
    not even glancing my way
    as I long for those fingers
    to want me just as demandingly.
    Sigh, will there ever be a time
    that I don’t regret the past hurts?
    All I want is to let go of the pain,
    but in so doing will we lose each other,
    or will we gain prespective?

    All I want by Stephen Bishop ( a song from the movie All I want for Christmas)

  162. Rox says:

    “Showers washed
    "All my cares away
    "I wake up to a sunny day
    "’Cos I love a rainy night”

    -Eddie Rabbit, “I Love A Rainy Night”

    Washed Away

    Rhythmic water pounding, clean scent of
    Trees and wind and asphalt;
    Cracks of light pulse from sky to ground
    And thunder thrums in my chest.
    I grin, loving the rainy night.
    I wander back inside, slip under piles of blankets,
    And drift off to contented sleep
    As sounds and light grow
    Fainter and fainter.
    Sunshine inches up over the mountain;
    Day breaks, fresh and clean
    Outside and within.

  163. Luckiest
    “I’m sorry, I know that’s a strange way to tell you that I know we belong, that I know I am… the luckiest.” –Ben Folds

    I feel like I’m apologizing more and more
    these days for the past I treasure, but,
    I’m sorry that I defaced public property
    to propose. I’m sorry I thought the best
    way to explain how you’ve affected me
    was to write a poem about erosion (you).
    I know it may not’ve been the most tactful
    approach to a proposal, calling you erosion
    then graffiti-ing up Balboa Park that Thursday
    when Nepalese police shot labor strikers
    entering Katmandu, and the Solomon islands
    rioted deep into the night, but you said yes.
    The only explanation for the Nepalese
    and the small island’s full-scale riots I can figure
    is that we offset the global equilibrium, somehow,
    with the weight of exuberancy I carried
    as we walked to the Prado, engaged.
    We left the world slightly off-balance.
    And I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous,
    when Ben Folds claimed to be the luckiest,
    when the backyard was dimmed to table-candle
    light, and we swayed to the music, half-dancing
    and half just feeling the world rushing us toward
    tomorrow, and the next day and the next day,
    and I swear, it’ll take an icepick lobotomy to remove
    that moment from the tight clutches of my brain.
    So don’t even think about it, Ben,
    that song belongs to me now.

  164. Susan M. Bell says:

    Laural – Your poem about "Feeling Groovy" brought back memories. It was the first song I learned as a kid. My teacher in 3rd grade (I think) used to play it for us in class, and we would sing along. Thanks for the trip down memory lane.
    -S-

  165. Omavi says:

    *I posted this to the wrong date originally .. lol*

    Just Numb

    “I turned to look but it was gone. I cannot put my finger on it now. The child is grown, the dream is gone. I have become comfortably numb.” – Pink Floyd “Comfortably Numb”

    As the feelings drain from negated fingertips
    And the feeling that we need to live
    Only comes into a complacent being
    Only begins to requisition that lack of feeling
    Wondering why I need to feel but I refuse to feel
    And feeling is just the remembrance of what is
    And feeling is just a façade of what your will believes
    And feeling is just a soliloquy and a story forgotten
    I don’t want to feel
    I don’t need to feel
    I don’t want to awaken from this negation of feeling
    Happy to experience this expanse of nothing
    Ecstatic without really knowing
    The means or methods of that thing
    Comfortably numb
    Because that’s the way of being
    Don’t want to feel happiness
    Anger
    Joy
    Or being
    I really don’t need love or affection
    I just want silence to be my king
    And the blood retracts from my wanting skin
    Not wanting to feel
    Never wanting to steal the light from being
    Never wanting to even recognize
    That to live
    Is too truly want to live
    I just want to be numb
    I just want to be allowed
    To forget that life is moving

  166. "Let’s Get Loud"

    Jennifer Lopez did good with this song.
    Describing with music the deepest thoughts
    about the ways we shall do with our lives,
    about the ways we can make it shine
    with much freedom around us, peace and love.
    All the lines in that song seems such as spawns
    with brigt lights and a positive message
    it does not matter the dots in our age
    the fire from our body will make us young.

    From the heart and soul we need to get loud
    to be what we want and to spread that sound.

    Every minute that goes by is a blow
    that slices away life from our skin
    and we need to be prepared from within
    so see our days for long time to glow.
    Her song it’s life more than a single show
    that gives me power for the days ahead;
    every word is a path, a reddish blaze
    giving me the sparks to a brighter dawn.
    to take my freedom and to be my own.

  167. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    Not sure if I post 2, they can both be inspired by the same song, but here goes.

    Just a Little Peace

    You may think them mindless grunts
    Let me be blunt;
    You’d be surprised
    they’re well trained and organized
    to them this just isn’t any war
    they know what their fighting for

    They’ve left behind lives
    some have left behind pregnant wives
    They don’t want their unborn child
    to grow up without a father
    they’re there, because someone’s gone wild
    endangering the safety of what they believe in
    so many don’t seem to care,
    when what they are living,
    is worse then anyone’s worst nightmare

    They’re not just there because
    they are there fighting for a cause
    They don’t expect you to believe
    they are certainly not that easily deceived
    At the very least
    they deserve our respect
    not that, it’s something they expect
    their only hoping for just a little peace. . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer 4/13/08 Inspired by “If I die before you wake”
    http://www.axpdf.com/wake/lyric.htm Written by soldiers in Iraq, fighting for our freedom.

  168. Susan Reichert says:

    Lost

    Ever felt lost unable to find yourself.
    Searched everywhere but could not
    be found. Were you somewhere
    inside of you hidden from view.

    Could you not see where you might be,
    are you blind? Stand still, take a deep
    breath and you will find amazing grace.
    Then look closely inside and you will
    find that which you are seeking.

    (Amazing Grace)

    Susan
    April 13
    Day #13

  169. Mike Padg says:

    Rise Against – Prayer of the Refugee

  170. Mike Padg says:

    It echoes rather coldly,
    The voiceless from beyond,
    In the neverending agony of sorrow and regret,
    They’re forced to carry on,

    We wash our filthy hands,
    in blood bled from their sea,
    and the foulest stains are cleansed,
    though they will never be,

    Jealousy gives birth to a hope resenting flame,
    Fueling the burning pyres,
    of the ones we need not name,
    and we fear the power,
    of their coming storm,
    It rides a chilling air of vacant smiles,
    and unadultered charm.

    Silver streaks of moonlight own the night,
    Borrowed from the sun,
    and in the gaining strength of twilight,
    What was many,
    Now is one.

    A child stands alone,
    Against their violent shore,
    In the face of squalling winds and rain,
    Hurled from the approaching storm.
    A tiny arm is raised,
    in protest to this siege,
    As righteous as our J Gov,
    and our love shared for his Beege.

    Innocence and beauty in the face of such a fury,
    Casts shadows across the darkest night,
    In a place where war becomes necessity,
    When everyone is right,

    Blasting bolts of lightning
    streak the stricken sky,
    Illuminating the dark of night,
    and it makes the voiceless wonder why.

    …we still refuse to die

  171. Sue Bench says:

    In the Garden
    (my dad’s favorite song)

    Dad was a gardener;
    Plants thrived in his care.
    Veggies to feed us,
    and iris so fair.

    God called him home early,
    to live by his side.
    I was just a young child.
    and this I’ll confide,

    The loss was so great,
    I got lost for awhile.
    I missed dad’s garden,
    I missed his smile.

    Time heals the wounds though,
    along with God’s love.
    I know Dad’s in heaven,
    watching o’er from above.

    Now in the garden,
    I reflect on Dad’s life.
    Jesus is there too,
    I feel no more strife.

    I come to the garden
    we walk there, all three.
    Joy all around us,
    Dad, Jesus, and me.

  172. Glenda Widger says:

    Going Home

    Inspired by "Blue Bayou"
    (Roy Orbison & Linda Ronstadt)

    The ancient Cyprus stand patiently.
    Their branches , gnarled with age ,
    draped in tattered gray shawls of moss.
    Gators float lazily in the sluggish pools,
    waiting for dinner to swim by.
    Catfish snuggle into the muddy creek bottom,napping in the heat of the day.
    Here and there a sunbeam slips through the dark green canopy.
    The small shack is dark..listing slightly on it’s wobbly stilts.
    It is afternoon on the Bayou.
    Quiet , sleepy , waiting…for me to come home.

  173. Phyllis Elswick says:

    "Beautiful Prayer"

    In the Bible we read of a beautiful prayer.
    Prayed with anguish, love and despair.
    He knew what had to happen, He was ready to go,
    but His human side was scared as we all know.
    Jesus prayed ernestly, but all in all,
    He knew what He had to do to save us all.
    The ultimate sacrifice, Jesus was it,
    The lamb of God, He did not quit.
    He went to the cross for me and you.
    To save us all from darkness and gloom.
    It’s up to us to accept it or not,
    But, as for me, I will not stop.
    Loving Jesus, my savior is He.
    My home in heaven is waiting for me.

  174. patti williams says:

    Southern Paradise

    Inspired by Song in C by Cary Hudson

    “…takes a swig of whiskey
    And decides
    He says boys
    This here’s parardise”

    The smell of catfish frying in the hot oil
    Hushpuppies bubbling up to the top
    Fills the night air with a heavenly aroma
    Making the men hungry.
    The beers iced down
    Getting colder and colder,
    Better and better
    Making everybody thirsty.
    Jimmy Ray picks up his guitar
    Plays a song about his dog.
    Some of the men want to tear up
    But don’t.
    They shake their head instead
    Grab one of those cold beers,
    Some a nip of whiskey.
    Because most of them knew that dog.
    Songs like that cut straight to the matter,
    No doubt about it.
    Jimmy Ray picks up the pace a bit,
    Plays a song about his truck, the girl that left him.
    The men really like that one.
    She was such a bitch.

    The night goes on
    Them sitting around the fire
    Cooking up good food
    Playing songs about life
    Enjoying their southern paradise.

  175. Carla Cherry says:

    Inspired by "One Is The Magic #" by Jill Scott

    "So many times I defined my pride/Through somebody else’s eyes/Then I looked inside and found my own stride."

    A Poet

    As I sit here,
    I’ve no company
    except the heat.
    The only sound,
    is the spinning blades of my fan.

    There is no one to ask
    if this poem is good
    before I click on print.

    If you want
    to share
    there is the risk
    that your work
    has far to go.

    Critique can feel
    like being
    run through
    with a sword.

    Sometimes
    I’m the only
    one
    who gets it,
    so
    I’ve learned
    to take what I can use
    and throw out what I won’t.

    My voice,
    my choice.

    It begins,
    then ends,
    with me.

  176. Toni says:

    Artist: The Righteous Brothers
    Song: You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling
    Divorce One – April 13 – Sunday

    The twiggy, backstabbing bitch stole my husband.
    I’ll never forgive her. I hate him.
    We’d had a helluva ride before he dropped me.
    “Our marriage has run its course.” He said.
    I wasn’t savvy. I trusted him.
    His butt had been visiting right under my eyes.

    I missed him. Mist cradled in the vales between nose and mouth.
    He had had a clear, winking smile.
    Divorce is simple, clean, and silent in the dawn.
    It was better this way, no deals, no involvement.
    Made me wonder why the hell I’d hung on,
    Why I wasted last summer trying to catch a marriage.

    The time and experience hadn’t been worth much.
    I felt dirty, lonely. He had taught me a few lessons.
    Divorce is expensive, and hard-core misery.
    At mediation he was talking nonstop,
    His bright teeth clenched with effort.
    He was jacked high near his lawyer’s seat.

    I could practically feel the burning strain in his knotty thighs.
    She moved well, with little visible effort.
    He was seasoned, and his deep, rhythmic snort made me wish
    I could break him cold, tear out the muscle, which I had once loved,
    A thought that kept me going when
    Divorce is mud, ache and shit.

  177. Just want to say all the poems I have read thus far are just great, love reading all the poems and the feelings.
    Debra

  178. Rod,
    Thank you
    I love writing poetry, in fact my first poetry book is going to be published soon.
    You are right, I think that songs and poetry are so much a part of our lives.. I’ve been with my husband almost 22 years and that song still gets to me.
    Debra

  179. Pearl says:

    ugh, (no irony here) sorry.
    I pasted that into wrong day. should be for day 12.

  180. Pearl says:

    wallflower unblossoming

    she’s a dreamer’s right uppercut
    her apology is a flicker, twitch of finger
    of hand in lap under table top
    a small intake of breath, a head
    ducked more to torso like bird’s
    oil-slicked one, would flap but is
    too largely dejected. no one draws
    in the intent or the person to circle.

    she doesn’t even register as being
    present, all attention ping ponging
    between those who speak audubly
    not those who shrink back in apology
    for being. sorry is in the lid
    eyes that don’t lift to meet
    challenge, don’t check that her mouth
    has been heard, the feeble piffle.

    she did speak up, by letter of
    law of self, with that tensing
    subvocal buuuut. it counts as
    participated. sorry, sorry
    sorry is an article to gloss over, the
    the next thing you skim, a speech affect
    you forget you hear until it is recorded
    or replayed by a mimic, like a throat
    cleared on stage, or using y’know

    in every sentence. the trace of regret
    of every choice every made makes
    an almost self-parody. the bowed down
    gaze makes a dom out of any, asks
    to kick her from her self
    perpetuating, perpetual caged pace

    reflexive recoil from touch, hanging
    at the edge, never leaving or coming,
    a clutched fist that spasms
    open to forced relaxed. she is
    utterly caught up in the sleep
    of trying to be polite, fit in
    which she does like air
    slightly stale. others go
    out for a breath of fresh.

  181. Corinne says:

    YAY! I’ve been wanting a music thing, too!!

    Voir un ami pleurer (Jacques Brel)
    translates into: "watch a friend cry"

    what if, all that mattered was
    to get and remain connected,
    heart to heart, no
    such thing as strangers?

    All the pettiness he sings about
    would drop away, and not have occurred in the first place
    tenderness would run rampant,
    bullets would become extinct.

    It is that way anyway, despite
    our belief in otherwise.
    and all the struggle to get there,
    [once we get a glimpse of it]
    is hugely irrelevant, and quickly
    becomes light like fairy dust,
    and giggly-silly.

    Until then, I will wipe your tears as though they are my own,
    reveal my heart relentlessly, and
    keep on turning away from anything that is not about seeing
    You, Now, Here.

    Corinne

  182. Gene McParland from Long Island says:

    Started off thinking of writing on a specific song, but then decided not dedicated this poem to a specific song, but to the process of having the courage to sing our own songs of life.

    Lip-Synching to the Songs of Life

    Are you still so fearful,
    that you cannot even lip-synch to the songs of life?
    Where is that sense of adventure and wonderment
    to stray from the beaten pathways of life,
    and pick wildflowers from the hillsides?
    to close your eyes and soar on the back of a dragon
    through the clouds chasing wisps of vanishing fairy dust;
    to lick the morning dew from honeysuckle flowers;
    to roll down a hill in childlike abandonment.

    Why do we instead, refuse to free our silent voices;
    open our chrakras; close our eyes;
    throw back our heads and sing;
    sing the song of life with joy and freedom?

    Why?

    Hey you know, we might make a mistake,
    sing off-key, forget the tune.
    So, at best, we only mouth the words, and
    let the choir of life carry the hymn; just like in church.

    But wouldn’t it be great,
    if we found the courage and self love
    to release our energy from the clutches of our egos;
    free our voices to sing loudly and joyfully
    the song of life, not giving a damn
    how it sounds to others or our ego.

    I dream one day to be totally free.
    To lie on that hillside, and
    compose my own life-tunes and words.
    To ride on the back of that dragon,
    sipping on the nectar of honeysuckle,
    while filling the skies with my songs.

  183. Iris Deurmyer says:

    Bridge Over Troubled Water

    Who would have thought one song
    Could have influenced me that much
    So many times I have sang it
    And it still can make me cry

    Years of living and loving
    And yet your words say it best
    "Sail on silver girl, sail on by
    Your time has come to shine,
    All your dreams are on their way."

    This silver girl is sailing still
    Sailing into my destiny
    Because I have someone to turn to
    When I am weary and feeling small

    This song is a summation of my life
    I have many miles yet to sail and yet
    Troubled water or calm, I know
    I will weather the storm with you beside.

  184. Justin Evans says:

    Highway 147 Blues

    God said to Abraham, "Kill Me a son"
    Abe said, "Man, you must be puttin’ me on"
    God said "No."
    Abe said, "What?"
    God said, "You can do what you want, Abe,
    but the next time you see Me comin’ , you’d better run."
    Well Abe said, "Where You want killing done?"
    God said, "Down on Highway 61."
    —Bob Dylan, "Highway 61 Revisited"

    Just last week George Bush got the call from his God
    and put a halt to the troop withdrawals. It was
    the 2,493rd time George interceded on our behalf,
    decided what was best for us all, best for his vision.

    Almost seven years ago this nation started down a road
    which has navigated us into dark territory, a place
    which has no map or compass. With no end in sight
    we have all but given up on finding the exit ramp.

    In less than a year George Bush will hand off the wheel
    to this car we call The United States of America, gas prices
    three times what they should be, even if you care for the earth
    and want it to outlast this latest so-called road trip.

    Now, driving the back roads between the small towns I knew
    as a boy, the distance between this place and that
    has shrunk, and the difference between this road
    and the road I only read about in books is smaller, too.

    In the end, I think it all comes down to this: We are all
    driving the same road, and numbers, like George Bush
    would have us all believe, don’t really mean a thing, and maybe
    the answer might be to just get out of the car and walk.

  185. Laural says:

    Nostalgic Feeling

    Have you ever heard this song?
    I asked my students.
    No, never.
    “Feeling Groovy”
    unwinds through the morning.

    “Where did you find it?” I ask.
    He says, “In the drug store.
    I had to buy the CD. I went
    To college with this song
    I can’t stop playing it
    Over and over.
    They’ll like it if they
    Hear it enough.”

    “Who’s it by?” the students ask.
    “Simon and Garfunkel,” we breathe
    together. A moment of silence
    and “Hello, lamp-post, watcha knowing?”
    floats in the cool air, acoustic
    guitar notes, falling like chimes
    around the voices.
    “Life, I love you,
    feeling groovy.”

  186. A.C. Leming says:

    “Father of Mine”
    Everclear

    i almost wrecked my truck
    i almost drove off the road
    the first time i heard this song
    the first time i heard this refrain

    “i will never be safe
    i will never be sane
    i will always be weird inside
    i will always be lame”

    i flashed onto the relationship i don’t have with my father
    he didn’t walk away when i was ten years old
    it’s as if he was never there at all

    i knew instinctively i would have to show interest in
    his hobbies in order to spend time with him, this man
    who ached for a son and ended up with five daughters to ignore

    when he took the village boys camping, we were included
    as an afterthought, piled in the boat amid the fishing gear

    the favorite kid in his extended family, the one whose wedding he
    paid cash to attend, not his daughters (i refused to pay for him)
    but a kissing cousin, the one who found my younger sister
    so “purty”

    a boy

    the one he wished he’d had to play with
    while his daughters grew up and away from him,
    certain we were never good enough to
    deserve his attention

  187. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    Debra, that is sooo nice. I know that many have certain songs that tie into their relationships. I know my first date with my first wife, there was "Just the way you are" by Billy Joel. now happily remarried for 14 years, that song still evokes emotions from me. Which is why I don’t play it when my wife is around. :-)

    That is the wonderful thing about a good poem, although it relates directly to the poet, the poem can also be related to by the readers as well.

    Rod.

  188. Connie says:

    Jesus Loves Me

    Jesus loves me this I know
    For the Bible tells me so
    Little ones to Him belong
    They are weak but He is strong.

    Jesus loves me this I know
    For Mrs. Hill told me so
    In tiny chairs just off the ground
    She led us singing round after round

    Jesus loves me this I know
    For my mother told me so
    Though in my teen years I wasn’t sure
    Did Jesus love me anymore?

    Jesus loves me this I know
    For my pastor told me so.
    A desire to know, in me burned
    So of the Bible and love, I learned

    Jesus loves me this I know
    For a cute guy told me so.
    While wife and mother, problems grew
    Would the love of Jesus see me through?

    Jesus loves me this I know
    For His Spirit told me so
    He began to prove it right from the start
    What was in my head, is now in my heart.

    Jesus loves me this I know.

    Jesus loves you this you know
    For right now I’m telling you so
    But you can take the Bible off the shelf
    And read John 3:16 for yourself

  189. Kevin says:

    Remembering the Rain

    "I kissed you in the water,
    and made your dry lips sing" ~ The Walk by The Cure

    I want to be that rain,
    falling down, your lips,
    your sing, your song, my love.
    The concert, midnight,
    rain and Robert, singing,
    our hearts stopped beating,
    I want to be the remember,
    the rain, the you touching me.
    That song is us, and sing we did,
    music rains with wonder
    on souls open to the night,
    blisters the mind
    with wisdom. And Robert,
    pushing back bangs insane,
    he made our eyes,
    and saw the Japanese Babies
    living inside. We wander
    in the moonlight,
    become that song he sings,
    my veins, my lungs, my life,
    I remember his rain, your lips,
    that wondrous night.
    With that song in my lungs,
    I am an instant,
    I am remembering everything.

  190. My British Tour Diary

    “On our trip to England I noticed something obscene.
    People still actually give a shit about the Queen”— “My British Tour Diary,” Of Montreal

    I nearly didn’t make it out of England.
    Who knew daylight savings time
    Was an entirely different weekend?
    David was off to get us coffee,
    And when he returned,
    I was already heaving trolley
    Across Heathrow.

    This was only the year 2000
    So people let me cut in line,
    My tears carved out a path,
    And I scurried through the terminal
    Twenty lanes away from departure.

    That was my second time. I knew
    To bench myself at Wagamama’s,
    To arrive midday at Zoo Bar
    Only to be turned away at dusk
    Because of a rain poncho.

    David made me laugh
    As he exposed himself in the shade
    Of the millennium dome as we walked
    Barefoot back to our B&B,
    A curry causing me to convulse.

    I had to phone when I returned stateside,
    He told me of some club-side encounter,
    Some bet at uni making him question us,
    I sobbed a continental whimpering.

  191. Here’s my poem

    Inspired by the song" Feels So Right" by Alabama

    Feels so Right
    Has become our song,
    Our love feels so right,
    For so long.

    You sing to me with gentle, loving words,
    All I hear is feels so right.
    The sweetest sound I’ve ever heard,
    Feels so right.

    Our love my dear,
    Feels so right.
    Throughout the years,
    Feels so right.

    There’s a story behind this poem: My husband & I have been together almost 17 years and on our first date he sang the song "Feels so Right" by Alabama to me, and we he did I fell in love with him right then & there.
    So I wrote this poem for him for Valentine’s day 2003.

    To my darling husband David Judson Elliott

  192. Rodney C. Walmer says:

    Worth fighting for

    It’s so easy to throw in the towel
    when things don’t go your way
    someone may grunt or growl
    two loved ones, are ready to call it a day
    never realizing they have so much more
    when they are together
    then they do apart
    after all, some things are worth fighting for

    A half a world away
    young men and women fight for us
    they wake each and every day
    not knowing if it will be their last
    yet, here we look at them in disgust
    upon them doubt we cast
    when they are fighting for you and I
    so, that we can life free and in safety
    these men and women live and die
    they face atrocities
    that would make any sane man cry
    They fight for this country shore to shore
    because they believe some things are worth fighting for

    Men and women fight and play childish games
    calling each other names
    tearing apart the fabric of this country
    Big business plays it’s money games
    outsourcing jobs,
    taking the pride out of American made
    no nothing’s the same
    America’s angry
    losing jobs blindly,
    makes the truth hard to see
    who do we take the anger out on
    not big business, nor the politicians
    We take it out on, those who’ve gone
    taking up positions
    fighting a war,
    though not their’s personally
    they believe some things are worth fighting for. . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer 4/13/08 Inspired by “If I die before you wake”
    http://www.axpdf.com/wake/lyric.htm Written by soldiers in Iraq, fighting for our freedom. This url was sent to me by some friends, these are unknown soldiers, who wrote this song while in Iraq fighting. The song is incredible, very moving.

  193. Ute Lemper sings Lili Marlene

    on my friend’s MySpace, my friend
    who speaks with humour and courage
    of her hair falling out and body slowing.

    The singing swells and fades, rises again,
    deep soft sweet notes, crescendos, and then
    at the end quietly chilling: "Death is a Master
    in Germany," she says. Bill who is dead used to love

    that song, Lili Marlene. His father sang it
    after the war in Holland; how strange
    they all loved that song of Germany, the Allies.

    And I love it too, in Ute’s perfectly controlled
    voice and diction. She plays me like strings
    and transcends her own artifice. I am taken beyond

    the pain of my breaking marriage, the awkward
    rapprochement with my son by the man who is dead,
    and my friend’s journey of illness and recovery.

    Many friends this year are falling seriously ill.
    "Doc" who clears entities tells me, until December
    we have to stay strong, after that the energy will turn.

    © Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008

  194. Bled, Shiver, Alley
    (traditional folk tune)

    This here alley is ours, and you’re knowing
    it’s inside our turf by a mile.
    If you try to take over this alley,
    you will have to get past me and Kyle.

    Come, I’ll hit you. besides if you shove me,
    you and Jason can’t take me and Lew,
    We’ll all have a big fight in the alley
    You can’t win, you know that it’s true.

    You won’t think of the alley, your breathing
    is shallow, you just can’t break free
    Will you think of the bad choice you’re making
    by trying to meddle with me?

    So if you are seized by the notion
    you think you can take what is ours,
    just remember how you bled in the alley,
    and I won’t have to send your Mom flowers.

  195. Cheryl Wray says:

    I LOVE this prompt. Can’t wait to work on it later (and read everyone else’s!!)

  196. THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM SONG

    Not being Don Quixote with his wooden sword
    That did battle with all that was not right in the world,
    I promise nonetheless to try to live
    The chivalrous life, hold doors for women,
    Never abandon my dreams or play down love
    As pastime or game. And as foolish as it may seem,
    I will stand undaunted when others laugh
    At me because I waved back at windmills
    Or I took the part of the unpopular underdog
    Or I swore to love you and you alone
    When and after I am laid to my rest
    And living somewhere out there
    On that reachable star.

    #
    © 2008 Salvatore Buttaci

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