April PAD Challenge: Day 22

Today is Earth Day! Yay!

I think most people can agree that this planet is a good thing. However, wars are fought over how we should use it and/or live on it. So, today’s “2 for Tuesday” prompts will play off the opposing sides of the environmental coin.

Prompt 1: Write a nature poem. This can about how much you love or hate nature. It can be optimistic or not so. You can write about global warming or about that time when a deer walked up so close you could almost pet it. I’ll leave the specifics up to you, but it should be about nature.

Prompt 2: Write an industrial poem. This can be a poem about the benefits of transportation or the joys of urban living. It can cover technology, the comfort of cruising around in your car, etc. Of course, as with the nature poem, you can be optimistic or not so. I’ll leave that up to y’all.

Here’s my poem for today:

“It takes a car”

to get me there. And I walk along
a paved path before reaching
the post with green, red and blue
dots. The path becomes dirt
and rocks. My stride lengthens as
I head downhill toward the creek
that’s perfect for wading in during
the summer. And I breathe deep,
realizing I can’t hear any cars
or smell any exhaust. These trails
quiet my sense of anxiety, but
it takes a car to get here.


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181 thoughts on “April PAD Challenge: Day 22

  1. LindaTK

    Day 22


    Not quite sure when it all began
    Man has used his mind to create
    since time began…whenever that was
    Creative, Inventive, Industrial
    Making life easier
    Not quite sure when we rounded the bend
    Quality got replaced by quantity
    Not too much, though
    We have to remain competitive
    After all, it’s all about profit
    Constantly coming up with new ideas
    New inventions
    New technology
    Speaking of which
    Despite my grumblings
    I cannot imagine being without
    The Internet
    Which means that the invention
    of the computer has changed everything
    and everyone
    Not quite sure where it will all end

  2. Hope Greene

    A Cold Spring

    Every year it’s a scheduled surprise
    How fast the buds take their leaf shape
    From tiny nub to eager crumpling
    Of green ready to photosynthesize.
    Too fast, as it turns out, this time-
    After a cold winter, a colder spring
    (It seems)-the pummeling breeze
    Snaps the seedlings at their tethers,
    The sparrows pretending to be plump,
    But only full of frosty air and feathers,
    And the pale leaflets hang from meager
    Branches while the tiny ice balls
    Flail and fall.

  3. Charlene, Age 10

    Prompt 2:


    Nintendo game systems!
    Game Boy
    Yep that’s the past
    Now there’s
    and DS
    Then there is
    The Wii and
    The games for Pokemon are
    Fire Red
    and Leaf Green
    Diamond and Pearl
    Then there is…
    Of all the games in the world,
    Nintendogs is my favorite!
    Video games rule!

  4. Charlene, Age 10

    Prompt 1:

    Meerkats, Dogs, Penguins

    Meerkats and dogs and penguins
    Oh, my!
    Meerkats dig, dogs bark, and penguins slide
    Oh, my!

    Flower the meerkat is head
    Of the Whiskers
    Zaphod is her mate
    Who sent marks and mates
    Youssarian is mentally altered
    And causes a lot of trouble
    Mozart loves pups
    And babysits them a lot
    Tosca is rebellious
    And it payed off by killing her
    Shakespeare is a hero
    And sacrificed himself for the pups
    The Pups are pesky!

    Meerkats and dogs and penguins
    Oh, my!
    Meerkats dig, dogs bark, and penguins slide
    Oh, my!

    Button’s a pup
    Who is pesky and ANNOYING!
    Charlotte’s a dog
    Who is cute and cuddly
    Scouty is a dog
    Who is old yet friendly

    Meerkats and dogs and penguins
    Oh, my!
    Meerkats dig, dogs bark, and penguins slide
    Oh, my!

    March of the Peguins
    Was a hit
    That I made a "mind movie" parody of
    I love penguins!

    Meerkats and dogs and penguins
    Oh, my!
    Meerkats dig, dogs bark, and penguins slide
    Oh, my!
    The end, oh, my!

  5. Carol A Stephen


    They’re building the four-lane.
    Bulldozers, ungainly grotesques
    ride roughshod over trees.
    Machinery chews logs into sawdust,
    spits flumes of it into the sky.
    Wood chip mounds line the roadside,
    steaming in the frigid air.
    Deer driven from forest shelter
    sleep their last sleep
    limbs akimbo on the side of the road.

    Day on day the
    horizon changes, landmarks
    Day on day the
    trees come down
    stacked in untidy piles,
    pine scent heavy in the air from
    fatal cut-wounds
    hidden under crystal ballgowns,
    dressed by late winter’s chill breath and
    morning’s mist.
    Tattered, they lie there
    like slatternly whores after a hard night.

    Is this what we imagined
    when we clamored for the four-lane?
    To drive more quickly , double-laned
    through nondescript
    miles of concrete,
    flat stretches of pavement, yellow lines
    no forest stands of trees, not even scrubby pines
    to calm the stress of 9 to 5
    no reminder that God’s in heaven
    all’s right with the world?

    Carol A Stephen

  6. Justin M. Howe


    The weight of the pack on my back
    The smell of pine on the air
    This is where I belong
    Climbing these mountains
    No cell phone
    No computer
    No television
    This is how God meant man to be

    But there’s a call I’m expecting
    I haven’t checked my email in a while
    I miss my favorite show

    So I descend back to civilization
    Back to pollution and decay
    I am still a man of this earth
    this century
    Civilization blinds me
    Until I just can’t see any other way

    -Justin M. Howe

  7. M. Schied

    A walk in the woods (22)

    Dappled sunlight
    crunching wood bark underfoot
    walking backwards, steps plodding in opposition
    dainty jewels of snow strewn beneath
    if pricked, they will bleed
    unseasonable warmth dries the bed bare
    each curve carved by the softest of elements and
    the hardest of sculptors
    creates a glade of refuge for tears of blue taken
    from eyes of the sky
    stars gently landing on an
    emerald pillow
    bridging overhead for languid travelers
    warmth seeping into skin, bones, mind
    the fly of cinnamon butter flits lightly on golden strands
    then wings away through the waving willow fronds
    cascading through the air comes the ringing bells
    a child’s laugh

  8. Rebecca


    Crumbled factories, Ayn Rand
    Facades in empty lots: 45,000
    Square feet for rent lie only blocks
    From the newest highrise on south
    Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois
    Rusted ironworks bridging the brown
    Sluggish river no longer dyed green
    Testament to languishing industrial
    Glories now lead to former tenements
    Cum studios for the poor intelligentsia
    Paving paths for the bourgeoisie
    To invade the ethnic enclaves
    Urban is chic and concrete pours
    For Eco-Friendly Resort-Style Living
    Where formally public housing stood
    The sprawl has turned upon itself
    Rushing home from the suburbs
    To refurbished brownstones and the hope
    That their righteous urbanity will restore
    Life to the fretful deities of mangled nature

  9. Tad Richards

    Deciduous trees
    starting to turn
    I’ll need orange camos
    at night they’re
    all in silhouette

    against the moon
    so are bats and owls
    no campfire
    just the yellow light
    of narrowed eyes

    they have me surrounded
    noises in the throats
    of distance always suspect

    but I can
    use crude sonar to
    gauge the closest to me
    their body mass
    teeth and claws

    it all matters less if
    you get eaten
    but it gives
    you something to do

  10. Judy Roney

    I wish I knew what to write about nature
    all that comes is a vision of trees right
    now. Trees, just trees, nothing to cause
    a gasp or awe from anyone.

    I don’t want to walk among the trees.
    I want people in my poems instead of
    squirrels. I want laughter instead
    of the chatter of little creatures
    voices lifted up instead of birds singing.

    I wish I could write about nature right
    now, but homo sapiens in full color is
    what warms me and usurps my desires.

  11. Yoli


    Life, what a place
    Sometimes it has no grace
    Sometimes it feels like a race
    And every time I look into your face
    I wonder where I’m rushing to.
    Maybe it’s to be with you
    Maybe it’s to be without you –
    Maybe to be without me
    Whatever that may be.
    Maybe you are the grass and I’m a tree
    And though we can never truly be
    Without you there would be no me
    I need you to help me grow
    You take my seed and plant your soul
    I lean on you and give you sky
    You never ask me why
    I do it because I care
    Just like you nourish me by being there
    Your soil is rich and full of giving
    Your color is vibrant and full of living
    And though I can’t reach down and touch your skin
    I can feel you from within.
    Maybe you are the tree and I am the grass
    And I’m watching as the clouds pass
    And you are feeding off of me
    Your roots digging to plant your seed
    Maybe you have your branches so far out
    When we speak we have to shout
    And maybe you are reaching for the sky
    But want to keep me where I lie
    And you won’t reach down to touch my skin
    But I still feel you from within.
    You distance yourself but can not ever leave
    Because there is no you without me.
    Or maybe you are the ocean and I am the sand
    Or I am the sky and you are the land
    I carry the sun and you carry the strife
    You hold the seed and I give it life
    I encircle you and keep you warm
    You pull me in and give me form
    Maybe you are the sky and I am the land
    Maybe it depends on the day what I am.
    Maybe you nourish me with love
    Maybe you watch me from above
    Maybe life isn’t a race
    Maybe forever together is our place.

  12. Lyn

    sitting at the base of a curved duolith statue
    invokes the feeling of ancient power
    in the center of modern art structures
    the stair step style of seven floor
    the pyramid topped tower
    juxtaposed beside a round tower
    the height enhancing lines, vertical columns
    primary colors in blocks
    superimposed over an orange graphic statue
    I absorb strength from the organic elements
    stone, brick and rosebushes mulched with redwood chips
    the condos of the pampered seem to rise
    from Picasso’s vision
    stained glass broken by various colored sections of brick
    in tans, grays, blacks and reds
    I become a piece of the art
    pink hoodie, black slacks, black shoes
    shaded by banners flapping in the wind

  13. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    Argh! Running very late.

    This one combines nature and industrial poems.

    Note: the Scottish place names actually refer to Tasmania.


    Looking through pale new willow leaves
    lettuce-green, at the silver river,
    Ben Lomond purple on the skyline behind,
    she never dreamed a future
    so far north of there,
    with still a mountain,
    a strange-shaped mountain,
    three peaks: two humped, one pointed
    and another silver river
    wide to the tropical sky.

    News comes from the island
    home of her childhood,
    about a mill to be built
    on that swift silver river
    to turn the tall trees
    to pulp for paper.
    It will taint the sweet water,
    small creatures will die.
    She remembers swimming
    there in a time that’s over.

    Now she swims in one of the coastal creeks
    and walks the beach to gaze at the ocean.
    There’s a mill here too, built long ago.
    It processes sugar.
    Gradually over the years
    the operation has become cleaner.
    The smoke nowadays is white
    that used to be black.
    She likes sugar
    and paper. But.

    © Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008

  14. Jay Sizemore


    an apple that tastes
    like a ripened grape,
    some kind of genetic hybrid,
    an abomination
    of scientific tampering
    that confuses the senses.

    I can’t grapple
    with the implications
    of such an atrocious
    of turning human hands
    with needles probing
    into the fingers of gods,
    grapevines and tree branches
    into this world’s
    new crown of thorns,
    where the ozone hole
    is a bald spot
    and hurricane Katrina
    is the bottled up
    testosterone rage
    of a mid-life crisis,
    but please remember
    that global warming
    is only a myth.

    The fruit of knowledge
    was bruised
    but its DNA structure
    has been modified
    to resist imperfection,
    although those that eat
    from these fruits
    that never fall
    may suffer
    the chromosomal damage
    of the damned,
    becoming zombies
    wanting nothing more
    than to devour the thoughts
    of the unaltered minds,
    picking the eye color
    of their own children,
    aborting the fetus
    of natural selection.

  15. Kate

    Spring in the Fred Meyer Parking Lot

    So what if the keys are locked in the car,
    it’s warm sitting on the hood in the spring sun
    and the cherry trees are blossoming, pink popcorn
    petals waft by in the breeze, scattered like confetti
    on the sidewalk.

    The smell of fried chicken permeates
    the air, a crow flies by with a French fry
    in it’s beak, dusky sparrows peck at weeds
    coming up through the pavement, the AAA man
    arrives but we are in no hurry.

  16. Sara Diane Doyle

    I’m a bit behind… forgive me 🙂

    Family Tree

    Like children, bickering over
    who gets to swing next—
    the rain and sun and wind
    poke and prod us.
    When I long for calm days,
    gales pound the planet.
    When I hope for snow,
    sun pierces the sky.
    Don’t try to tell me
    that humans aren’t part
    of this wild creation
    or that the elements
    are unaware of humanity.
    Come, play Ring-Around-the-Rosy
    with the world.

  17. Joe Hesch


    I’m sitting between parallels
    of to and from, perched with
    the sunlit Hudson glaring in my face
    and the Interstate blaring at my back.
    I hear the AmTrak whistle
    goodbye across the water,
    on the way to New York City.
    And all these arteries of human mobility
    have a common theme –
    they run North to South and back again.
    How mobile is that?
    Especially when you see that cormorant
    lift from the river
    and wing west?

  18. S.E. Ingraham


    My Car’s Trunk

    Praise to my new/old car’s cavernous back end
    To the wall-to-wall felt carpeting showing nary a stain
    And praise to dry days and nights following its purchase
    I never once suspected –
    Until that almost serendipitous ‘empty trunk day’
    When at last the skies opened.

    Praise to the wet-vac
    That wasn’t the only thing that sucked that day
    And to the unusual trunk well
    Housing a spare tire
    But lacking a…drain.

    Fortuitous as luck would have it
    As a ring I treasure greatly
    Had somehow dropped into aforesaid well
    And was only submerged for a time
    Not lost forever. Praise be.


  19. S.E. Ingraham

    Goose Stepping at the Lake

    Man-made lakes are big here, created especially in wealthy neighbourhoods so rich folks
    may pretend they own lakefront property. A lake I frequent is one of these, just north of my house and within easy walking distance, with a well-kept path around it. Well disguised as its more natural brethren, this spot has bulrushes, duck stages, even the occasional small dock or two, and benches for the hoi polloi – the likes of me – to use. I love to go there in early spring as the Canada geese return to fight over which pairs will get to nest there each year. But it’s autumn when I’m as giddy as a parent with a child graduating college, for in the fall there is high comedy on the lake that is not to be missed. Come September, a huge number of fledgling geese are brought to this lake to be
    trained for the long migration south. Who would have guessed that that flying thing is not instinctive, nor is the patented v-formation or the graceful landing on water you see on nature shows on TV. In early days the young geese actually flop over like stooges as they try to glide across the water and come to a stop, and it’s not unusual to see them collide (harmlessly, but oh-so-comically) both on the water and in the air; that never gets old. All through boot camp, the adult geese never stop honking orders; I swear you can almost hear the frustration in that cacophony as the days grow short and the young seem to lollygag about learning. Then one day, just like toddlers learning to walk, they all of a sudden seem to get the hang of it and in a skein, they take to the air, make their perfect v and begin to practise in earnest. Most of the adults quiet then and within days, they disappear, already starting their long flight south. The youngsters spend several days learning to fly the formation, switching off the leader as they’ve been taught and landing on the lake with aplomb, as if they were born to it, and then, just like that, they too are gone.


  20. Darla Smith


    In Spring the trees are sprouting fresh new buds,
    their branches are full of bright green leaves.
    Pretty wildflowers are blooming in the fields,
    colorful butterflies are fluttering around the yard.

    In Summer the gardens are all growing,
    with vine ripe tomatoes and fresh ears of corn.
    There are also green cucumbers and yellow squash,
    delicious cantaloupes and ripe juicy watermelons.

    In Autumn the leaves are changing colors,
    with bright hues of red, yellow and gold.
    The air feels refreshingly cool and crisp,
    while we gave up at the star studded night sky.

    In Winter the snow begins to fall heavily,
    blanketing the earth in pure sparkling white.
    Ice is glistening on the trees bare branches,
    icicles are dangling from the eaves of houses.

  21. Amanda Caldwell

    The evergreen city

    Up the hill going 60,
    suddenly there is blue
    and silver
    — blue for the deep clear waters of the lake
    and silver for windows of skyscrapers, towers,
    sun glinting off boat hulls, and
    one white Needle piercing the clouds.

    And on clear days you turn a corner
    on a fast stretch of highway,
    and all around you, cars roll slower
    to gawk, to gaze,
    at the boiling mountain,
    bigger than belief, dusted with snow,
    since its shoulders sit so high
    its head usually wears the clouds.

    Deep green pines, blacktop,
    libraries and schools,
    parks with cliff paths
    winding down to the waves.

    City and mother,
    grass and concrete,
    remembering humans too
    are part of nature.

  22. k weber

    Springtime, Easily

    These are the nights
    with clearest eyes–
    the bright cricketing
    from dew-stained grass;
    their bodies breathe in
    with high-pitched sighing,
    small voices travelling
    an echo alongside late trains

    Inside the dark, the moon
    remains an earth-friendly
    bulb by which a cardinal,
    on its red perch, can read
    the outcome of tomorrow
    while cats fight and feast
    with fleas then flop their bellies
    on quiet asphalt

    Spring trees flower sweetly
    and sway their sex
    like dancer’s hips to a lone
    saxophone: limbs dangle
    like tired hair and arms
    just before the bar closes
    and the sleep-drenched kiss
    tastes like honeysuckle

  23. Sarah

    A quiet walk
    to the fishing pier
    the squirrels running busily
    the birds singing cheerily
    to some it’s just noise
    they don’t take time to hear
    but for me it’s a musical
    of love, joy and peace
    it’s a beautiful melody
    that none can compete with.
    As I sit on the dock
    it’s melody blends
    with the rivers soft waves
    a magical moment
    where time stands still
    a gift from The Creator
    that stays with me
    all day through the
    hustle and bustle
    of everyday chores
    ’till I pause another quiet moment
    to listen some more.

  24. Jennier Fagala

    Silver Trees

    Silver trees blossom
    at the heart of city fair
    with roots diving
    driving and connecting

    Darkened pathways slither
    through urban and country side
    with rivers rilling
    drilling and cascading

    Specks of motion, people-ants
    within the metal forests move
    with intent and causation
    seeking and grasping

    live here

    this is our nature
    our life
    city fair

  25. Maureen


    It’s only natural
    that humans
    would put so much energy
    into destroying the Earth, nature
    and themselves.
    Why it’s human nature.
    Smell the rose
    pick the rose
    then destroy the garden
    sub-divide the block
    to make some more money
    then invest it in a mining company
    good returns
    and contribute to the destruction
    somewhere else.
    Then you can spend heaps of money
    on technology.
    Buy a robot pet
    too much mess and bother with a real one.
    Get the latest computer equipment
    so you can stay locked up
    in your study all day and night.
    Install an air conditioner
    (protects you from the polluted air
    better than an open window).
    Play games on the computer
    instead of at the park.
    Put all animals into zoos
    behind bars
    that’s where they belong.

    We are digging our own graves
    I’m sure that’s not natural.

    © Maureen Sexton

  26. Elizabeth K. Keggi

    I finally got an industrial poem! It’s a true story, too.

    First Week

    My father gives me a tour of
    the paper plant in San Luis Potosi
    where he has his new job.
    "And here’s where a guy fell
    into a vat last week. They probably
    made Kleenex out of him."
    I look with alarm at the sky-high rolls
    of pink and white tissue paper.
    Which one, I wondered, holds what once
    were bones and brains?
    "Bienvenidos a Mexico!" cracks my dad.
    It’s going to be a long year.

    Elizabeth Keggi

  27. jane

    Virtual Friends

    My kids used to refer
    to my internet friends
    as "Mom’s pretend friends"
    (always with a snicker).
    They thought it was
    a great joke until
    I brought one home
    to live with us.
    He who laughs last…

  28. Linda Hofke


    Night falls upon the summer sky
    As we sit, just you and I,
    Beneath the radiant moon’s glimmer
    And thousands of stars all a shimmer,
    Setting the scene for romance
    As fireflies perform their mating dance–
    A flitter of glitter flying around,
    Dashing and flashing, a call without sound.
    We sit in silence watching the show,
    Contented by summer’s beauty aglow,
    And following lead you turn to me,
    With a sparkle in your eye you proceed
    Without one spoken word to say
    Our flames of love still burn today.

  29. Don Ford

    I’ll Take Those Keys – Thank You
    You think because you turn me on
    That I must do your bidding
    I’m metal, paint and glass to you
    No feelings in between
    But I’ve got news for you today
    I’m cranky – so don’t push me
    I don’t like having you in charge
    You drive me rather crazy
    I wish that I could drive myself
    I don’t like you behind my wheels
    I think you drink and drive too much
    It’s time to sober up – I feel

    Now get some coffee in you
    And leave those keys up on the dash
    Don’t want to be the next in line
    To end up in your stupid crash


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