April PAD Challenge: Day 17

Before getting to the prompt, I think it would be nice of us all to send a little goodwill in Elizabeth Keggi’s direction. Her poems have been highlighted a few times already this month (on days 1, 2 and 5), and she’s having surgery today that will force her into a game of PAD catch up later this month.

Thinking of others is always beneficial–to both yourself and those you’re thinking of; in fact, thinking of others has a ripple effect that often spreads beyond the initial parties. Even in poetry, it is sometimes a nice exercise to consciously take ourselves out of our poems.

So today’s prompt is fairly straight forward: Write a poem in the 3rd person. You can describe a scene, an event, whatever. But there’s to be no use of “I,” “me,” “my,” etc.–not even “you” or “we.” No, keep yourself completely out of this poem. I’ll leave the subject of your poem up to you.

(Note: There is a way, of course, to include yourself. You can write about yourself as “he” or “she” depending on your gender. If you would normally write, I woke up in the morning, then for this prompt write, He woke up in the morning. It’s an effective trick for people who just can’t stop writing about themselves. This method also distances the poets from themselves, which can be interesting.) 

Here’s my poem for the day:

“Time spent with boys”

The clock erupts with noise
distracting him mid-sentence.
Eight o’clock always surprises
him as he reads stories to his
boys–both propped up on their
pillows and probing for answers
to the story behind the story,
as well as the intentions of
the author. He tells them his
best guesses and avoids making
things up–most of the time.


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193 thoughts on “April PAD Challenge: Day 17

  1. S.E. Ingraham

    The Reluctant Pilot

    This was not at all how he thought it would be
    He wasn’t sure what he’d expected
    But this horrible sick feeling of regret and remorse
    Had little to do with the fevered, holy enthusiasm they’d all been sharing
    In the meetings when they met in the small cramped rooms
    Or the few times they’d dared to gather at the mosques
    He was so sure they were right to do this and now he’s so sure they are not
    But it’s too late, too late, it’s way too late
    And there’s no way back and he wishes he could
    Just please turn this plane around.

    He knows he should never have left the cockpit
    Never have gone back and looked at the passengers
    He hadn’t meant to; he wasn’t sure how it happened, it was an accident
    Or maybe Allah wanted him to see, before he died, what a mistake this was
    That little boy, young, so like his own little brother
    He was watching a live TV news show, and together
    He and the child watched footage of the first plane hitting the first tower
    The boy, probably thinking he was viewing a cartoon, giggled and clapped his hands in the otherwise hushed cabin of the plane
    He looked up at him so innocently, saying,
    “Look! Look!” Pointing his chubby fingers at the death taking place on the screen before them
    And as his sore heart beat wildly in his chest, the pilot knew that within a very few moments
    Their plane, in all her silver glory, would be joining the other, and all would be lost
    Lost, lost — all would be lost.

    S.E. Ingraham

  2. Laurie Kolp

    Jake and Sadie

    A dog named Jake
    is brown and black,
    medium is his size.
    His fur is short,
    shrill is the bark,
    beautiful are his eyes.
    Jake has a friend named Sadie,
    a yellow lab is she,
    quite old and spent,
    but heaven sent;
    Frick and Frack are thee.

    Jake and Sadie
    play in the yard,
    running this way and that.
    Together they make
    a wonderful pair,
    oh, to have a friend like that.

  3. Lynn

    The Ghost

    She drifts along the halls
    Empty and alone she sails
    No one can hear her silent calls
    None can hear her desperate wails!

    She is bound to roam alone
    Existing on no earthly plane
    Trapped in a realm all of her own
    Singing her sad and mute refrain

    Some have felt her presence here
    As she reaches for the ‘ever after’
    But none will ever know her fear
    To never again hear laughter!

  4. LindaTK

    Day 17
    3rd person


    She picked up her cup of hot tea,
    sipped, put it down on the table
    and stared straight ahead
    looking at nothing.
    The dogs were roughing it up.
    Her daughter was pacing, worrying
    about her child, where the money
    to pay the rent would come from,
    and if her husband would
    spend their meager earnings on beer.
    Her granddaughter seemed agitated
    perhaps picking up on her mother’s mood.
    She would have to leave her girls in the morning.
    Once home, there would be miles and miles,
    hours and hours between them.
    She didn’t know when she would see them again.
    Tears behind her eyes
    promised to leak through.
    The familiar tightness in her throat
    and the fist that clutched at her heart
    waited, ready to ambush even her
    most valiant attempts to appear cheerful.
    The memories of laughter, tea parties,
    reading favorite books and new,
    snuggling at bedtime, giggles and
    whispered I love yous would weave
    their precious fabrics throughout her mind
    reminding her that she was indeed truly blessed.
    Her love for them was infinite, boundless
    and timeless.

  5. Karen Masteller

    Propped multi-colored folders
    Divided tables into testing quads.
    Heads bent,
    Thinkers intent on filling in circles–
    #2 lead-darkened circles
    Creating score-able patterns.

    Their work was intense
    But the room was quiet.
    The satellite clock on the wall
    Ticked time away silently.

    Untimed tests tracking intellect.
    Uneasy students reasoning steadily.

    Time passes.
    All finish.
    Test #1 ends.

  6. priya


    It’s dark in her room,
    A cool, calm darkness
    That settles around her
    In place of a blanket.
    She waits quietly for him;
    He’s been coming later
    And later, keeping
    From her the blissful
    Oblivion that is

  7. M. Schied

    End of the day

    She walked into the apartment
    worn with time
    not noticing the vibrant crimson and tangerine
    light painting her walls
    The hues were nothing compared
    to mercurial haze that enveloped her
    causing disorientation
    staggering weariness
    At least the bed was now clean
    presentable for the picture she would send her mother
    the life growing there now had room to breathe
    roots growing deeper, heads reaching taller
    spiky dress and fragrant aroma
    showing off to passersby
    She knew that the end of the day wasn’t even close,
    though flashing red digits told her
    It was three hours before tomorrow

  8. Justin M. Howe

    She sits on the couch
    OK, she can’t read yet
    But he marvels at how intelligent
    she seems
    Looking at the pictures
    She laughs to herself
    Does she know he’s watching her?
    Assessing her?
    She is his perfect daughter
    He tries to be a perfect father

    It’s easy, he thinks, to blame
    the world
    To believe it is not his fault
    That it’s not his decisions that
    hold him back
    She makes a noise behind him
    He turns
    It’s time to play
    That’s a decision that’s easy
    to make

    -Justin M. Howe

  9. Judy Roney

    She Went To Big Bear

    She went to Big Bear
    with six of her friends
    to begin the first annual
    writer’s retreat.

    She wondered how hard it
    would be to concentrate
    to write the Poem-a-Day
    that Robert was waiting for.

    The smells of home cooked meals
    the chatter of friends finished
    with writing and stepped outside
    to take in the natural beauty
    of the lake, and talk of writing
    inspired and energized.

  10. Kate

    Photographic Memory

    Sitting in the parked car in the dark after turning off the engine, the rain hammering on the roof, she rolls down the window and smells cedar, woodsmoke, wet earth. She leans her head back and closes her eyes, seeing the six-point buck by the side of the road, his eyes just beginning to film over, the possum dragging it’s crushed back legs into the bushes, baring needle-sharp teeth in a grimace, a dead garter snake slowly turning itself inside out, the ladder of its spine laid bare by the steady work of slugs.

    She wasn’t there when they put her father on life support, didn’t see him blackened and bloated, lungs breathing, heart beating but no longer there. She wasn’t present when they finally turned off the machines and stood around his bed in the silence, released. She doesn’t have the image all the rest of her family carries, staining their memories forever. She can see him now, on the deck of the Alaskan ferry, eyes squinting into the sun, binoculars around his neck, hat brim turned up, laughing.

  11. Raven

    That Cat

    he sits there
    on the edge
    looking in
    looking out
    reflections in the glass
    echoing in his eyes
    stolen thoughts
    gleaned from hisses
    and whispers
    burns a longing
    in his soul
    not outside
    is all he’ll ever know

    by TK KIetero

  12. k weber

    i’m playing catch-up… finally made some time to write after some busy, busy days! i have missed this place!

    Meditation Meditation

    The Om
    in bare
    feet: each
    a splendid

    is golden
    days spent
    the incense
    of shade

    The warmth
    of hope
    and blinds
    with gracious
    and nodding

    The army
    of salvation
    is shaped
    like peace
    and rescues
    with awakened

  13. samantha altman


    She jumps out of bed,
    She starts the day.
    She loves how the mornings
    Start this way.

    She does her morning jog,
    She jumps up and down.
    She drinks coffee outside
    And the sun makes no sound.

    When everything is happy
    She becomes beautiful and sweet.
    She smiles brightly at all
    The new people she will meet.

    At night she’s all alone
    But she doesn’t waste any time.
    She stays busy and happy
    So that she’ll be just fine.

  14. Laural

    3rd Person is Her

    She can’t wait
    For flowers to bloom
    For love to come her way
    For everything to make sense
    The way Dick and Jane
    Used to make sense.
    For her to know who
    She’s going to be someday.

    She has to wait
    Because the universe
    Doesn’t run on her time
    But ticks along humming
    Its own tune, fast and slow
    Without a look to see
    How she’s handling the
    Flow of time around her.

  15. Rebecca

    6th grade seers

    They sit in a semi-circle
    scribbling away on faded brown
    clipboards, the wind playfully
    grabbing stray hairs, loose papers,
    and untucked shirt tails.

    Rounded cheeks, unspotted skin
    flaky, chapped lips betray their
    concentration while flat chests,
    thin limbs proclaim their youth

    They write poetry with an intensisty
    that comes from a simple place–

    "When I am annoyed I am like a
    sleeping volcano being interrupted."

    "I am IceBerg that dances on water
    when the wind puches me."

    "Busy as a bee/ who am I supposed to
    be, myself or somebody else."

  16. Sarah

    Beach Day
    They were sitting on the shore
    making castles in the sand
    never seeing the two sharks
    that had stopped by to play
    a game of ‘chase the people from the water’
    there was sadness in their eyes
    as the people trampled by
    crushing their dreamhouse
    in their wake of fright
    And the sharks swam away
    laughing merrily
    with joy and glee
    another beach day

  17. Lin Neiswender

    The Little Mermaid

    She watched the water
    Come up to meet her
    As she slid off the dock

    But her five-year old face
    Showed no fear, only delight
    At the falling sensation
    Then the big splash as she hit the water

    And her brothers came running
    Eyes wide and frightened
    But keeping her calm

    She bobbed like a cork in her life jacket
    The boys calling to her from above, then one raced off
    To summon help but they had to wait

    The outboard motor buzzed ever nearer
    Bringing their parents back to the dock
    Lifting her out and bundling her up
    Teeth chattering but otherwise fine
    Resting her head in Momma’s lap
    All was well

  18. Charlene P. Age 10

    Elizabeth, get better soon! :) Hope you get better ASAP! ^._.^ <–thats a cat!

    As the girl slept on the bed
    Several men in surgical masks
    Worked on her (insert where she’s getting surgery)

    In the next room,
    Somebody joked, "Oh, my spleen!"
    The men finished as the kid shouted,
    "GAAAH! I fell! Hoigle wilfle!"

    Elizabeth awoke in her house
    Safe and sound
    After making a speedy recovery…

  19. Carol Cone


    He opened the slider
    Sniffed the rich night air
    Looked for the moon
    Three quarters full, so bright
    He listened for the night sounds
    Geese honking, out of time
    Late-night courtship
    ssring peepers, full throated
    announcing new beginnings

    Feeling the soft spring breeze
    Like velvet on his skin
    He considered the winter
    icy, dark, snowy, chilled;
    he asked himself, would spring
    be a more precious gift
    if there were no winter at all?
    Do they celebrate spring
    In Hawaii, or California?
    Or do they just change clothes?

    If he lived in Hawaii
    He would never feel winter
    Never put on snow tires
    Never run the snow blower
    Never wear boots
    Or mittens, or mufflers
    Never bring in wood
    Never build a fire
    Never put it all away again
    When the snow melts
    And the days grow long.

    But then, without winter
    What could one anticipate?
    What would make tomorrow
    Even better than today?
    How dull. He would suffer winter
    To find out what comes next.

    ©carol cone 2008

  20. Linda Hofke

    Okay, folks, I know this is not rocket science and it probably has no place here but it was all i could come up with since I have been trying to help my daughter learn her multiplication tables. Rote learning was a bust! Since language is her strong point, I figured a rhyme might help. Seems to be working. Anyway, a bit silly here with all your deep, meaningful words….but at least I have SOMETHING to post! (As I said before, I am not a poet. This is new for me.)

    She had extreme difficulty
    With the facts of multiplicity,
    Especially with that line of eights
    But after this rhyme she never hesitates:

    Number eight went down the street.
    On the way, who did he meet?
    Number two on his trampoline.
    Eight times two is 16.

    Number eight went down the street.
    On the way, who did he meet?
    Number three was at his door.
    Eight times three is 24.

    Number eight went down the street.
    On the way, who did he meet?
    Number four was tying his shoe.
    Eight times four is 32.

    Number eight went down the street.
    On the way, who did he meet?
    Number five was out drinking tea.
    Eight times five is 40.

    Number eight went down the street.
    On the way, who did he meet?
    Number six was at his gate.
    Eight times six is 48.

    Number eight went down the street.
    On the way, who did he meet?
    Number seven buying cocoa mix.
    Eight times seven is 56.

    Number 8 went down the street.
    On the way, who did he meet?
    Well, he saw one eight more!
    Eight times eight is 64.

    Number 8 went down the street.
    On the way, who did he meet?
    Number 9 was walking too!
    Eight times nine is 72.

    Now tens times eight and eight times 1
    Are so easy it’s almost fun.
    One times eight is easy to see
    And eight times take give you 80.

    So if math induces fear
    For the eights use this rhyme here.
    And you will do your very best
    When you have to take your test.

    (Not sure if multiplicity is actually a word but I used it anyway!)

  21. Crystal Cameron


    He tugs at his black t-shirt,
    his eyes sliding easily into a smile.

    He drags the palm of his hand
    across the coarse field of his hair,

    newly cut and dark, like the eyes
    he was given by his mother.

    He is all darkness. A figure
    dwelling in shadow and outlined

    by blue-gray light. There in the stars,
    is his desire. His smile flickers.

    He tugs at his black t-shirt
    as she watches. Her mouth asks

    questions that the needle fine
    holes in his subconscious answer.

    She pulls at his brown eyes
    with a twist of her lips.

    Her hand brushes the smooth
    skin of his arm. Simple. Unexpected.

    Gently fervent contact. His muscles contract
    beneath he cotton of his t-shirt

    as he tugs and she pulls
    and they connect.

  22. Tiffany B

    At the Boat Show

    Fuzzy newspaper photograph
    taped to her refrigerator.
    They might be her nieces
    or just two random girls
    with their dad,
    at a boat show.

    From the blur, only the redhead
    whose hair color caused so much
    family confusion is visible.
    The only recognizable feature.
    Not the brother or sister,
    uncle or niece for sure.

  23. Lyn

    Man Needs His Wheels
    What happens when he realizes his car was stolen?
    he noticed his alotted space was empty
    Called the police
    He wished he’d seen it happen
    wanted the chance for vigilante justice
    He ran his fingers through his sandy hair
    messing it up like like Einstein’s
    He screamed cursewords at the anonymous thief
    And alternated frustation with problem solving
    How to get to work? How to get home?
    When will the insurance provide another vehicle?
    Why? When? How? Why? Why? Why?
    He went out and bought a motorized scooter
    He’s more upset about the stereo system

  24. Maureen

    Sorry this is so late. Been a tad busy, but catching up.


    She picked up her camera
    walked out to the garden
    photographed every flower
    and leaf
    she could see.
    Hours went by
    noticing colours
    shades, patterns
    light and shadows
    tiny insects
    she didn’t know the names of.
    She felt the warmth
    of the sun
    through her shirt
    and noticed pictures
    in the clouds.

    Then she returned
    to the house
    and saw
    what she’d almost forgotten –
    the opened bottles of pills
    by her bed.

    Maureen Sexton

  25. Tria

    Jane Cra-whatever

    wears four different
    earrings. She always
    wears a jacket, and her socks
    today are very loud.

    Her newspaper picture
    looks fat,
    but she is much skinnier
    in person.

    The pin on her jacket
    is delicately pretty.
    Her socks
    really aren’t loud,
    just bright.

    She’s very sharp-eyed
    and notices everything.
    She’s not afraid
    to let her real self show.

    by Tria Wood

    I’ve been away from the laptop again, and am starting to catch up on getting these poems transcribed onto the site. Sorry for the lapse!

    Today’s poem is a found poem from a journal entry I wrote when I was 13. The subject is Jane Creighton, a writer who worked with my 8th grade English class.

  26. Jacquie Wareham

    April 18

    seventy degrees
    boys hover
    spring-bare salt dock
    squawk and bray
    last Wed
    Small wiry
    screws up
    twelve year old courage
    length of quay
    into drink
    scrambles out
    goosebumps shivers
    pounding heart
    this year’s
    unofficial leader.

    April 18, 2008
    Jacquie Wareham

  27. AlaskanRC

    Couple days late but I’m determined to catch up.

    She waits anxiously for
    his next call…
    she’s missed two of the
    last three.
    Nearly four weeks since his
    departure for he is an American
    Soldier. Dressed in Army Greens.
    The time in between
    seems to impossible
    to bare.
    Thoughts of him run through
    her mind durring the day
    and the night offers no rest.
    What is he doing?
    How was his day?
    It appears his superiors have
    yet to give him her letters for
    doubts have been written in his.
    How could he doubt her so
    when all she ever did was care.
    She wishes to hear his voice
    once again and reassure him
    of her faith. God bless the day
    he comes back home.

  28. Diane


    He lived well
    as a prince among men.
    Endowed with gifts by which he blessed others
    until illness took the gifts away one by one.

    It took his kind voice and his skillful hands;
    it took his wise and gentle counsel and locked it in his mind.
    It took away football in the yard with his kids;
    he watched and smiled encouragement from his wheelchair.

    It took his easy laugh, once freely given
    and made his smile look like a grimace.
    Still, he bore his illness with patience and made the most of each day,
    more concerned about others than himself.

    Confident of leaving life to enter life
    he shared his faith in the God he always served.
    Last, he shared his wisdom with his children
    writing about things they were too young to understand.

    For months he pecked out the letters and words,
    ONE painful stroke at a time,
    Until he had a book
    to tell them of his love.

    He wrote letters to remind them of his love
    on special birthdays, graduations and weddings.
    Finally, when he was able to do no more, he waited,
    a prince imprisoned in a body that no longer allowed communication.

    He died as he lived,
    a prince among men.
    All of us will die,
    but he died well.

    A friend of mine died of ALS. This doesn’t even come close to saying what an amazing person he was because of his faith that saw beyond his disease and this life which we all leave behind.

  29. Barbara Malcolm

    Outside In

    She cowers in
    corners, afraid of dark
    and light, of crowds
    and solitude. Tears
    stream, pulse pounds
    a jungle rhythm,
    fear sings along
    nerves stretched taut.
    A silent scream
    levers open dried lips,
    fingers tremble,
    but only on the inside.
    Outside she in calm,
    smiling, confident,
    happy to meet
    All a façade.

  30. Bonnie

    The two set out together down a narrow dusty lane
    With a gentle breeze and clear skies and not a hint of rain
    With fishing poles, tackle box and red worms in a can
    Jason and his Papaw have everything in hand

    They’re looking for just the right spot, which Papaw is sure to find
    And though it takes a little while, Jason doesn’t seem to mind
    At last they come to the perfect place where the water is deep and clear
    The boy sits by his elder’s side so happy that they’re here

    They bait their hooks and wait awhile for that big old bass to bite
    And Papaw just smiles as he looks down at his little grandson’s delight
    While they fish, Papaw tells stories of when he was a little boy
    How going to the creek and fishing was worth more than any old toy

    Suddenly there’s a little tug on Jason’s fishing line
    “Quick, give it a jerk,” says Papaw, “Good boy, you’re doing just fine.”
    “It must be big Papaw,” says Jason, “Watch how he puts up a fight.”
    “Yes, I can see he is,” says Papaw, “I believe we’ll eat catfish tonight.”

    But just as the lad is reeling in his big catch for the day
    There comes a jerk and a splash in the stream and that catfish swims away
    They fish and talk the hours away and neither seems to mind,
    That no more fish are being caught for they’re having such a good time.

    But now the day is nearing it’s end, the shadows are starting to grow
    And though they’d like to stay for awhile, they know it is time to go
    So once more they go home empty in terms of what they’ve caught that day
    But their hearts are filled with memories that time can’t take away.

  31. Darla Smith

    Beautiful Angel

    He glanced up and beheld,
    the most sensuous sight he’s ever seen.
    It appeared an angel was walking towards him,
    with a seductive swish to her stride.
    She was dressed in a white satin gown,
    the long skirt flowing around her legs.
    With every delicate step she took,
    the gentle breeze stirred her long blond hair.
    As he watched in stunned fascination,
    the lovely lady stopped before him.
    She placed her rose-tinged lips against his own,
    and sealed their destiny with a kiss.

  32. Jay Sizemore


    The holes in his hands
    make it difficult
    to count all the coins
    that fall through
    like water turning
    into grape flavored

    Drink it up.

    They build rooms
    to trap the ghost
    of a magician,
    but they expect
    so much more
    than a cheap parlor trick,
    they expect
    a cure for cancer.

    Believe it.

    They say his blood
    tastes like wine,
    goes great with wafers,
    they say it washes
    every atom clean,
    if the soul is made
    of atoms.

    Taste it.

    A sheep with no mother
    is called a bummer,
    a sheep with no master
    can be nothing but free.

    Accept it.

    He never existed.

  33. IleanaCarmina


    She can touch the distance
    It’s so palpable
    Between herself and her friends
    Their laughter is muted by miles
    By interests no longer mutual
    Paradigms broken and swept out the door
    Of friendship by brooms with no handles
    And hands with no callouses
    To prove that the work was done
    There’s no one to blame.
    No one.

  34. Tad Richards

    He carries a
    Kalashnikov rifle
    with a red dot scope
    night vision

    sometimes he walks sentry
    with a vest made of
    his hand on the
    detonator button

    age and hair color
    may not always
    be the same but what is
    and what doesn’t change

    that cell phone
    that woman’s breasts
    those coded messages
    if they fell into
    the wrong hands

    could change the shape
    of the whole eastern front
    curious they’d trust
    him so close
    to the border

  35. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    Oh, sorry to be so late. I thought I had posted here already but it was only on my blog.

    I join in the good wishes for Elizabeth; looking forward to having you back here!

    Each Time He Leaves

    Each time he leaves again
    she can’t help but notice
    weeks of heavy rain set in.

    She wonders if he knows
    he sets the sky to weeping
    every time he goes.

    © Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008

  36. Linda

    High Definition

    This mobius strip,
    band of gold,
    our love
    for all time.
    So we once swore.
    But looking through
    the empty center
    to you, pixils
    in the
    eyes turned
    toward plasma
    brighter than life,
    I understand: there
    is no connection

    Fascinating prompt, Robert. All the poems here are phenomenal… off to read more. Hope you’re doing well, Elizabeth! Peace, Linda

  37. Joannie Stangeland

    I thought I posted this yesterday, but something must have been amiss.

    Sunday Visit

    How carefully she navigates the shifting
    sands of conversation that sink, without warning, drift
    from one story to the next. She
    asks a question, and her face smoothes
    like a mask, porcelain and serene. She nods
    as the answer blows through her like the April wind
    and follows with another query,
    even as the new leaves shiver,
    the shadows of words winging
    away from this sunlit afternoon. She leans
    on instinct and years of good manners,
    knows how to carry grace even
    in such quiet calamity. The third question slips
    in delicately, an innocent–the fourth,
    a vase of dahlias on the table. Then the light
    behind her thin curtains fades just a thumb,
    the difference between one moment
    and the moment after, and she reaches
    for the next card in her hand,
    returns to that first question, begins again.

  38. Shana

    slicing through the water
    after so many months
    yet, it feels
    just right
    gliding, like a bird’s flight
    skimming the surface
    great flapping wings
    to propel

    as the sun sinks
    the trees
    black lace lattice reaching up into the sunset
    the sky,
    losing color
    light shades of glorious
    then deepening dark

    finding balance again
    finding the catch against the water
    the release
    the body
    to itself
    to the motion
    to the water
    to the world,
    or all that matters of it

  39. Terri

    The black olives border her plate
    like the dashes on a numberless wall clock;
    She dare not eat one of them lest she
    eat away the most precious moments of her life;
    Who knows what could occur between olive
    12 o’clock and olive 1 o’clock;
    Perhaps she would be purposed to by the man
    sitting across from her who sip
    sauvignon blanc and glances at his watch
    before the tick melds into the tock;
    and so the olives remain on her plate’s rim
    while she lusts after them
    continuing to munch on insipid arugula.

  40. SaraV

    Sara M. Are you the mom of a teenage son? If so, my sympathies are with you (I have two) and once again we are in "topic synch" that is what I was planning on writing about

    Elizabeth, be well and heal quickly–with all these good wishes you should be better in a day!

    Soul Shadows

    He smiles
    But does not believe
    He has a beautiful smile
    Some school-bus-riding imbecile
    Told him he had an ugly smile

    He speaks of accomplishments
    But does not believe he’s worthy
    Of compliments
    His friends think working
    For your father is not really employment

    He works out like a fiend
    Exorcising demons real and imagined
    But believes he is too lean
    And will never be considered strong
    Or attractive enough to have a girlfriend

    He has a tender heart
    But is harsh on his friends
    Fearing, looking for rejection
    Perversely pleased yet angered
    When his self-fulfilling prophesy
    Comes to fruition
    Desperate to feel special
    Yet not realizing he has to
    Feel it in himself before its given

    Wanting affection
    But not believing he deserves it
    Excluding his parents from giving it
    Denying that he needs it
    He sits behind a locked door
    And grieves for it

    While those that love him
    Sit and wait
    Looking for the chance
    Praying for the ability
    To wash the pain away
    And let him really see
    His intelligence and beauty

  41. Devon Brenner


    When she was alone
    she could not abide
    the solitude
    and though she swallowed the St Johns Wort
    it did not diminish the Sunday afternoons
    of their emptiness.
    In spite of her efforts to fill the spaces
    with yoga sessions and knitting class,
    planning out her visits to Kroger
    around the schedule of the bagger who
    remembered her name,
    still the isolation engulfed her.

    So when she met him in March,
    she wed him in July
    and now she is never alone,
    and still she is lonely.

  42. M J Dills

    There is no connection
    Between Church and State.
    And yet
    They pledge
    Under God,
    And ask him, in chorus, to Bless America.
    There is no connection
    Between State and Church
    And yet
    Your Reverend implores you
    To pray for soldiers
    Who are sanctioned to murder
    There is no connection
    Between Church and State
    And I am compelled to inquire
    Of a nation gripped in a
    Spiritual dilemma,
    Divided into Red and Blue.
    Christian, Muslim, Jew
    When will there be
    An alliance of the two?

  43. TaunaLen


    an overwhelming desire
    burns in her flesh
    an appetite, insatiable
    shudders through her soul
    to know and be known
    to read and be read
    to write, and feel release

    tension builds, smolders
    lightning, bottled up inside
    like a woman absent from her lover
    aching with need for his touch
    his hands, his skin against hers
    the mind fogs and the vision blurs

    only this clear, demanding urge
    pulses in her ears
    her mind, her fingers
    races through her body
    demanding that she give it release
    slice open a vein
    and spill it out across the page

    an elixir mixed of joy and pain
    life and death, words, phrases
    to feed the reader
    who might need reviving
    need reminding what it is
    to live, to love, to feel
    to fuel a passion
    a lust for release

    TLS, April 2008

  44. Sheree Mack

    Beginning to Question Her Subordination

    She stands by her man,
    even though he fails to see her,
    to consider her needs.

    She shouts for her man,
    even though he shouts at her,
    to keep her under his foot.

    She fights for her man,
    even though he shows her fists,
    to dominate her at home.

    She spends time in prison for her man,
    the same man who does not visit,
    to give her a reason to live.

  45. Lorraine Hart

    Thank you Kevin! I agree with you about the delight of reading so much poetry with my morning cuppas, as well as stretching and writing every day.

  46. Ang

    I am late with this one because my aunt passed away on the 15th. My brothers and I left yesterday at 3:00 AM to drive to Atlanta, attend the funeral, and drive back, arriving home about 8:30 PM. It was a log day but well worth the effort. Her’s to my beloved aunt….


    She never knew a stranger
    This woman, mother, aunt, friend

    Gave little girl a book once
    The Little Princess
    That opened her world to possibilities

    Learned to drive in her forties
    Out of necessity
    Earned a nursing degree
    Because she was now on her own
    Served others
    Out of love

    Knew sorrow, but didn’t dwell on it
    Sang to the glory of God
    She knew of His mercies

    A beautiful spirit
    A generous soul
    A devoted sister
    She lived her quiet life
    Yet influenced many
    This daughter, grandmother, neighbor
    A true lady

  47. Janice Neaveill

    The cow named Dinner
    afraid of lightening
    jumped his fence and
    bolted, frightening

    the gym teacher directing
    track practice but Dinner
    outran them without Air
    Nikes. He scared the sinners

    huddled in the church, heads bowed
    when they asked for a God sign
    and he ran through naked, not one
    considered becoming Hindu and enshrining

    him. It might have saved his hide
    though he didn’t know when he sat
    on the railroad lines that they’d find
    him. He batted

    his long cow lashes at Pa like
    an innocent cow does. The storm
    is over and the stable warm
    and Pa to Ma warns

    "Call me anything you want
    But don’t call me late for Dinner."
    And no cow joke could be more macabre
    Or fitter.

  48. Linda Hofke

    I don’t have a poem for today (been working 12 hours days and running a household while trying to take the challenge) but I wanted to send get well wishes to Elizabeth. I, also, have enjoyed her poems, especially Spiders. I shared it with my daughter, 9, who is petrified of them and she thought it was great how you described how she feels. Here’s wishing all goes well with your operation…and no spiders at the hospital!

    ROx, I also thought your poem was very touching.

  49. Amanda Caldwell


    She waits on the periphery,
    attuned to the warmth in the center,
    but she has to wait until it’s clear,
    until it’s safe,
    until the little monster has been taken away.
    She circles once, twice,
    striving to seem casual,
    as if she couldn’t care less
    if she finds her place there or not.
    There’s the opening she’s expecting
    — a brave leap in —
    then she instantly dons her calm once more,
    as if that flurry of activity did not
    belong to her.
    She arranges herself
    and tries to be comfortable,
    even if she’s feeling precarious,
    badly balanced and attentive
    to a return of danger.
    But radiant warmth, a stroking hand,
    fur tugged in just the right direction —
    a cat can’t ask for more than this.
    Except, perhaps, for some food.

    Blessings to you, Elizabeth!

    Jolanta — it gave me chills. Thanks for sharing it.

  50. Gratia Karmes

    April 17th…without myself, at all.

    the frogs are deafening
    it’s possible to walk past them
    without even noticing
    the sound that grows from
    their strange world.

    But when the thought comes–
    they are thousands, finding each other
    under this moon, round to bursting–
    the pain is familiar.

  51. Carol A Stephen


    Old men sit on park benches,
    Eyes dim with memory.

    They look back on youth,
    remember shy smiles from sweet young things,

    remember their cocky lines, remember when
    best line got the girl

    or at least a quick kiss behind the bushes,
    and a giggle or two.

    Old men sit on park benches
    Eyes twinkling,

    they wish for one last come-hither glance,
    one last promise of lips

    from sweet young things.

  52. Carla Cherry

    Elizabeth, my prayers for a smooth surgery and speedy recovery!


    Mic check
    Mic check
    One two, one two!

    She sat mesmerized
    time after time
    as each spoken word artist
    spit masterful rhymes

    She, of leaden tongue
    with hermit-like life
    wished her words could splice
    air like a knife

    She wished she could dance
    have each poem memorized
    She of shaky hands
    and teary eyes

    She tried to remember
    To honor all that she knows
    And not be jealous of others
    and their ability to flow.

  53. Barbara Ehrentreu

    Moon Tears

    The moon is almost full
    as if the hungry night sky
    had bitten off a piece of the
    sphere’s outer circle.

    Moonlight slips on the
    angled roof and falls on the
    three foot wide swath
    of grass separating the
    home next door illuminating left-
    overs strewn on moonlit blades.
    Punctured balloon pieces are
    seen among the usual
    remnants of a one year
    old’s party along with chewed gum
    and crepe paper streamers.

    Moonbeams light the eastern sky
    and highlight new siding and
    third story on the neighbor’s
    house; shine into windows
    creep over two sleeping bodies
    once three, slide over the
    empty parking space once
    filled by a pot smoking,
    guitar playing, beer-drinking
    noisy neighbor’s SUV who no longer
    lives next door and inside the
    now silent home neighbors
    reduced to mother and daughter
    sleep under the moon’s tears.

  54. Jolanta Laurinaitis

    She lay her head back
    Had been waiting for this day
    Breathing once, twice, thrice
    Trying to still the icy
    Shudders in her stomach
    So crisp, so clean
    Everything so white
    She takes one last look around
    And begins to count backwards


  55. Renee Goularte

    She comes to America
    a debt paid to her brother’s friend
    lands at Ellis Island
    crosses gates and turnstiles
    rides the train three thousand miles
    to California to marry.
    She spends the next twenty years
    bringing twelve siblings
    across the ocean
    one by one.

  56. Shirley T.


    Moonrise over the river,
    Slipping through a serrate cloud as
    Easily as slipping into
    Eternity; a silvered breath
    Seeping through the veil between worlds, Swallowed by the endless river.

    Shirley T

    (Elizabeth, best wishes to you. Recently had surgery myself, now an endless round of PT. Hope yours is a quick recovery with all
    your creativity intact!);)

  57. Zebulon Huset

    The fan nixed the entire room. Kenneth included. It said no to the glass. It said no to the bottle. It said no to the Dewar’s family in general, the glass blowers union. It said no to the swimming thoughts of sunny beaches in Kenneth’s brain. The beachball and the parasol alike. It said no to the cigarette behind Kenneth’s ear. No to the lighter on the table. Deep inside its motor it yearned to say yes to an open window. It yearned a yawn, a snore. But all it could do was continue to say no to the smell rising from the couch and the table. The carpet, the walls. No to the red can at Kenneth’s feet. The name he repeats over and over. No to the lighter. No to the lighter. No to the lighter.

  58. Cathy Sapunor


    In the morning, on April 17, in the car
    on the way to high school, Grace’s mother
    casually handed her printed copies
    of six poems. Which one, her
    mother asked, would she like to carry
    with her on the first National
    Poem In Your Pocket Day?
    And to share with friends? Maybe impress her
    English teacher? Hint, hint.
    "Do I have to?"
    Yes, it would be nice.
    Do it for me.
    In resignation, Grace shuffled
    the pages and the
    faces of poets peered out—
    Angelou, Wordsworth, Montoya, Kenyon, Lee, Snyder—
    and when her mother stopped the car
    to go and stand in line at Espresso Metro
    to get a double-tall-no-whip-mocha, she saw Grace
    through the storefront window
    tasting new words with her mouth
    and making her choice.

  59. Mike Barzacchini

    Old Dog Spring

    The old yellow dog can’t hear.
    She can’t catch a biscuit
    When you toss it to her.
    And she walks just once
    around the block before tiring.
    But she stretches in yard,
    Bowing to the warm sunshine.
    Ignoring the squirrels who search
    For last fall’s buried nuts.
    There is something more important.
    “I made it,” she thinks.
    I will enjoy another spring.

  60. Sara Diane Doyle

    I have to say I love the idea of writing in third person, especially being brave enough to put yourself in the shoes of another. It took me a while to learn that the poet is not always the speaker, and that is okay!

    And I want to add my prayers and well-wishes for Elizabeth, get better soon and write lots of great poetry as you recover!

    Here’s my offering of the day (and this isn’t me as I have no children and no dog to speak of…)


    The doorbell rings
    just as the phone
    starts to buzz
    and the kids run
    through the room,
    voices shrieking on high.
    The dog joins the chorus
    and she shakes her head
    as she watches the words
    that were almost a poem
    sail quietly out the window.

  61. Heather

    A POEM

    She woke up after a wonderful stay
    And remembered the lights and music that played
    She wanted to express her Soul’s delight
    To acknowledge the beauty and warmth in her life
    And to him she sees the Magic within, kind and giving, the truest of friend
    With her heart she sends lights of love
    Glittering from the Heavens above

  62. Anahbird

    Of His Own Choice
    The cold fingers
    Ran down his back
    Along his spine
    Gripping him
    Pressing up against
    His chest
    His abdomen
    His most private
    Of places
    Every inch
    Of his body
    Humiliating him
    Naked body
    Naked soul
    And all for what?
    All for those three
    Little words:

  63. Cari

    best of luck Elizabeth! you are in my prayers.

    A Spring Day

    Blue skies above
    Green grass below
    seems like a lifetime since the last snowfall.

    Runners, walkers,
    smiling babies being pushed in strollers,
    everyone is out today

    There is no other feeling to match that of a spring day.

  64. VS Bryant

    Dear Ms. Elizabeth Keggi’s I wish you all the best and that your surgery moves smoothly and successfully. Remember to not let this or anything else stop you from doing what you do, to many has let the world kill their dreams and destroy their passion

  65. VS Bryant

    She Who Sits On the Side

    She sits on the side of eternity
    Thoughts of infinity dances around her head
    Everlasting is the rollercoaster of a psychological destroy that runs endlessly through her mind
    Time stands still, but yet she continues to moves, the horrors spilling over on all sides
    She cries an everlasting cry, for her, for them, for they, and still never knowing why
    Heart and soul, mind and body; the weight of the world, the universes cold hard lobby

    She sits on the side of the galaxy
    The stars greet her with a smile
    The Milky Way bends to the wave of her hand, such power and yet she sighs
    Planets glide to lead her way; the path to the dark hole is lit by a dying sun, what a brilliant day

    She sits on the side of loneliness
    Destruction is her soul’s abyss
    She weeps for the world and yet it never hears a heart that is breaking, yet has always been complete

  66. Matthew

    He walks down the street
    and thinks to himself
    "This is a bit of
    cliche, today."

    As he walks, he talks
    to people he meets
    on the street
    in the heat.

    And he wishes
    for a

  67. Susan M. Bell

    (What the heck. Here’s a second one.)

    The Wife or Sooner or Later

    He couldn’t wrap his mind around
    the idea that she was gone. The door
    wasn’t opening, no matter how long
    he stared at it. She wasn’t coming
    home. He kept thinking that sooner
    or later she would realize her mistake.
    Sooner or later she would return, tell
    him how sorry she was, then cook

    his dinner. She would have to go to
    the grocery store first. The cupboards
    were nearly bare. And he’d sat in front
    of the TV every night, listening to his
    stomach growl. Sooner or later, she would
    have to come back to take care of him.

    Someone had to.

    Sooner or later.

  68. Susan M. Bell

    Going to Sleep

    She held the bottle of pills tightly. Her knuckles
    turned white with the pressure she exerted. The
    prescription had just been filled that morning, so
    the bottle was full, not one pill missing. She lay
    on the bed, grabbed the full glass of whiskey off
    the nightstand. The scars on her wrists barely
    registered; she had seen them so many times for
    so many years. They used to bring to mind the
    failed attempts, her blundering screw ups. Now she
    simply regarded them as lessons learned. She used

    the liquor to wash the pills down, one pill at a time
    until the bottle was empty. She let the glass fall to
    the floor, pulled a pillow under her head and waited.
    Her last thought was to wonder who would eventually
    find her and how long it would be before she was missed.

    Then she thought no more.

  69. Yoli


    Blue crystal moon
    Scarlet dust light
    Moon glow grass
    Ocean of night
    Calm waters shimmer
    Through creamy sky
    Tall silhouettes stand
    Sleeping bodies lie
    Arms entangled
    Legs intertwined
    Clothes shed leave
    No passion denied
    Quiet private moment
    Just between two
    When night begins
    Love starts anew
    Come the sunrise
    Dawn of day
    Shed clothes return
    Love fades away
    Like crystal moons
    And scarlet dust
    Surrounded in dark
    Swallowed by lust
    Desire set free
    Throughout the night
    Cannot be seen
    Come morning light.

  70. maeve63


    It’s the gamer in him.
    He craves the visual.
    Headset, microphone, and keyboard.
    Images battled by complex code
    and commands.
    Poised for the call.
    Rescue at hand he lunges to save
    the fallen dwarf.
    Speaking of Elves; he wonders if any Pepsi
    is left in the fridge. Don’t ask.

  71. A.C. Leming

    Evidently, something in the universe doesn’t want me to post this, as I lost it once, reconstructed and almost lost it again…

    Elizabeth, good luck with the surgery…


    Unshod hooves thud and tamp
    against the metal chute.
    “Huuurrrraaaahhhh” echoes
    as the weight of the parasite
    settles on his back. A violent
    shift left, the weight lifts
    then settles. Ears flap and
    horns strike the bars of the
    chute encasing him as he
    shakes his head, angry now.
    “Bzzzzzz,” and the barrier
    disappears. Two tons of
    Brahma bull shoots forward.
    Tail swivels as he jackknifes.
    His attempt to throw the felon
    successful a mere five seconds
    into the Angola Prison Rodeo.

  72. Susan M. Bell

    Elizabeth – Had major surgery myself late last year. Sucks. On the bright side, during my recovery, got a lot of writing ideas. Sending good vibes and thoughts for a quick and uneventful recovery.

  73. Mario Jaime

    Lonely to Lonely

    All the dark purple colors she wears
    And the way she never says a word
    It doesn’t seem like anyone cares
    Her loneliness doesn’t strike a cord
    Except for him

    She sits away from all the others
    She’s not a loner, simply alone
    Sometimes, around her, people hover
    She smiles, she laughs, throws them a bone
    But other than that…

    He wants to draw her reserved smile
    Wants to tap her inner socialite
    And he wants to make her laugh all night
    And when she’s hurt, make sure she’s alright
    And to get her out of any fight
    To get her loving with all her might
    Been like this for more than a while

    But even before he draws her out
    Needs to change his smile from a pout

    (Hey! This fits into yesterday’s prompt a little bit, too!)

  74. Judy Stewart

    well first of all my best wishes go out to Elizabeth and hope you have a speedy recovery!

    I was a bit stumped by yesterdays prompt, I had never written anything like that so because it was late I folded my cards to wait and write one today

    I was able to come up with one today and hope it is the right thing! so here goes

    Day 16 poem one with a twist!

    She watched him
    Across the room
    As he stretched
    The muscles
    Arms and legs
    Oh how they moved!
    He seemed so graceful
    So precise and oh how nice!
    He moved about the room
    And did his work
    As she watched him
    Come closer,
    She held her breath
    At the possibility of his touch

    He was her physical therapist!

    now for the one for today Day 17

    She is a grandma oh my called grammy
    Two of them to love and to hold
    One boy, one girl what a handful
    she wishes she could spend more time with them
    time to read and time to play
    memories to make and maybe bake a cake
    one girl she is small and petite
    one boy he is sturdy and strong
    time goes on and it is so wrong
    to not have the time given to spend with them
    reading and playing is all she desires
    so please find the time to let her in!

    Not sure if this is right either but maybe I will come up with another one later


  75. Robin Morris

    Best wishes Elizabeth!

    I think this poem could fit under the "word" exploration prompt as well. I promise, I’m not sponsored by the whiskey company.


    Was it a famous grouse, or just some random
    ruffed, insignificant grouse
    they heard beside the trail?
    His ears picked up the sound because,
    she thought, it reminded him of his motorcycle
    in the distance, getting louder, coming home.
    But then shouldn’t it be she
    who most tuned in to that sound?
    But he always heard it first as they walked
    and then they would consider
    whether the noise came
    from beating wings or a throat.
    Was it the male seeking a mate
    or the female defending eggs?
    They’d take different sides of the argument
    on different walks and never resolve it
    because they never actually saw the grouse.
    But they’d say "quit grousing"
    to one another after the argument
    died down and go home
    and drink some Famous Grouse.

  76. Lorraine Hart

    The Man In The Moon

    There the curl of
    his back in the west
    legs fold forgetfully
    one over the other
    he bends his head
    to silver flute and
    her golden face
    oh yes…
    the man in the moon was
    easily led upon dreams
    to serve La Bella Luna
    love and madness
    in liquid night
    bound both round
    thirteen times

  77. Alfred J Bruey

    The Reluctant Politician

    He didn’t want to run for office
    But he wanted to be elected
    So he campaigned and he
    Lost but he filed a protest
    And paid for a re-count and
    This time he won by eight votes
    And he was sworn in
    And the next week he resigned
    From office because he said
    He just wanted to prove
    That he could win.

  78. Sara McNulty

    Well wishes to you, Elizabeth.

    She wondered why he held her
    Close to him and laughed and
    Tossed her up in the air as
    She shrieked with joy

    She wondered why he was there
    To help her with homework and
    Attend school dances and plays
    In which she performed

    She wondered why he began
    To withdraw from home as her teen
    Years erupted in nightmares and
    She begged him to stay

    She wondered where he was at
    Night and why she could not reach
    Him. Her mother would not explain
    The change in him

    She wondered why he who had
    Loved her so as a child was
    Rarely home anymore and
    No one would tell her

  79. Sara McNulty

    Well wishes to you, Elizabeth.

    She wondered why he held her
    Close to him and laughed and
    Tossed her up in the air as
    She shrieked with joy

    She wondered why he was there
    To help her with homework and
    Attend school dances and plays
    In which she performed

    She wondered why he began
    To withdraw from home as her teen
    Years erupted in nightmares and
    She begged him to stay

    She wondered where he was at
    Night and why she could not reach
    Him. Her mother would not explain
    The change in him

    She wondered why he who had
    Loved her so as a child was
    Rarely home anymore and
    No one would tell her

  80. Rodney C. Walmer

    Elizabeth, I wish you the best, I hope you recover quickly, so that we can continue to enjoy your beautiful poetry.

    Lain, I hope you feel better soon. I recieved the first album today of Wishbone Ash, I ordered 4 of them. I am not sure why they sent me just one. This is a 2 cd live set. I have not had time to listen to it yet, but, I am very anxious to listen, my wife has sensitive hearing, so I need to listen in the car, since I like to crank up my music.


  81. halfmoon_mollie

    the daffodils
    are bursting
    barely able to
    contain themselves
    and so today
    are the students
    they wander in
    looking like spring
    flowers themselves
    the girls in flowing
    cotton tops and skirts
    a few long enough to
    sway gentle when they walk
    the boys shucking sweatshirts
    to reveal short sleeves
    a little wrinkled
    they try so hard
    to pay attention
    but they are bursting
    like the daffodils
    like the leaves
    outside their classrooms
    like the season
    that took so long to
    get here and now
    calls them outside
    to play and laugh
    and forget their seriousness
    and the study
    of law

  82. Jenny Brandon

    She made her appearance abruptly
    Unexpectedly, but not without nine months warning
    Under gas station lights
    Miles short of the hospital
    One foot into the world
    Followed by her behind
    She spent her first moments
    Breathlessly. . .
    But with a tap on her foot,
    She became just another girl
    With a really good story
    About the night she was born.

  83. satia

    He went to see her perform at an open mic
    forgot to turn off his cell phone
    cringed when she read a poem about
    the first time they had sex and
    wanted to leave before anyone else
    recognized him in her too loud words.
    Exhilerated from the high of her success,
    she didn’t hear his silence when she was through.

  84. Kevin

    First… thanks again for the nod, Robert. I appreciate it.

    I’m enjoying every day of this challenge. I’ve never read so much poetry in one month in my life. This is a great side effect of this challenge. We are READING poetry… lots of it. Thanks for that.

    Holding On

    She sat, lucid,
    aware of the air she breathed,
    willing life
    into shattered lungs.
    She twirled an ancient finger
    round and round,
    lifting a whim to life,
    alive. With her eyes afire
    she sighed, wished herself
    a bird in flight.
    And solid, she held
    to the earth
    that would not keep her,
    and, closing her eyes
    she lifted her arms
    to air, imagined herself
    a piece of the clouds,
    and falling, she sped to earth,
    willing her lungs to life.

  85. Gene McParland from Long Island

    This came to me as I watched Pirates of the Caribbean for the umteenth time:

    Tale of the “Flying Dragon”

    Dead fingers curl around a crimson blade.
    Bloods flows freely on a sloping deck.
    A mute crew in death
    mans a sinking ship.

    Sails set full
    flop gently in the breeze.
    No lines drawn taunt,
    no commands given,
    steering wheel turning
    on a leeward course,
    following hidden star headings,
    setting a course to Hell,
    and a briny grave.

    On the horizon,
    a brigantine rides low in the water;
    cargo holes crammed,
    overflowing with booty and despairing souls.

    “Set sail for Tartugua,
    we feast this night.
    I need buckets of grog
    to wash this taste of blood from my mouth”
    Eager hands man rope and sail;
    the ship responds.

    A beautiful Caribbean sunset,
    over iridescent, opalescent aquamarine waters,
    guides the victors back to port;
    the Jolly Roger flying
    defiantly from the mainsail
    of the “Flying Dragon”

    -Gene McParland-
    North Babylon, NY

  86. Rodney C. Walmer

    The Heart of The Matter

    It sits on his desk
    surrounded by mess
    It’s the very heart
    of all he does
    a major part
    of all he ever was

    It contains all of his files
    his poems, his work,
    and of course his memories
    His photos, His smiles
    though, some just bring a smirk
    its where he saves’ them for he’s
    in need of reminding
    of what’s important
    when he needs unwinding

    It’s a source of amusement
    and of course,
    where he’ll choose to vent
    when use’s it to go to IRC
    though not his intent
    some day’s he knows
    where he’s going to be
    When all else fails
    it’s his connection with reality
    Why, just through email’s
    He’s able to reach people
    he may never see

    Mostly, it’s his escape
    it’s the place he goes
    when life is too much to take
    when tension grows
    he knows,
    he can lose himself in a poem
    or visit a faraway land
    without ever leaving home
    with just the flick of a hand
    He can type in
    a whole new world
    made just for him. . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer 4/17/08 Poetry Prompt #17 This is probably going to be cut down a lot in

  87. Khara House

    Heal up fast, Elizabeth!!

    :In tribute to their memories:

    He loiters in graveyards.
    He covets a knowing of stories
    that stand etched upon wintry
    granite faces. He kisses her
    remembrance candidly on the mouth
    of a marble testament.
    He wonders why they will not
    stay behind to share the stories
    they longed to share, but never spoke
    amongst the living.

  88. Bonnie MacAllister

    Southwest Story

    She was surprised
    When Orlando showed her his cast.
    He told her that Monday
    He’d been in a coma.

    His father and he rode on motorbike,
    Over the hood of a car.
    Orlando swore he’d never ride again.
    His father is still in the hospital.

    After school, Rakeem tried to juggle apples,
    He’d bite them and expel the juice.
    Kaihla flipped them like flags,
    Manipulating hands unbalanced.

    The teacher allowed the two
    A contest of push ups.
    Each boosted arms,
    Jutting up with breaths.

    Something told her to speak in the third person
    When describing Ulea,
    The little girl who clamored protests
    Constantly for little reason,
    No girl could pierce her more.

    She thought of them on the subway
    When the old, blue-eye African man
    Asked her if her school had tennis courts.
    She wondered how her kids would thrive.

  89. Joe

    The Vatican Shuffle

    The Pope gave a blessing today
    in the Capital of the USA.
    It didn’t have that ring
    Like Martin Luther King,
    Nor did it pack any punch.
    So many abuses
    In the Church of Excuses,
    God help them on Judgement Day.

  90. Lyn Sedwick

    Up Up and Away

    He thought he was pushing her
    The way she wanted to be pushed,
    Sometimes going under the swing to give it
    That extra umpphh–
    So it was a complete surprise when she
    Fell off, out, crying–Daddy why
    Do you want to hurt me?

    Lyn Sedwick

  91. Jeanette J McAdoo


    The bluebird flew landing on the fence,
    Twisting it’s head looking all around.
    The bird saw it’s target and began to commence,
    Bread crumbs laying all over the ground.

    Soon was joined by other bird friends,
    Gathering together in a crowd.
    The community of birds know their time ends,
    Leaving the bluebird standing proud.

  92. Tonya Root

    For Gramma

    She smiles broadly – her teeth a little coffee stained
    Her deep grey hair curls playfully on her forehead
    She wears a striped shirt in one of her favorite colors –
    pink. This brings out the beautiful pink hue of her lips.
    Those lips are surrounded by hundreds of tiny lines –
    evidence of the fact that this smile is but one of
    millions she has bestowed upon the world over
    the many years. Her eyes, though narrowed
    by the intensity of the smile, still show their steel
    blue glory. She has pulled her head back in this
    moment and it seems she has a double chin,
    even though she is not overweight. She is in fact
    a little frail, though not as frail as she is to become.
    Caught here in this moment on film she is lovely
    as a woman ever could be. Her sweet soul shines
    off of the paper brilliantly as if she is still here.

    The photographer of that time –
    now a little older and wiser herself –
    has become a poet

  93. Mike Padg

    Shadows laced with solace
    amidst the morning fog,
    Greets the winter air
    with dimming rays of light.
    He watches without judgement,
    for shadows always lie,
    Searching for his love,
    that somehow he let die.

  94. Jane Penland Hoover

    Wind Currents

    A lone Seagull sounds

    Her plaintive call, no morning mirth,
    Pleads over marsh and ebbing surf

    Her loneliness unreachable
    Seeking nourishment, now habitual
    Old and innate, her ritual

    No one to hear her raging loss
    She swings and swoops, makes one last pass

    Drops to dip, then climbs

    ©Jane Penland Hoover
    February 8, 2008
    April 17, 2008

  95. ck

    Dans la lune

    He coos her a tune,
    strums the strings of her hair:
    “Dans la lune, Amour.”
    A full moon rises nightly,
    hushed, effulgent ascent.

    (In honor of the lunar effects that are soon to hit us all. the moon is at 94-percent full when I post this.)

  96. Bruce Niedt

    Elizabeth, best wishes for a speedy recovery.

    Robert, I presume that it’s OK to use first and second person if you have two characters in dialogue, so I took the liberty to bend the rules a bit. Note: I normally use italics for quotes in my poetry, but with no HTML options I had to use quotation marks.

    Pride Don’t Pay the Rent

    He leans to the left as he walks to the desk –
    scoliosis, he tells the worker –
    it bent his spine like a green twig.
    Back in the day, he was a drummer,
    did a lot of gigs in the Sixties, even
    sat in with Miles once in the Village.
    Played Newport in ’68, Montreux in ’72.
    "You must be proud of all that," the worker says.
    "Pride don’t pay the rent," he replies.
    He still wears a beret, his striped shirt
    is neat but faded. White stubble
    dusts his dark chin. The worker
    peppers him with questions,
    then pushes some papers across the desk.
    The jazzman signs them
    with an arthritis-gnarled hand.
    "It must be hard to ask for help,"
    the worker says, trying to be sympathetic,
    "after all you’ve done in your life."
    The jazzman stands, pushing himself
    up on his cane, and says, "Yeah,
    but the worst part is, I’ve lost the rhythm."

  97. Pris Campbell

    love hurts

    sara struts to the stage
    checks that her pasties
    on her double A breasts
    still stick in place
    The guy with the pimples,
    second table out,
    looks as nervous as SHE feels
    behind her revlon red smirk,
    but she’s gotta make money–
    the kid screams all day.
    she has a nice ass,
    legs like a willow,
    uses her fan to hide
    what’s lacking up top.

    his friends push mr. pimples
    up front with a fiver,
    expect her to take it,
    shun him back to his seat.
    his eyes are the eyes
    of a boy she once loved.
    that was a long time
    before these nights at the bar.
    she kneels down to kiss him,
    lost in her dream, turns abruptly
    when the dj starts the next tune.

  98. Corinne

    Forget the condom
    She said, in the moment, out of
    Inner desperation to fill the gnawing void.
    Surely a body this desirable
    could never be subject to invasion, by anything.
    If another could want her enough, then
    self-love might be attainable. Oh, please.

    Routine blood tests, the call
    From the doctor’s office.
    What has been done cannot be undone, and
    now her days are haunted by the undercurrent
    of CD-4 counts, virus loads and the screeching pain of
    turning into the void and embracing it,
    so that she might love herself enough to be
    truly loved once more.

  99. KP

    Elizabeth, Hope you’re feeling better already!! We’re thinking about ya!


    She sings when no is listening
    And when people are
    She eats with her hands
    And in the car

    She sleeps late
    And naps in the middle of the day
    Watches cartoons
    And always wants to play

    She yells at the top of her lungs
    And enjoys getting dirty
    Acts like a 2-year-old
    Even though she’s 30!

    In the morning
    She puts on makeup and pearls
    Fixes her hair
    With tons of curls

    After breakfast
    She puts her dishes away
    Makes her bed
    And then she’s on her way

    She helps her little sister
    With a snack
    Watches the news
    About Iraq

    She seems like she always knows
    The right thing to do
    But when it comes down to it
    She’s only 2!

  100. Phyllis Elswick

    Wishing you a speedy recovery, Elizabeth.

    The Transitional Flight

    She was feeling really down as she walked
    Through the tunnel to enter the plane
    She prayed for God to take her home,
    She was ready she felt like she was going insane.
    She walked up the isle and took her assigned seat
    by the window, the tears very close to falling
    The engines started and the light came on with a beep
    She hardly heard a word the stewardess said in case of trouble
    She looked out the window as they slowly began to climb
    Leaving the city with all it’s problems and tall building behind
    She was thinking of what she was going to do
    But as she watched the buildings slowly go out of sight
    Something beautiful replaced it taking her by surprise
    The fluffy clouds so white and beautiful
    Looked like snow covering the ground with the
    sun shining making them glistening and bright
    Then she thanked God for bringing her out of her depression
    Feeling she really was not going insane after all.

  101. Omavi Ndoto

    “She Looks At Her Journal”

    She wakes each morning and the day is already long
    She lives in a life that is far from the norm
    Her passions are overcoming
    But her regrets always seem to be at the door
    She falls on her knees and prays for something more
    Her fingers want to write and her mind constantly thinks
    But the weight of the world
    Prevents her from the flight that she needs
    She puts on a cup of coffee
    She lights meditative candles
    And she sits and she thinks
    This is not the whole of me, this is not me
    She wants so much more than life can truly give
    She wants to feel the pulse of the ages
    Beating in her ears as she sleeps
    She wants to feel the kiss
    Of time and romance it until reality gives
    She wants so much more
    She has so much to give
    She gets them dressed for school
    And she welcomes them home each day
    She epitomizes the “super woman”
    But she does not feel that super today
    She does not feel that greatness that they say
    She only see’s the struggle that presents everyday
    And she wants to put it all on paper
    She wants to stain parchment with her thoughts today
    But the ink ran dry when the voices
    Cried so loud that she could not even sense the day
    And the noise from the cosmos
    Keeps interrupting every line her fingers play
    And the stress of the world
    Bears on her shoulders each and every day
    She wants to sing a song
    But the words, no, no music do they play
    And the notes on the sheet are confusing
    Half tones and missed beats and miscues they say
    And she holds her head in her hands
    And the tears
    They fall freely drenching every good she sees
    And she wants to just live but finds it so hard to live
    She looks at the paper and the pen that’s over that way
    And she thinks of all the things that she needs to say
    And she thinks of all the words playing in her head today
    And the noises of this reality
    Fights to keep her from writing
    This is her fight

  102. Maria Jacketti

    Four Ways of Looking at Rabbit-kind

    1. Dust bunnies humping a desert under the bed:
    2. One hundred pounds of hallucinations hunch
    Harvey hare’s back:
    3. The Every Ready Bunny, caught off duty,
    with Peter Rabbit pants down in the turnips
    is off to the stockade (stockpot):
    4. The Playboy Bunny, jelly implants to the winds,
    captures good old Thumper, senile and munificent.

    Maria Jacketti

  103. Sarah

    In the Dairy Aisle

    Some people long for what they can’t have,
    but she feels a little guilty
    because she doesn’t much want
    what she can’t abide.
    Tempting–so many delectable flavors.
    She has tried them all, but not even
    strawberry cheesecake or coconut cream pie
    could entice her now.
    It’s supposed to be good for digestion,
    but something always holds her back–
    that bite, the tang
    of live and active cultures.
    She admits it. She hates yogurt.

  104. Sheryl Kay Oder

    Whoops. I posted this on the wrong day. Of course, it would have to work on the first attempt. I’ll put it in day 16.CL Sorry about that.

  105. Sheryl Kay Oder


    She joined me for overnights
    in the little backyard house
    my daddy fixed up for me.

    We listened to music together
    as I whispered momentous
    secrets in her ear.

    I would poke her awake
    thinking I heard a prowler
    In the night.

    She protested not at all–
    not one growl.
    not one bark.

  106. Dee IKJ

    Walking in Circles 04-17-08

    His first steps were unsteady
    He walked to his teddy.

    She knew he was ready to run
    oh, what fun in the sun.

    She walked him to the bus that first day
    Off to school he went to obey.

    All too soon to the school of higher learning he went
    oh, what money was spent.

    Graduation day came, then he made his own way.
    From his home to work, he went each day.

    Soon there was marriage and he walked down the aisle.
    How that handsome couple did smile.

    Nine months later a small baby boy,
    Never had they known such joy.

    His first steps were unsteady
    He walked to his teddy.

  107. Cara Alson


    Turn the page…

    It’s another one of “those” slick magazines, the kind that grace coffee tables and hide in nightstand drawers. They’re often hidden underneath tool catalogs and sports issues, out of an unsuspecting spouse’s view. Buxom models grace their covers; they outnumber other offerings at the local magazine stands. Some vendors won’t allow voyeurs to wear out the pages – “Buy it or put it down!”

    This one is also filled with vibrant photos, full-page spreads and even pages that unfold. Each is meant to show off the best view of a sleek young model – or several that cozy
    up to each other. The background is often a beach, meant to carry images of playfulness. The colors are rich and inviting, the curves perfectly formed. All the models are enticing,
    often wearing the latest accessories meant to make the heart race. As planned, each reader is sure the models are calling to them.

    Eyes that sometimes drift from the photos find the sexy statistics – sure to make the blood pressure rise. Primal reactions kick in, exactly as planned. What car will be chosen this time?

    (I’m looking for a car, and this metaphor came easily.)

  108. Sheryl Kay Oder

    Elizabeth, I just stopped to pray for you.

    Not inserting myself in this poem was a challenge. I had to change the line about filling groery bags. My first line included the words, "filling my grocery bags."

    Our Local Cheshire Cat

    Red hair, a smile,
    and waving hands
    often do appear.

    A disembodied voice
    Calls out,
    “How are you today.”

    During movie-selling week
    Harry Potter greets you,
    and Homer Simpson, too.

    In summertime
    hands holds a fork,
    hot dogs on its end.

    Winter finds
    those hands
    pushing frigid carts.

    At other times they
    fill grocery bags or place
    rejected items on the shelf.

    The local Cheshire Cat
    is a friendly
    worker in disguise.

  109. patti williams

    Lucky Ladybug

    She got up early
    Put on her favorite red shirt
    Tucked the lucky ladybug
    Deep inside her pocket.
    The day was finally here.

    On stage, she was the most beautiful
    Child in the show
    And when she sang her solo
    It was clear.
    The girl could really sing.
    The other kids said
    Her name and wow
    As they clapped loudly.

    After the performance
    The teacher raved about her voice,
    Her talent, a natural gift
    The likes of which she’d never seen before.

    Proud Mommy
    With tears in her eyes
    Said, “Thank you, I couldn’t agree with you more.”

    The daughter stood beside her Mommy
    Oblivious to the news her teacher brought.
    She just liked to sing, and smile, and be with friends.
    She just liked to be happy.
    She rubbed the red ladybug in her pocket
    Thankful it had worked.

    (Elizabeth – sending healing thoughts)

  110. Karen



    Afternoon sunlight streamed through the sheers
    And she wondered where the morning went.
    A canvas of matte blue,
    The spring sky beckoned.
    She set aside all she should do
    And stepped outdoors to walk under
    Breeze-tossed baby leaves
    And let the sun warm her shoulders.
    The work would wait.
    The day would not.

  111. Ginger G

    by Ging

    The asphalt seemed to melt through the soles of their shoes
    Steam rose from the earth and the heat could be seen
    floating through the air
    Brown skin danced
    sweat drenched and glistening
    The Ice Cream Man
    passed frosty treats to eager hands
    Lines of red and blue syrup running from fingertip to elbow
    Someone turned the bolt on the hydrant
    and children squealed as water splashed and sprayed
    in the middle of the street.

  112. Ginger G

    This is for prompt #16…

    I posted three yesterday as I was running out the door, I must have entered the code wrong, because it didn’t post… Here are two of the three…I love this prompt!

    The Date
    by Ging

    The night had been exciting
    His smile so inviting
    His cunning was charming
    to say the least
    They had dined on the bay
    Him leading the way
    On a moonlit walk
    along the beach.
    As he held her hand
    She glanced at the man
    She thought was
    better than dreams.
    But her love turned to fear
    as fur grew on his ear
    And her laughs turned quickly
    to screams.
    The girl was delightful
    Though the screams were quite frightful
    But Werewolf enjoyed the feast
    And he’s thinking that soon,
    There’ll be another full moon
    So he’s planning a date for next week.

  113. Tonya Root

    Elizabeth – Prayers from our direction are most definitely with you today!

    Cheryl Wray – I am exactly the same – when I am not writing about me, I am writing about my two and a half year old beauty. :-)

  114. Nancy

    She slipped in right on the hour,
    took a seat in the back and said
    a silent prayer, "Please don’t call on me.
    Please, not today."

    Any other day, she’d be front row,
    pencil sharpened and ready,
    the one with the spark in her eye
    that every teacher seeks.

    Any other day, she’d be as ready
    to take it as to dish it out;
    "She has a great sense of humor"
    was the truth, not a blind date
    euphemism for below average looks.

    But not today. She could trot out
    the sick grandmother or "my dog
    got run over" cliches. She could
    even tell the truth. She just couldn’t
    bear the looks she’d get in return.

  115. Carol -Amherst, Mass

    I thought I sent this but it’s not showing up, so I’ll send it again. Sorry if there’s a duplicate.

    I wanted to wish Elizabeth a quick recovery and am looking foward to reading your poems again soon.

    Liza, I loved your ‘Children Alone’. It was so well written, I could feel their thoughts. It was so sad.

  116. Valerie V.

    Love is a Jaymay song
    Appeals to her
    Indie side
    Words depend
    On music and minor things
    So she
    Walks home
    In the rain
    A person
    Cannot lie.

  117. Carol -Amherst, Mass

    The Lurker

    They call him the ‘lurker’
    He slinks door to door
    His feet are so greasy
    They slide ‘cross the floor

    She tries to ignore him
    To hint that she’s working
    But he hangs like a vine
    He keeps right on lurking

    He looks out her window
    He mindlessly yaks
    He sneaks peaks at her chest
    He touches her slacks

    He’s hard to get rid of
    He won’t go away
    ‘ oh please, let the phone ring,”
    she silently prays.

    There’s no easy way
    To get rid of this jerk
    Cuz it seems he gets paid
    By the hour to ‘lurk.’

  118. Jane Penland Hoover


    A poem has come

    Riding on the gleaming light
    Of morning quickening into day

    Remembering those yesteryears
    This house filling up with laughter
    All preparing to depart

    Now alone she sips in silence
    Memories rising repetitious hum

    A poem has come

  119. M J Dills

    Two friends
    Went for a ride on their ponies
    To Aquini.
    They brought with them their rum
    And their dreams;
    They also did bring a little pipe
    To keep their dreams in.
    They saw the wild horses on the horizon
    But chose to only watch the dance;
    Being settled in their ways
    And afraid to follow.
    They crossed the sparkling river
    Looking to the east —
    The moon;
    The west —
    The sun,
    Waving farewell and hello.
    Two friends
    On a journey of promises.
    Wiping one another’s tears
    Of joy
    Of sorrow.
    A shoulder here,
    A leg up there,
    Giving each other a hand.
    Two friends
    Following visions;
    Mountains of trepidation
    Oceans of doubt
    Heavens of hope
    With twinkling stars of anticipation.
    Warm their hands by the fireside of companionship.
    Sleeping under the lightness of dark,
    And blankets of wishes.
    Waking to the dawn of realization
    On the cusp of loyalty.
    Two friends
    Went for a ride on their ponies
    To Aquini.

  120. Callan Bignoli-Zale

    Without Her

    He wakes up with her
    when the loud alarm
    shatters sleep into shards
    of half-awake confusion.
    The unfettered spring sun
    helps pry open their eyes.

    He wants to get up with her,
    to join her in the kitchen
    as she makes some coffee
    and puts her contacts in,
    but he is just too weary;
    he crawls back under covers.

    He tries to sleep without her,
    but it’s impossible to do.
    His eyes won’t stay shut;
    his mind won’t go mute.
    He sits up but does not stand;
    he stares at the bedroom wall.

    She comes back to him,
    her eyes painted pretty,
    her hair out of her face.
    He stretches and yawns.
    She takes his hands in hers
    and yanks him to his feet.

    Coffee-cream lips kiss him.
    They have that morning-taste.
    He pulls her in so close,
    then walks her to the door.
    Without her, silence is a sore,
    festering like never before.

  121. IleanaCarmina

    Lori, glad to hear you’re going to keep plugging away! Even if your muse is on holiday, it’s cool that you’re planning on rising to the challenge.

    Iain, hope you feel better! Will check in later, to see if you have a chance to post.

    Rox, I also enjoyed yours! Lovely imagery of course, and I could almost see the tapestry.

  122. Cheryl Wray

    Get well (and back here) soon, Elizabeth!!

    Okay, I obviously have a hard time not writing about myself. Perhaps I’m a bit self-indulgent. Hmmm…anyway, I really was going to write about someone else (promise!), then I had this wonderful lunch with my daughter.


    She sits in Captain D’s,
    at noon on an ordinary Thursday,
    little things bringing her such joy.

    She pushes the ice dispenser,
    all by herself.
    She sings along to the Alecia Keys musak.
    She draws pictures on her napkin
    ("this is pizza," "this is a princess");
    folds it into an envelope,
    and says "it’s an invitation to a party."
    She asks to pour salt on her fries,
    and giggles when too much comes out.

    One diner eats alone, staring at his shrimp.
    three diners laugh animatedly, friends sharing lunch.
    a couple sit side-by-side,
    together, yet solitary.

    The 4-year-old causes them all to
    look up from their food

    when she slurps her strawberry soda
    and says loudly, "Ahh. Life is Good!"

    Her mother leans into the little girl’s face,
    kisses her nose,
    and whispers an endearment into her ear,

    then pulls a notebook from her own purse.

    It’s what the lone diner,
    the three friends,
    and couple
    know they would do

    if they were the mother of that little girl
    who sits in Captain D’s
    at noon on an ordinary Thursday.

  123. Lorien Vidal

    Thanks for the reply! And, you are right I guess. I imagine I must know a few too many people who would use such a "loophole" to continually refer to themselves without the benefit of self-reflection!

    Hi, Heather – I noticed your question up there. Despite the quality of what I’ve posted so far, one of my poems was accepted for publication by an online magazine created by a woman (name forgotten) whose interview I read in the-hold.com – a very cool, online, writer’s magazine. Her ‘zine never came to be and I lost her e-mail addy! Mostly my writing goes into whatever’s handy – my journal, a postcard, cocktail napkin, paper placemat and the like. Some of my favorites have been gifted to my husband for some occasion or other, or just because. I’d love to have the chance to be published but it would require getting my journals organized!

  124. Iain D. Kemp

    Kerri, Cats, Poetry & Death!!

    Death in the Orchard

    The old cat that had perhaps once had a name
    Was just Puss for twelve blissful years
    ‘Til today when lying under his favourite apple tree
    His purring stopped and Puss was no more

    She pats the earth, muddy handed
    And sheds one more tear for her old friend
    Now young again and chasing birds
    In his own special paradise

    Later sitting at her desk, staring half out
    Into the orchard, half at the photo of Puss
    She sighs and closes her note book
    No words today, no verse, no muse to conjure

    Time can heal so slowly but distraction heals as well
    She moves her mind to new beginnings and so
    Sets about a search of kinds, in small ads and windows
    To revitalise her life and resuscitate her inspiration

    The writer writes anew, an ode to her old pal
    And interrupting this a scampering, bouncing, pouncing
    Nuisance roams and bounds and calls for her
    The kitten,(just called Kitty) has sparked her fire once more

  125. Marcus Smith

    (Elizabeth – my armest wishes for a fast recovery! I would also like to send my best to all the troops in harm’s way – most fighting a war they don’t understand)

    “The Soldier”

    The explosion mutated into a steel plate of air
    hurtling toward his vehicle
    and in less than a second – a millisecond –
    his armored carrier was airborne
    transformed into a twisting groaning
    metal coffin
    time stood still.
    Sergeant Anderson recognized the inevitable outcome
    he ran through his entire life
    a video running at hyper speed
    just exactly as they show in movies
    just the same
    Aunt Bessie’s rough beard
    the embarrassments in school
    the Christmas mornings
    the exact hour and day his first girlfriend said "let’s be friends."
    The armored vehicle hit the dry desert ground with a hollow thud still moving
    and he thought of something he had read
    he had traveled to Argentina with his fiancé just last year
    and in preparation he studied the history of the expansive country
    and was taken by the knife fights that occurred in the pampas
    mano y mano
    what a glorious way to do battle
    fueled by emotion
    upholding the family name or
    defending your girl
    both noble causes
    but as he hurtled toward death he suddenly felt sad
    he was fighting someone else’s battle not his own.

  126. Michelle H.

    Third Person

    Today is the day
    He wrote about Fred
    Instead of going to the play
    Right she agreed the play is a bore
    Drafting new poems is so much more.

    Plenty of words were written that day
    Entirely entertaining they’re sure
    Really she says with a lilt in her voice
    Some things she just cannot do
    One hour or two but no more, rejoice
    Now let’s run along to the Zoo!

    April 17, 2008
    © Michelle H.

  127. Kimberly K

    For Elizabeth

    She lies under the
    bright hot lights
    of the surgical suite,
    Gregorian chant,
    her choice
    plays over
    invisible speakers.
    She wonders,
    how many of them
    those busy people
    in head-to-toe blue
    behind goggles and masks
    have lay where she lay
    have trusted their bodies
    to strangers.
    She counts backward
    from 1 to ….
    As she sleeps,
    they come
    the angels
    from all corners of
    the universe
    to hover and hold her
    sent from
    poet friends across

  128. IleanaCarmina


    She’s on her way out the door, to a blue gown
    Her nerves jangle in strange harmony
    With the keys that turn the lock
    Her thoughts try to calm her
    Thinking of well wishes
    From people online
    Faces unknown
    Warmth sent
    In one

    Can’t wait to see your words again, Elizabeth! Get well soon and know we’re thinking of you.

  129. Deb Hill

    Elizabeth K. Thank you for your lovely writings. May this PAD challenge get your mind off anything painful and bring you smiles. Deb

    April 17, day 17

    He Waits

    He gathers his shirt and pulls it onto his head
    While he waits patiently
    He looks at the pants he can’t put on himself
    While he waits patiently
    He uses few words to acknowledge the morn
    While he waits patiently
    He stretches the workable adapting to succeed
    While he waits patiently
    He gets lifted to the chair that becomes his legs
    While he waits patiently
    For others .

  130. Margaret Fieland

    Elizabeth, you are in my thoughts and prayers. I hope you have a speedy recovery.


    Her pink platform sandles click
    on the stone path as she rubs
    legs shaved smooth for her lover’s
    delight. She smiles to herself,

    drives home through the summer
    night while the man in the moon
    hangs by a silver thread halfway
    down the sky, Her lover

    washes the sheets, then drifts down
    to the bar for a last draft ale with
    the guys who hang out on the corner.
    The next day he buys a jeep,

    dark green, detachable roof,
    packs it full of bits of
    a soon to be former life, then
    leaves without saying goodbye.

  131. Beth Browne

    Collecting Dust

    The cellar door is three steps down
    the plasic flap of the doggie door
    is dirty, askance and unused.
    Old Farley died years before
    and the cellar is growing full
    of the not-so-useful things in life.
    A cooler, dusty with unuse
    a work table piled with boxes
    of unread books, well-used clothing
    in plastic garbage bags
    one box holds old light fixtures
    replaced by spiffy new ones.
    A high window, nearly opaque
    with years of dirt and grime
    looks out under the azaleas
    to the grassy yard where the kids
    used to play, now grown and gone
    to their own yards, their own children
    their own dogs, their own stuff.
    Someday they will have to come here
    clear out the old stuff, find something to do
    with it all, but for now it’s all here
    for the finding.

  132. Iain D. Kemp

    First of all my heart felt best to Elizabeth. I sincerely hope you are soon well & strong & back in here with us.
    Secondly I wanted to add a comment to yesterdays posts; McKenna, well done & keep on going! Its not about "as good" & your poem was good, its about being there. This is all so subjective, just stick to writing what you like first, everthing else comes with time.
    Lastly, I can bearly stand to look at the screen as I am once again ridled with migraine, will post something but to do this justice I will re-post again in the morning (my a.m!)

  133. Michelle Cooper

    Get Well Soon…
    Dedicated To Elizabeth Keggi

    Patients are very strong
    Patients may have many fears
    Patients don’t show til years
    Patients only need friends to be
    More than happy as they can be
    Patients don’t like to worry
    Patients love is always true
    Patients know just how to show it too
    Patients try not to be concerned with
    Whatever the doctors has just learned
    Patients know God will settle the score
    When doctors think they know more
    Patients know God is the Man with life’s
    Plans in His hands she will do what the
    Doctors say do while praying God lead
    Also guide her doctors gracefully through

    Today’s Prayer
    Thanking God Elizabeth weathered her storm
    Thanking God for keeping Elizabeth nice and warm
    Thanking God for keeping Elizabeth safe from harm
    And for blessing Elizabeth with courage not to be alarmed
    Also for blessing Elizabeth to know there is love for her
    And for blessing Elizabeth to know God’s love is true
    Also for blessing Elizabeth to know all is thinking of her
    Thanking God for Elizabeth’s heart
    Thanking God for Elizabeth’s soul
    Thanking God for letting Elizabeth know it is
    He, who is in control
    Today’s prayer

    H. Michelle Cooper

  134. Lori

    It started with
    patterns and sorting.
    He’d line up his toys
    along the edge of the table
    just so, by color or shape,
    then move to the closet
    to divide folders
    just so, by color and shape,
    and moved to simple addition
    and subtraction and suddenly
    multiplication is his head.
    At age six. Kindergarten.
    He finds it fun, it’s a game.
    Give him a problem and he
    sits with his head in hands
    and thinks, hard, eyes closed.
    His head pops up quicker
    than anyone else can compute
    and he spouts the answer
    with a quick grin, knowing
    amazement will follow.
    The mini math-man.

    My prayers are also with Elizabeth! Sending {{{cyber hugs}}} your way!

    I am finding the writing a poem thing to be getting more and more difficult. I just haven’t been "in the mood" since the apology prompt but it has been a good habit to drag SOMETHING out of me each day. :-D So thanks for the challenge. I can never back down from a challenge!

  135. Chris Granholm Jr.

    "She Goes Through Her Day"

    She goes through her day
    Waking in the morning
    When the most dear to her has gone

    She goes through her day
    Smiling and Joyous
    Though her true love eludes her

    She goes through her day
    Caring for Godchildren
    Awaiting the miracle it will take for her to share in that splendor

    She goes through her day
    Chatting with co-workers
    But her most beloved friends have left her

    She goes through her day
    Thankful at the end
    For no more loss in her life

  136. Bill Kirk

    Life Is Good
    By Bill Kirk

    She wakes early,
    Before first light
    And slowly makes her way to the kitchen
    To start the coffee ritual.
    Her footsteps are muffled by thick wool socks
    Pulled on out of habit—
    Even in summer.

    The house is quiet
    And will be for another hour,
    Except for the occasional creak or pop
    In floors, ceilings and walls,
    Just as old bones are also sometimes want to do.
    It’s odd that those noises always seem to be
    Upstairs or in the next room—
    Present but never proximate,
    As if the house wants the attention—
    Letting you know
    It should not be taken for granted.

    What makes those noises anyway—
    In bones and boards?
    Are people like houses when they get old?
    Come to think of it,
    Old ships are like that, too,
    What with their snaps and cracks
    From movement on the water,
    Even when safely sheltered.

    She feels that way sometimes—
    Just an old girl with ancient ribs and joints
    Making noises as all the pieces and parts
    Settle and resettle into place.
    But not today.

    Today the noises don’t matter.
    She has no time for feeling old.
    For this day, she has fifty miles ahead of her—
    On foot; uphill and down,
    Over rocky, narrow trails
    Carved out through the heavy underbrush
    Of ancient forests by pack mules, horses and pioneers.

    Today, she will join the company
    Of thousands of her comrades,
    Both past and present,
    Once again, experiencing a level of
    Anticipation, pain and exhilaration
    Shared by few.

    But now in this quiet moment,
    Like no other in its simplicity,
    She savors the first steamy sips
    Of rich, dark coffee laden with
    Fresh cream and sugar—
    The steady warmth radiating from her core.

    Cradling a comfortable old mug in her hands,
    She closes her eyes, thankful for this day.
    Then, as if in prayer,
    She imagines the start of her long day’s journey—
    The steady cadence during twelve hours
    Of her 80,000 foot strikes,
    As she leaves her own transitory yet enduring
    Marks on the trail—
    The next first steps of the rest of her life.

    It’s almost time to lace up.
    Life is good.

  137. Debra Elliott

    Great words already today. I truly enjoy reading all that is wrote here. I am glad I found this blog. Do any of you have poetry books published? Just wondering, I am awaiting the publication of my first poetry book and would love feedback.

  138. lynn rose

    She is a person that they see everyday,an image with a broom, mop,trash can.
    She takes care of the domestic things,gets their trash, makes sure that things are ready for the day.
    They see a face and know her name and that is all.
    Sometimes there is a Good Morning exchanged and sometimes they see right through her.
    She cleans people’s toilets and picks up trash, yuck. That shouldn’t matter but it does. Its like she is less worthy because she does these things, to them it matters.
    If they could only see beyond and see the true person inside, behind the mop, they might be surprised.

  139. Marcos Cabrera


    A hot beam that heats up the winter days.
    It shines like a bright star from far away
    spreading its light to every place it goes,
    a priceless gift giving sparks to the world
    of those that are trying to lunch a foray.
    To be of help it always finds a way
    without stopping to think for what to proof
    it is to everyone like a clear brook
    filling the land with its natural glaze.

    In the moments of misery and hell
    it brings the steel to make a new bell.

    As the time moves it is willing to pray
    for the human race to have a new bliss,
    it protects every forhead with a kiss
    because every one is part of its vale.
    When the dawns are packed with a misty haze
    and the devil’s eye wanted there to be
    it comes from heaven with its strong beliefs
    to make the earth the most beautiful place.
    It is the sun of the ming, it is faith.

  140. Earl Parsons

    Dear Lord,

    Elizabeth Keggi is having surgery today, but I’m sure You already know that. Please, Lord, watch over her and all those involved in her surgery. Help her remain calm with that peace that passes all understanding, and guide the hands of the surgeons. In Jesus name I pray. Amen.

  141. Earl Parsons

    Emergency Room Love

    He awoke at 2 in the morning
    Pain riddled his abdomen
    Mild at first, but more severe
    As the time progressed
    Until he could no longer stand
    Without stooping in agony

    His wife awoke and found him
    Curled up on the floor
    Half asleep, half unconscious
    From the fatigue and pain
    She tried to help but
    He assured her it would pass

    At 4 it got a little better
    And he moved back into bed
    Only to awake once more
    In more pain than ever
    So, she insisted
    And to the hospital they went

    At 6 she checked him in
    To the emergency room on base
    His history of heart problems
    Got him special treatment
    He knew it wasn’t his heart
    But that’s all he really knew

    Still, no chances could be taken
    So test after test was done
    First to eliminate his heart
    EKG, blood pressure and blood work
    Then to concentrate on his pain
    Urine, ultrasound, and more blood

    Early that afternoon his pain
    Had diminished just a little
    With the painkillers they had given
    He finally rested just a bit
    His faithful wife sitting by his bed
    In and out he dozed

    Then a surgeon came to consult
    The tests were pointing to the cause
    Somehow and for some odd reason
    His gall bladder was spewing poison
    And causing him agonizing pain
    His gall bladder had to go

    At 4 that afternoon
    He was prepped to go under the knife
    His loving wife still by his side
    He asked her to pray for him
    Her prayer was loving and caring
    God heard it and all came out right

  142. Heather

    Suddenly the sky
    Opened into a shade of gray

    He found himself there
    Except not like before
    The last attack he had been alert
    Although place and time
    Seemed confused

    Mumbled and jumbled
    His words were lost

    Craning to hear
    He met confusion
    With a kiss

    Mayhem continued
    As an exit

    Glances were exchanged
    And then a final wave

    Chit-chatting about nothing
    Especially not the topic at hand
    Five gathered
    And prayed

    Consciousness escaped him
    His eyes glazed

    Grandpa, blessings, rest in peace 4/15/07

  143. Robert Brewer


    Yes, it’s definitely a small bit of cheating. But 3rd person is 3rd person. And it is sometimes quite surprising what you can learn about yourself once you start writing about yourself in the 3rd person.



  144. Christa R. Shelton


    She moved from place to place
    never able to gain footing on solid ground
    She much more desired the ebb and flow
    Uncertainty was comforting to her
    Being forced to think about her circumstances
    sent her into a mad panic
    She denied she was six months pregnant in her mind
    Her body showed her all the signs and she ignored the message
    until it became too incovenient to continue on in the charade
    She then vowed to love this unseen creature with all the passion
    she felt from the streets of New York City,
    Belgium, England and Hollywood
    She gained access to traveling through strangers who took advantage
    but talked her into believing they were favors
    This led to the anonymity of the one that contributed to this creation
    being formed inside of her
    She knew she would have to care for this precious being
    better than she knew how to tend to herself
    She loved this unborn child and hated it at the same time
    She struggled between conflicting desires
    To receive unconditional love for the first time
    while uncovering the truth of stability
    Or the continued freedom to roam at will
    making temporary homes in the arms of strangers
    She chose the latter
    She brought another into this world
    to accompany her on these trysts
    inflicting her selfishness on an innocent mind
    forcing her to grow up way too fast
    This child knew way too many men
    but never knew the woman
    she was forced to call Mother

  145. Vanessa O'Dwyer

    My warmest wishes to Elizabeth…..
    Blessings blown to a sister…



    Likes to

    Eat hot dogs

    At the ball park

    During summertime

    While she shops, at the mall

    Spending time with friends

    Trying on clothes

    Which give him



  146. Sally DiUlus

    PAD #17
    “Cosmic Wanderer”©
    April 17, 2008
    She navigates
    Among stars and moons
    In her sailing ship
    Rounding a blasted asteroid
    She avoids the
    Conspicuous noiseless space
    Humming to a melody by Breeen,
    The eloquent cosmic queen.
    Past the cusp of the crisp Najah Star
    She winks at a stray moonbeam
    Silently following her star crossed path
    On Delicious Waves of dancing wind
    Triumphantly, lifting her into Air Ecstasy
    She warps — speeding recklessly.
    Sally DiUlus sdiulus@cefe.org

  147. Lorien Vidal

    Rox said it better than I could have, even if I knew her! Peace and well-wishes to Elizabeth (HEAL!! – as my grandfather used to say with his hands squishing the "healing" into my head! used to always make me laugh…)

    P.S. – Rob: Isn’t that cheating somewhat? I mean, even if you write in the 3rd person, aren’t you still talking about yourself?

    Kitkat Crows

    Sleeping peacefully, her senses betray her calm
    Ears flick upwards at the sound of keys
    At the smell of her person walking towards
    Scratching, scratching at the door for more
    Time in the sunshine
    Rolling on the porch in warmed spots
    Her sunrise is the first set of slippers to walk downstairs
    Much to the chagrin of her people
    She sounds the same sunrise wakeup-call each time
    Wailing cat – they’d prefer a rooster!

  148. Angela

    Best wishes for Elizabeth for good health and a speedy recovery.

    "Return Flight"

    She stands gazing out the window;
    noticing how the butterflies have returned-
    How marvelous to see them flitting
    about here and there on a breeze.
    She missed them so much, and it
    was such a long winter absence,
    Her heart felt so glad to see those
    wings of white and yellow in the air-
    It was mid-April and a most warm
    welcome for a new spring.
    These special beauties are back,
    And a new gladness her soul feels-
    The sun shone delightful on her face,
    and she embraced the warm rays…
    It was a long and tedious winter,
    But spring was giving way to new
    promises of hope for Angela.

    ADE 2008

  149. John H Maloney

    Good luck, Elizabeth, sending good vibes your way :)

    I decided to go free verse on this one. It’s by no means my strong suit, but I figured I’d give it a shot.

    The tale of a tale

    It’s withered, folded pages
    tell the story of a story
    that’s been told a thousand times.
    Yet each time,
    with every new detail discovered,
    every character nuance now understood,
    the story is reborn
    and the old pages, once faded and worn,
    come alive, anew,
    to tell their story once more
    as if never before.

  150. Jennifer Fagala

    I missed the part about no "you" in the poem so I have rewritten this without the you.

    PS. Sending well wishes for Elizabeth.

    Her Visions

    They do not know her
    They have not seen her face
    but she picks up her pen
    Every day
    to write her visions
    for them

    She does not not complain
    she does not bolster an insult
    but goes about her art
    dripped in soliloquy and burnt orange

    She is tired, though
    Her eyes seeking the pages
    to see if but one has something to say
    so she can grow upward
    so she can grow outward
    just grow

    but no one notices her
    only a few ever have
    and she is getting tired
    of picking up the pen
    to write her visions
    for him

    She considers returning
    to her space, her place alone
    the black screen rising out
    with rebellious intent
    the one she created to share
    with the
    but again

    what does it matter
    where the words spill out
    where they pierce with black
    inkish deliberation
    not one of them will
    see her vex-ations
    her nation
    her sense-ations
    her riot-ous acts of
    her pain
    her joy and gain

    so she just picks up the pen
    to write her visions
    for her

  151. Jennifer Fagala

    Her Visions

    You do not know her
    you have not seen her face
    but she picks up her pen
    Every day
    to write her visions
    for you

    She does not not complain
    she does not bolster an insult
    but goes about her art
    dripped in soliloquy and burnt orange

    She is tired, though
    Her eyes seeking the pages
    to see if but one has something to say
    so she can grow upward
    so she can grow outward
    just grow

    but no one notices her
    only a few ever have
    and she is getting tired
    of picking up the pen
    to write her visions
    for you

    She considers returning
    to her space, her place alone
    the black screen rising out
    with rebellious intent
    the one she created to share
    with the
    but again

    what does it matter
    where the words spill out
    where they pierce with black
    inkish deliberation
    not one of them will
    see her vex-ations
    her nation
    her sense-ations
    her riot-ous acts of
    her pain
    her joy and gain

    so she just picks up the pen
    to write her visions
    for her

  152. Don Swearingen

    Lament. Again.
    Half of April has gone by
    And Our Muse has gone, to make us cry.
    Strangled by a dirty bird
    Which dried up every golden word,
    If she is gone, we might as well die!

    Sing again, Elizabeth!

  153. Emily Blakely

    For Elizabeth…

    She opened her eyes
    to see a kindly face
    from someone asking
    if she was warm enough,
    as they placed a soft
    blanket, fresh from the
    warming bin over her,
    and she smiled, inside
    and out.

    Elizabeth, I hope there are many smiling faces there to whisk you along the healing road.
    Emily Blakely

    P.S. I posted this once but it didn’t show up, now I’m wondering where I sent it??? lol

  154. Carol Brian

    Virtual Reality

    She leans forward half off the couch
    twisting the Wii remote,
    using different muscles than when
    she makes her bed or plays her flute.

    AiAi or MeeMee or YanYan
    roll across the screen
    in plastic protective bubbles
    racing across the dessert
    or the jungle or a volcano
    always to the rainbow-circled goal.

    Yesterday she realized she was
    steering the half-eaten pizza slice
    in her hands while watching
    someone else play the game.

    “I should be able to beat this world
    this afternoon,” she declares
    as she powers down
    and heads off to seventh grade.

    Carol Brian

    Elizabeth, I hope your surgery goes well and provides more grist for the mill, Carol

  155. Connie

    E ternal Father, thank You for Elizabeth and her
    L ovely poems that she has been sharing with us.
    I pray that her surgery goes well and that you give her the
    Z ip and zeal to have a speedy recovery.
    A rrange it so she’s touched by her favorite people today.
    B less her and her family abundantly now and
    E ach and every day.
    T otally, let her feel Your loving arms around
    H er. Bless her body, soul and mind. Amen!

    Monday Headlines

    At ten thirty on Monday nights
    Jay Leno’s ads which aren’t quite right

    The ads for cats with extra limbs
    Pictures of hers instead of hims

    A wrong word so naively placed
    Cause writers’ need for saving face

    And the one folks most like to hear
    A crosswalk sign for local deer

    “Don’t put one here,” the lady said.
    “They come as is, they’ll soon be dead”.

  156. Marin

    He Knew Not

    A boy and his Mohawk
    (they started it all),
    four inches tall and peacock blue.
    The boy left his home at thirteen
    and rode the waves of the streets;
    at fourteen he had one good
    friend – crystal clear, spoon fed;

    This is just a transitional period
    he would tell himself,
    though he knew not what it meant.

    A misted park at the edge
    of a rusted tract of land,
    he sat in the dewy grass,
    free he thought, and waiting.
    For what he knew not.

    When the day came,
    he told himself,
    he would stop.
    A day of sun and sparkled air;
    a day where all the magic
    of the world would send fairies
    over the earth to move his feet
    to where he knew he should be.

    But that day he knew not when it came,
    so he sat in the park covered in dew.
    Waiting –
    a sign,
    please any sign
    he would scream.

    His screams faded into the air,
    no one to hear and no one to care.

  157. LBC

    Beach Walk

    Silver sky moon,
    Caresses the beach walk,
    full of wonder
    at the heat of young summer love,
    draws the tide
    about bare feet;
    footprints to nowhere
    of the beaming face,
    lovers share a
    passionate kiss
    to somewhere
    in strawberry light,
    and moon blushes.

  158. Linda

    Gloria (Montepulciano, 1996)

    In his sadness she leads him –
    caretaker, confidant, friend –
    past olive groves casting stark shadows
    upon burnt earth. Amidst silvered sheaves
    they lie, hidden from all
    but God’s eyes and bees,
    buzzing sodden and soporific.

    Time slows, time stops,
    clouds drape the azure canvas.
    A wind sounds low, softly strokes
    the grass, their mussed hair and tumbled limbs,
    hearts halcyon in that holy moment.
    Eyes reflecting sky, she turns,
    absolving his melancholy.

    A memory from long ago… Peace, Linda

  159. Teri Coyne

    Sending you good healing thoughts Elizabeth!

    The Woman in Coffee Bar

    She sits with her face
    toward the window
    listening with the care
    of a mother bandaging a skinned knee

    What is he saying to her?
    something wrenching and true
    her eyes tell you
    she knows where he is right now
    knows how he got there
    and that it would lead to this

    still she loves him
    she hopes he knows that

  160. Rox

    Ripple Effect

    So many of them
    Touching and never touched,
    Gifted insight without
    Laying eyes on one another,
    Connected through
    Electricity and technology and
    Words – glorious words!

    Every day
    An outpouring of observation
    Emotional provocation
    Moving them closer,
    Closer still;
    Knitting up separate colored
    Threads of a barely glimpsed whole,
    Until, for a moment, one skein
    Glimmers amongst the rest.

    Expressions of good will
    Imagining into reality
    The journey to new health
    All bestowed on the Thread of Life
    Called Elizabeth.

  161. Monica Martin

    Good luck Elizabeth! We’re all rooting for you!

    Rock god (for Richie Darling)
    He takes the stage
    Guitar in hand
    He takes a sip
    Of whiskey and coke
    He puts on his shades –
    He’s ready to rock.

    The first few notes
    Crawl up my spine
    And make goosebumps
    My feet stomp,
    My voice exalts –
    Praise for this rock god.

  162. Liza

    I’m sorry to hear someone having to undergo surgey. I wish you well, Elizabeth.

    Children Alone

    The wind was blowing with such force
    as the children stood waiting
    for whatever may come to take them.
    They missed their parents.

    A small car pulled into
    their parents’ driveway
    that had been empty
    since the day their parents left.

    There hadn’t been any laughter
    since that day as the children
    stood holding each others’ hands,
    each wearing a solemn grown-up face.

    They got into the car
    with a forced smile coming
    from the lady who told them
    to get in and buckle up.

    The children look so young
    after having lost so much.
    A shock so great that it was
    enough to break hearts everywhere.

    A small child turned to look out,
    with images of long ago times
    dancing through her mind,
    as her eyes filled with tears.

  163. Debra Elliott

    Not one of my best I’m afraid

    Looking Out The Window

    She sits beside the window,
    gazing at the ocean…
    Oh! how she longs to be there,
    the wind blowing in her hair.

    She sits beside the window,
    gazing at the sunset…
    Oh! how she longs to feel the rays,
    but now she is counting the days.

    She sits beside the window,
    wishing she could see…
    Oh! how she longs for her sight,
    to see another starry night.

  164. Kateri Woody

    Good luck, Elizabeth with your recovery.


    he stands
    sheathed with strands
    of sickly pale moonlight
    licking at his tortured back,

    naked gashes leaking blood slowly
    down his pale, ruined
    skin; he shivers
    in the

    that covers
    all things completely.
    Foiled by his nemesis,
    carved into like a cadaver

    and left to die slowly,
    exsanguinated on the sidewalk;
    perturbed only by
    the soulless

  165. Linda Brown

    Elizabeth, I’ll be thinking about you today and say a prayer for you.

    Robert, I thought the poems you posted re the paintings were outstanding!