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.


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