April PAD Challenge: Day 30

Hard to believe, but we made it through the entire month of April. Go us!

Please check back tomorrow to learn the details of what to expect in the future as far as receiving notification of the April PAD completionists and those who make the Top 50 eBook. With more than 25,000 comments on prompt postings this month, it’s going to be quite a challenge just to get through all of them. (Remember: You have until noon EST tomorrow, May 1, to get all your posting done.)

If you still want to keep the prompt-poem magic going throughout the rest of the year, I’ll be continuing our Wednesday Poetry Prompts on…umm…Wednesday (5/6). 

If you need a break, tune back in here this November to take part in the November PAD Chapbook Challenge–when we write a poem-a-day with the goal of creating a 10-20 page chapbook at the end of the month. (Even though I don’t want to make any promises or commitments until later this year, I have a feeling that we may be able to create an eBook for the winning manuscript.)


For today’s prompt, I want you to write a farewell poem. After all, we are saying farewell to another wonderful National Poetry Month. Say farewell to this month; say farewell to a vacation spot; say farewell to a bad relationship; say farewell to work; say farewell to school; say farewell to saying farewell even. Hopefully, I won’t be saying farewell to you; please stay in touch and let me know of your successes as we keep poeming toward the horizon.

Here’s my attempt for the day:

“In Season”

We began by the dock–

the fog and waves
warning us to stay ashore
(or so I thought)–

though soon you were motoring
across the lake
as I turned back toward my car

stopping to listen
to the fading whirr of your boat
parting the water

and geese honking overhead.

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851 thoughts on “April PAD Challenge: Day 30

  1. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    5/5/2009 11:56:16 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)
    5/5/2009 11:50:57 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)
    Hi Marie Elena
    (I love your name!, very beautiful)
    Thanks for your response and positive attitude and comments. You’ve been a "shining light" in the fray of "battle". I will let you know of the outcome of a Color Anthology if it is to be. So far there has been more negative response than positive and many declines–I think others have followed suit like a rolling snowball to just join in a negative response. I don’t understand why all the NEGATIVISM from some on the Poets aside Postings. This is also my FIRST time on such a forum and I didn’t expect some of the "attacks" against me because of my postings. It was all in fun, positive optimism, comradery, and enlightenment. I was highly criticized for making too many comments and postings and long poems. I thought sharing thoughts was a part of the forum, but some wanted me silenced. One lady said she was holding her tongue all 30 days in comtempt of me. Another accused my poems of being against women, and otherwise sophomoric and silly. I don’t know what planet she was living on. My poem on Motherhood I thought was very endearing of WOMEN in particular. I’m also a very religious oriented man of Christianity (Mormons are distinctly believers in JESUS CHRIST of the New testament), I think some didn’t like that at all, my religious poetry. I saw some poems of rather strange outlook on Christ that portrayed Him as something i don’t see in the Bible.

    But, I enjoyed the experience and people like YOU, Walt and Hannah , Trudi and a few others made it all the more FUN. YOU are an HONORABLE LADY of distinction in my book. Thank you for your kindness. After 30 years in Air Force intelligence I never expected I’d be spending my time as a writer and poet, and finding new battlefields that present a completely different kind of skirmish. But i hold no animosities towards anyone. We live in trying times and all need HAPPINESS and PEACE. Poetry should be an outlet for peaceful living, not combat. I thought too many were overly concerned about things that DO NOT MATTER–such as someone stealing poems, or not getting PUBLISHED later. It all seemed kind of ridiculous to me. Who wants to "steal" poems for a living. And why wouldn’t anyone ever want to get PUBLISHED free for exposure of their work instead of being angry about the offer to do so. It’s beyond me!

    Well, thanks again. Success and happiness to YOU and yours,

    Rich Atwater, a fellow poet and common citizen of planet EARTH

    Hi Mr. Atwater!

    I just wanted to be sure you had received my earlier reply to your message below.

    I’ve been saddened and disappointed by some of the responses you’ve received on the Asides site. I see though that you posted a response in true Atwater style! Good for you for not letting the nay-sayers get to you!

    Take care, and God bless! Oh, and please do keep me posted on the Color anthology.
    Marie Elena

    Subject: Chance to get PUBLISHED in Poetry book R M ATWATER publisher
    Date: Friday, May 1, 2009, 11:45 PM

    Hi Marie Elena, Rachel, Dan, Walt, Hannah, Trudi

    Please check out my posting offer at the bottom of 30 April post on being Published. Also on the other Comments sections of that post prompt day in regards to my offer for all Poets who participated, Please pass the word to other poets of The Living Poets Society.

    Rich Atwater
    President, Three Swans Publishers
    Major Richard-Merlin Atwater, USAF Intelligence, Retired

    If you posted a COLOR poem at a later time than midnight of the 16th of April YOU can still be included in my EPIC POEM and also in a published book. Please read details below and let me know where to find your poem , or send me a copy along with approval to Publish.

    Rich Atwater
    5/1/2009 3:54:09 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

    Hi Robert,
    I have had a number of requests from various poets to include them in the Rebirth of Colors poem since they posted after the midnight hour on the 16th. There are as many poems after 16 April as there were on that day. So I will continue the EPIC POEM to include all poets to the end of the month on COLORS. PLUS, I have decided that Three Swans Publishers (my own company) will PUBLISH a complete BOOK of the poems on COLORS with the EPIC POEM "Rebirth of Colors" if I can get ALL poets to send PERMISSION to include their poem on COLORS to me for clearance to PUBLISH.
    Details below:
    Could you please post this ANNOUNCEMENT somewhere on the POETS ASIDE posting board so that ALL Honorary members of "The Living Poets Society" will know about it
    Thank you
    Rich Atwater, President, Three Swans Publishers
    ANNOUNCEMENT to ALL Honorary members of "The Living Poets Society"
    as founded by Obi-wan "Sir" Richard-Merlin Atwater:

    As President/Publisher of Three Swans Publishers of Florida I hereby offer ALL of YOU to be Published Poets in an actual BOOK of Poetry. The book will be based on All of YOU from the posted prompt of the 16th day of April on "Colors" and will feature All of YOUR poems on colors, along with my Epic Poem on "The Rebirth of Colors" to include all poets who posted "colors" poems after the midnight hour all the way to the end of the month. I’ve had a number of requests to write an extension of that poem to the end of the month on posted color prompts–which i will do later this month.
    I REQUEST your email APPROVAL to use your poem on colors in this book, send email PERMISSION to ratwater@tampabay.rr.com or to the website http://www.3swanspublishers.com
    You retain the copyright to your poems, but give PERMISSSION to have your poem on COLORS included in the published (either Hard Cover or Soft cover book) to be released sometime in the next 18 months–or sooner.. Possible title of book: Colorful Poems of "The Living Poets Society".
    Honorarium Edition of April 2009 Poetic ASIDES

    Published by: Three Swans Publishers

    YOU will have an opportunity to purchase the book AUTOGRAPHED by "Obi-wan" "Magic Merlin" "Sir" Richard-Merlin Atwater for your heirloom collection of all the Honorary members of "The Living Poets Society". We will consider posting in the book a photograph of each poet next to their name and poem if you send a non-returnable photo to
    Three Swans Publishers
    c/o: Richard-Merlin Atwater
    3412 Snowy Egret Court
    Palm Harbor, Florida 34683

    Publication will depend upon cooperation of all poets to submit PERMISSION for publication release of their COLORS poem to Three Swans Publishers of Florida under the ownership of Richard-Merlin Atwater.
    Thank you all for your support "Happiness to YOU all" RMA

    In a message dated 4/30/2009 2:07:19 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time, Robert.Brewer
    Thank YOU, Richard-Merlin!
    Richard-Merlin Atwater |rmatwaterAT NOSPAMaol dot com

    Remember Mom this Mother’s Day! Find a florist near you now.
    Richard-Merlin Atwater |rmatwaterAT NOSPAMaol dot com
    Richard-Merlin Atwater |rmatwaterAT NOSPAMaol dot com

  2. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    Robert, In light of your latest posting on ASIDES regarding some who request to have poems deleted: My request is to have ALL of my poems retained "AS IS" with no removals. Thank you. Richard
    And in regards to the earlier posting on my PUBLISHING offer i made i submit the following correspondence from a very nice lady poet from Pakistan who wrote to me on the subject (and my response to her)> Thanks Richard
    Dear Sascha (Honorable female poet from Pakistan),

    Thank you for your kind correspondence. YOU did indeed make it into the transliteration of the poem The Rebirth of Colors on page 12 of the handwritten legal pad as it came to me by inspiration. Your caption is on "colorblindness of St Bernadette’s blue light". The project you request information about was my proposal to publish all of the COLOR poems written by the submissions in Poetic ASIDES April 2009 prompt day #16, to include the EPIC POEM that encapsulizes quotes from all of the poems to include the names of each poet in the entire challenge circle as members of the Living Poets Society. (Three Swans Publishers, my company with over 70 books listed — 12 of my own books–at http://www.3swanspublishers.com). Some apparently misinterpreted both the poem and the intent for publication, so i informed Robert Brewer that i would withdraw the offer to appease those opposed to it. But he informed me that such an event was justified and it was up to each poet to decide if they wished to be included. Some declined, others accepted (about equally in number). I informed all that to be published required their PERMISSION in regards to their poem, but that my EPIC POEM could NOT be demolished by the desire of some to have their name removed from the poem, since it is copyrighted original poetry (like having George Washington or Abe Lincoln in a poem and having someone request their names be removed because they didn’t like mention of them!!!! ) Thus (as someone mentioned) it seemed like a sad ending to the April challenge as a "war", unfortunately.
    As a 30 year career military officer i hate war and find it all the more sad to see "war" over poetry!!! I served as a Sergeant in Vietnam, and a Major in the Persian Gulf War, so i wish to leave such behind in memories, and not have "war" resurrected in poetry and conflict of thoughts over what should be a HAPPY occasion. Some posted negative comments over my poetry in misrepresentation of truth, but we all have our opinions, even if ill-founded. As to my poems, they will all be published in a new updated EDITION of Perspectives on Life, my first book of original poetry published last year. I wrote 200 poems in April 2009 which about doubles my entire poetry writing of the past decade. My main books are children’s illustrated, adventure travel, Arabian Night stories retold, several on religion emphasizing the life of JESUS CHRIST, latter day prophecy fulfilled, my autobiographic book on an intelligence career of 30 years that led to the fall of the Iron Curtain– and a Christmas novel—all available at http://www.3swanspublishers.com

    I was most interested to see your background as a woman poet from Pakistan. I lived 2 years in the Middle East in a Moslem country and have great respect for both women and for Moselms who are devout in their beliefs while being willing to allow the beliefs of others to be respected as well, even if vastly different. The former Governor of my home state of Maine some years ago was Ambassador to Pakistan. And I am an associate with a Pakistani family here in Florida in the Palm harbor FL Writers Guild. The wife is a professor at Univ. of South Florida, her husband a Diplomat for Pakistan, and 11 year old son a POET. I post your comments on POETIC ASIDES of Robert’s latest comments in regards for some to have poems deleted from the April challenge. As published poets I’m sure that you and i prefer to have our poems remain "as is" on the ASIDES for the entire months listings, although some may prefer to have them removed. Again as Robert said that is a personal choice by each poet. So I hope everyone who reads this will take a look at YOUR credentials and web links that you sent me. Respectfully yours,
    Richard-Merlin Atwater
    Major, USAF Intelligence, Retired
    P.S. If i decide to go ahead and publish anyone’s poem in a book (only with their PERMISSION)–it will include both credits to the original poet and their photo if they desire to have it included. But I may not publish at all if their is too many Negative requests. But if 200 poets say YES then we may have a publishing event. I’ll keep you posted upon request. It would probably be a year out anyway’s. But Perspectives on Life will be published with all of my poems complete by the close of this year!
    In a message dated 5/5/2009 11:01:14 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time, mlle.sascha@gmail.com writes:
    Hi Richard, not quite sure what the issue was on Poetic Asides. Us poets can be a skittish bunch
    Please do go ahead & use my poem if you would like, as long naturally as it is credited & please do explain the project to me beforehand..although as you stopped the epic at a certain time & date I’m not sure that I am even in the poem but kudos to you for the creative instinct & the work put into it!


    Sascha A Akhtar

    Sascha Aurora Akhtar was born in Pakistan. She has read at Harvard University, and most recently at the Troubadour in London, the Southbank Centre as part of the Poetry International Festival 2008 and at Colpitts Poetry in Durham. In 2003 she received a fellowship from the Creative Writing department at UMASS Amherst in America. Her collection The Grimoire of Grimalkin was published by Salt publishing in November 2007 http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/smp/9781844713097.htm.With the publication of her book on SALT, the world’s largest independent literary publisher, she has become the first Pakistani woman writing in English to be published in the Western avant-garde tradition. The book has been called "a contemporary masterpiece"

    Her work has appeared in Stimulus Response, The London Magazine,Trespass magazine, Skald magazine, Anemone Sidecar, Annetna Nepo, and Can We Have Our Ball Back. She was recently interviewed by the London Magazine and in 2008 was named as one of the top twelve to watch in the Guardian http://books.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,,2281914,00.html
    Her work is also available to hear on Poetcasting and is upcoming in SAMA SALAAM GHAZAL; Poetry influenced by Arabic, Persian & Sufi poetries (July 2009) & in a Shearsman anthology of UK women’s avant garde poetries Infinite Difference coming out in November 2009. In December 2008 she was part of Double Visions: Art and Poetry at the Caroline Wiseman gallery along with the art of Eileen Cooper, Tracy Emin, David Hockney and the poetry of Apollinaire, Annie Freud, ee cummings amongst many other luminaries. She is also the co-producer of the successful La Langoustine Est Morte reading and performance series in London promoting international poetics.

    Her book is available internationally on Amazon.
    Review quote: Sascha Akhtar’s Grimoire of Grimalkin, a contemporary masterpiece, is appropriately titled, for it is indeed a textbook of magic and there is certainly something feline but devilish about the voice we hear. This modern-day Liber de occulta philosophia reads like a wassail of honey meade distilled through concepts, as is when we read that "Egalité sounds like a burp" (p. 9). The magic this grimoire offers to der Zauberlehrling is that of words themselves, spells for spelling the world anew, for divining the words that lie beneath the surface, for summoning communication where it is not: "She loves him / this dead man / girlfriend tells / stories in French / subtitled in Vietnamese" (p.13). This work by a master smith is written in language—not in a language, but in language. The scurrying of energies that carry the reader along communicate to the reader in their very inter-communication with each other. The spell lasts from beginning to end. Read it.

    Phillip John Usher, Lecturer in French and Comparative Literature at Columbia University

  3. Donald R. Anderson

    Richard, in case I was included (I’m not sure if I was) I’d like to decline use of mine in the poem. And out of respect for all, I honor your service, despite my disagreements with the administrations that have recently started wars of, what in all appearance and likenesses, is empire, and hope that I may retain my freedom still to express my take on it. Bless you and all of us, and it’s a sad to end this wonderful writing experience!

  4. Babs Loyd

    Day 30 Farewell poem

    Farewell, Santa Fe

    It had been five years since I last enjoyed your company, but you
    stay as beautiful and enchanting as ever. A few shops I liked have left the
    scene, but many favorites remain, kinda like friends.

    The blue skies and cool days only made the ideal better.
    At the Governor’s Palace the early morning scene of the jewelry
    artisans lining up to pick a number for their spot inside the porch’s shade
    has occurred for so many years and the splendor of their wares still takes my breath away again.

    Seeing art from the Taos Group of long ago still thrills me.
    The Oil Painters of America show was crowded, hard to see, but
    with the artists present, eager to meet the public, a fun serendipity.

    Seeing Alvar’s works, on paper and canvas, was the icing on the cake of my visit. An heroic artist, still working hard in his 7th decade in Spain, to produce beauty that will stand the test of time, like Santa Fe.

  5. Tara Hooper

    Farewell to a Challenge

    Farewell to a challenge
    That took me by surprise

    A look on my email
    Was enough to compel me to write

    To be free, write, each and every day
    From a prompt that supplied a theme

    To me it was a pleasure
    A great gesture on behalf of Robert and Writers Digest

    I’m happy to have completed such a feat
    God bless and peace.

  6. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    A Tribute to Anders the Whiz (C) Richard-Merlin Atwater 2009

    Anders Bylund, we thank you all,
    for saving our poems from cyber space.
    Your tool of renown, an exceptional call
    Will help us each keep track and apace.

    For thirty days we wrote and we toiled
    And now at the very end,
    YOU have saved us much agony to not be foiled
    And thus we thank you my friend

  7. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    Special Dedication Poem:
    After returning from church services this morning i had a reflective thought on the main speakers "sermon" about "pain in this life" and "the sacrifice of Jesus Christ for all of us". His talk had no title but he used the statemnt several times of: "The Lord doesn’t "balance the books" in October. Thus obviously the "end judgment" doesn’t come until the 31st of December of life. May we all find Happiness then. Therefore, i leave you all with TODAY’s POEM written based on TODAY’s Sunday sermon in church as i reflected on what the speaker shared (but i presume most have gone home for the POETIC holidays and will never read this poem):

    Poem inspired by Elder Neil Anderson Stake Conference talk at May 3, 2009

    Balance the Books © Richard-Merlin Atwater 2009

    This life is EXPERIENCE for everyone,
    The good and the bad come their way;
    To be happy one day, then without any fun:
    The opposite stance may keep us at bay.

    Infirmities, pain, afflictions, and sad
    Disappointments, with sickness, then death;
    We learn to take the good with the bad,
    But remember “the words” which He saith:

    “Come follow me”, the beckoning call;
    “I stand at the door and I knock”;
    “Take up my yoke upon you”, don’t fall,
    For YOU are a part of my flock.

    “My greatest creation, among many worlds:
    ‘Tis man and woman, as daughter and son,
    The offspring of God, immortality unfurls,
    And eternal life for those who have won.

    I, the Redeemer, have suffered it all,
    To descend, all things comprehend thereafter,
    But the promise is given, right after ‘The Fall’—
    The Lord doesn’t ‘balance the books’ in October!
    Poets Note:
    A poem inspired by the talk given by Elder Neil Anderson of The Quorum of 12 Apostles on May 3, 2009 at the St Petersburg Florida Stake Conference of The Church of JESUS CHRIST of Latter-day Saints
    "Balance the Books" is dedicated to Lorraine Hart in the "Search for Happiness" Respectfully, Rich Atwater, the Author/Poet

  8. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    Respectfully to The Living Poets Society group:
    Since Lorraine (see above) seems to insist on a false vindictive presentation post herein, I just wanted to let ANYONE know they can have a copy of the email she refers to so they can judge for themselves the TRUTH. Unfortunately she uses the title "Reverend" in her transmission but is NOT able to be REVERENT or TRUTHFUL about her negative outlook and FALSE expressions. But i FORGIVE her, and APOLOGIZE to ALL that such a posting ever came out in OPPOSITION to my EPIC POEM which was ONLY posted in fun and happiness for ALL. I know of no "friends" that she talks about in reference to her complaints on any email. And her accusation of irreverence to women is totally unfounded, I am the honorable father of a lovely daughter who knows my complete RESPECT for women. The unfortunate misrepresentation of Lorriane using her "own words" to try to describe my rendition of others words in THEIR poem is completely unfounded. I wish her well and only post here because of her FALSE accusation of emailing her under the circumstances she states. Only a one time response to her request to have her name deleted from the poem, which i gentlemenly declined and referred her to my website to review books she might consider out of RESPECT. But she was NOT willing to let it go. I’m sorry to all that such a POST was ever needed. I post here only to ensure that NO EMAIL goes to her so that further FALSE accusatins can be made. Happiness should be the end result. May we all have it , or find it, and adopt it. Respectfully
    Rich Atwater As soon as school is out I’ll take my daughter to Europe on a trip to get away from it all. But the POETIC ASIDES "challenge" was great fun, and i hope everyone enjoyed it. Apologies to Robert for these late uneeded POSTS that should have NOTHING to do with the excitement of national Poetry Month and the great job Robert did to give us all comradery. Robert you are a true GENTLEMAN. Thanks to ALL, Happiness to EVERYONE. God Bless ALL. We certainly can use His blessings in these trying times. RMA

  9. S.E.Ingraham

    Since I found out this didn’t post when I thought it did and it did post on Facebook on the 30th (I’ve alerted Robert to the problem, I thought I’d post it here anyhow – and see what happens…)

    Letting Samuel Go

    No one should ever be asked to turn off
    Anyone’s respirator; it’s just such an unfair
    Decision to ask of anybody, but when it’s a child
    And not even your own child, well, I hope
    I never have to do anything near as hard again

    Samuel was our godson, and we were only
    Just getting used to that idea when the towers fell
    Of course there was no getting used to that idea
    But realizing our friends had been at that
    Restaurant, the one on the top of one of the towers?
    Showing off their new baby boy to both sets
    Of grandparents, well, that was beyond any logic at all

    I’m not sure how long it would have taken for us
    To hear about Samuel if he hadn’t had a doctor’s appointment
    That fateful morning; his mother left the breakfast early
    and was on her way down to the main floor
    when her tower was struck
    We learned later that she was found crumpled
    In a stairwell, curled protectively around Samuel
    Even in death, trying to save that baby boy’s life

    Unfortunately, Samuel had inhaled a lot smoke
    By the time a fire-fighter got to him and was barely
    Breathing, but the guy got him going again and they
    Both got out – the man had the presence of mind
    To grab Elizabeth’s wallet when he grabbed the baby
    So when they got to the hospital, it didn’t take too long
    Before we were reached – we were listed as one
    Of their, “in case of emergency” numbers
    With the notation, god-parents beside our names

    We didn’t know until we got to the hospital that both
    Elizabeth and Michael, Samuel’s parents, had perished
    In the tower tragedy – we didn’t really know that for sure
    And wanted to think it wasn’t true, but we had been
    Invited to that celebration and had decided, it should
    Maybe just be their family – we could get together
    With them another time; lucky for us, huh?

    It took a while for it to sink in; all of Samuel’s grandparents
    Were probably dead also; it was too horrific to comprehend
    But, there we were, the god-parents, poor kid’s last chance
    At a family, only we didn’t know right away, just what
    Being Samuel’s family would entail, and the doctors
    Probably as much in shock as the rest of the city,
    weren’t Inclined to tell us much the first night;
    in fact, they said very little, told us we should go home,
    that what Samuel needed more than anything
    was uninterrupted sleep

    Sleep – what a concept – Daniel and I spent most of the night
    Re-planning our lives – we hadn’t even been sure we were
    Going to have children of our own and now it seemed
    We had an instant family; it seemed disrespectful to the memory
    Of our friends to think in any way badly about inheriting Samuel
    As our son, especially when so many had lost so much

    The next morning at the hospital, the head of neurology
    Asked us to come with him and sit down in an office
    I’m assuming it was his office since there was a model of a brain
    On the bookshelf in there and books that seemed mostly to do
    With the brain – that is what neurologists do, I learned
    Work with brains, and anything to do with brains

    These doctors, we soon learned, also get to tell you
    When a brain has died, and although Dr. Kittering was very kind
    There was no gentle way to tell us that Samuel’s brain was dead
    Samuel was brain-dead; I kept turning the phrase over in my own mind
    It was hard to grasp; I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around it
    The concept – what it meant – what now

    Dr. Kittering started talking about alpha waves and different lobes
    And no activity and how Samuel couldn’t breathe on his own
    And we should start thinking about when we would like to turn
    Off his machine; after what seemed like an indecently short time
    He mentioned that most of Samuel’s other organs seemed to be
    In very good shape, making him an excellent candidate for organ
    Donation; at first I was so confused, I thought, what would he want
    With more organs – you can’t give him a brain transplant, can you?
    Then I realized that they wanted to used Samuel’s organs as soon
    As he, as soon as he was – God, I couldn’t even bring myself
    to think it
    Let alone say it. Kittering asked if he could call
    a minister or priest for us
    Or if we would like to see someone from Psychiatry
    – often a good resource
    when dealing with news of this nature, apparently.

    We asked for some time with Samuel, and some time alone to talk
    I remember how tiny he looked in the hospital bed with all the tubes
    Sticking in him everywhere; there was an odd smell in the room too
    It reminded me of mothballs for some reason; and the noise from the
    Respirator was enough to drive anyone crazy – Daniel and I held
    Samuel’s hands and spoke to him for a while,
    trying to read his expression
    But of course, there were no changes in his face,
    just his tiny chest going up and down as the machine made
    its awful clamour. After about ten minutes of this,
    We took each other’s hands and walked to the chapel;
    we are not religious in the least bit
    But it is a soothing quiet place to be and right then
    We both really needed that; I confess, I did send
    some mental prayers
    To whoever might reside in such a place, it couldn’t hurt, right?

    Daniel and I went over all the possibilities
    we could think of but mostly
    We tried to figure out what Elizabeth and Michael
    would do in the same situation;
    we both thought we knew, as the topic had come up more
    Than once, not about Samuel, but about each other
    and the four of us had all agreed that we would rather be dead
    than live a pseudo life
    In some diminished capacity; in fact, our wills stated exactly
    what to do
    If anything of that nature should occur –
    we had practically made a pact
    To keep this very thing from happening, that is,
    forcing someone into
    The impossible position of having to turn off life support.

    However, Daniel and I are fairly strong people
    and we have very well-developed
    Values and a sense of what is right and decent;
    we left the chapel knowing what
    Had to be done. I asked Dr.Kittering if I could hold Samuel
    while he turned the machine off
    I didn’t want him to feel alone in the bed
    while his life seeped away.

    So, the nurses and technicians removed all the wires and tubes
    Then they placed Samuel ever so gently in my arms,
    wrapped in a big blanket
    As if he needed to be kept warm; I really appreciated that
    – it was a nice gesture
    Then Dr. Kittering looked at us and raised his eyebrows
    as if to say, “Okay, now?”
    We both nodded, I stifled a sob as Kittering switched the knob
    to off and we watched
    Samuel’s heartbeat slow on the monitor –
    Dr. Kittering muttered something about
    Stepping out for a few moments so we could be alone with our boy

    Oh that wee little man, for a good ten moments
    he drew ragged breaths and his poor
    Little heart beat an irregular tattoo, but he would not give up,
    he just kept hanging on
    I was rocking him and singing to him and both Daniel and I
    had tears running down
    Our faces – after a bit, he was starting to gasp and that bothered me, so finally, I brought my face close to his ear
    And whispered, “Samuel – we love you honey – and your Mommy and Daddy, they love you so much – they can’t wait to see you again.
    Neither can your Grandma and Grandpa or your Guido and Nona – They’re all so excited that you’re coming home to them Samuel, so You know what? You can let go now little man – it’s time, soar with the angels – we love you…”
    And just like that
    We were letting Samuel go.

    Maybe it goes without saying, but this was my favourite of the second half…SEI

  10. Lorraine Hart

    Penny, thank you for your love and respect. Was willing to hold my tongue all through the month…until my private email was assaulted…and that of my friend’s. I didn’t see you ask the man to do a prayer check of his vanity. There are no levels here…one allowed to walk and talk as he pleases, with an obvious archaic attitude toward women in particular, while the rest of us don’t. Had he honoured a simple request (and there are more than mine) nothing would have been said, but to think he’s refusing everyone who asks for their names to be removed from his writing of regurgitated lines…well, I find that arrogant and prideful. Seriously, there were four repeats of the exact same picture, pictures of his medals and certificates…along with ALL the same autobiographical stuff that filled pages worth on this forum and some very snide lines about my happiness and worth in the email I received from him. My God, my conscience and my heart urged me to speak. I have had my say and I feel clear to walk on and wish everyone well. It would have been dishonest of me to do anything else. You can always trust that I’m not saying one thing and thinking another. Speaking my truth is not an attitude…an attitude is when you hold onto resentment, saying nothing…or letting it leak out in other words. I believe I was pretty direct.

    In the One-ness of All
    In Honour, Respect, Humility and Love,

  11. Penny Henderson

    Lorraine–maybe you should do a quick prayer check of your attitude, and remember about being slow to speak. With love and respect, Penny

  12. Paul W.Hankins


    A little late but here is to the end of April and a new time for revision. . .

    “Passing April”

    While we were Marching,
    April gave sidelong glances
    from the grandstands, fanning
    herself with a seed packet,
    running nail under nail dislodging
    the bits of fallen leaves she had collected
    hoping she could use the pieces to wager
    for new growth and opportunity.

    Batting her eyes, moistened
    with pride, she rose from the wooden
    bench to float into the infield,
    with the grace reserved for ladies
    who wear lovely hats to horse races
    and dab their breasts with betting
    stubs to soak the sweat, every boy a
    long shot hoping to be an also ran
    within her arms, if only for two minutes.

    She rolled her program into a tube
    and trumpeted her own version
    of “My Old Kentucky Home.” Then
    took the hand of a rough winter boy
    with stale beer breath metal fillings
    and walked out of the gate leaving
    her scent to waft about the lower places
    where the men would do their dreaming
    of rose garlands draped about their necks
    by her hands, on any day of spring,
    her aura lingering about like a primary school girl’s
    note folded quickly and passed from hand to hand
    reading: “Be what May. . .”

  13. Lorraine Hart

    Dear Iain, (I see your two eyes…and raise you a third…lol)

    I loved your hot milk…and cats and hot water. Two of my fave-raves for the month. See you in the funny papers! Lox

  14. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    To The ReVEREND Lorraine,

    Out of respect to your comments posted here I humbly submit an explanation to your misrepresentation. The poem "The Rebirth of Colors" took words directly out of each POETS own poem to express what THEY wrote (not me) for example, there was no use of ME using the words: "my child" in reference to female poets at all, and the reference to "underwear" was exact words used by the poet who wrote that term in HER poem, not ME. So if anyone wishes to identify the words i used to EXPRESS what was written by OTHER POETS in THEIR POEMS you can cross-reference them directly in THEIR POEM with my EPIC POEM that "quotes" them directly, (or perhaps INDIRECTLY) out of humor with NO DISRESPECT meant to anyone under any circumstances.
    In regards to your misrepresentation of "the email" NO SPAM since it was in RESPONSE to YOUR posting request that BEGGED an answer: it was sent to accept and acknowledge YOUR decline, and explain why removal of parts of a poem can NOT be REMOVED as YOU requested. The photo advertisement as you call it was MY add-on respectfully sent to refer YOU (or anyone) to my website on BOOKS, with particular reference to the book on my career of 30 years in Air Force intelligence which humbly suggests that there have been many who GAVE THEIR LIFE (take a look at the tombstones at Arlington Cemetery for example) so that WE can be FREE in AMERICA to write POETRY, that others can not do. That is THE REAL WORLD that YOU refer to where many died that we might live in FREEDOM. I respected YOUR wish to DECLINE on publication. There should be no need for further controversy, no matter what your opinion might be of someone.
    Hopefully GOD will decide who we all are in sincerity of heart.
    Richard-Merlin Atwater
    (Hopefully my being a "Mormon" doesn’t enter into the expressions of anyone from another "Faith". I respect all Faiths, both Christian AND OTHERWISE, all "Reverends" and "non-reverends".
    That’s what i gave my life for "on the firing line" of two wars–Vietnam and the Persian Gulf. My motto: "Happiness to ALL!–even to those we don’t seem to like for whatever reason."

  15. Lorraine Hart

    You are perhaps THE most vain and prideful man I have ever read…can you not even do a simple email without shouting your magnificence all over the page…complete with pictures and your own press releases ad nauseum? Sending your self-advertisement to me was rude. Is such pride not a sin? It’s the vanity within all of your work that, frankly, makes it sophomoric, not tight enough, and uninteresting to me. When you shifted from calling female writers "my child" to imagining them in their underwear, well, it was creepy and out of line. Had I been the moderator, I would’ve called you to the side on that one.

    I wish you well in your self-publishing, self-made, self-worshiping world. I am quite happy, thank you, sharing the real world with the rest of humankind. The fact that you are unwilling to honour my request to remove my name (as if that line was somehow essential…and you got it wrong to boot) shows the true ‘colours’ underneath your robes of righteousness. You are neither kind nor honourable. I hope God grants you some lessons in humility. Please do not send me anymore SPAM.

    Rev. Lorraine Hart

  16. Maureen

    Day 30 Prompt: Farewell

    The Old Gum Tree

    Leaving the nursing home
    a sliver of moon is
    just visible above
    the sunset. The drive home
    seems longer than usual.

    As I pull into the
    driveway, I notice the
    old gum tree swaying
    through the stillness.

    And in the morning
    I step out to see
    the dog barking at
    the swinging gate.

    Farewell Grandfather.

    Maureen Sexton

    To Robert and all my fellow poets,
    Thank you for this wonderful opportunity. I have thoroughly enjoyed this challenge. I haven’t read every poem, unfortunately, but all those I have read have been terrific. ‘See’ you all again soon.
    Best wishes from Maureen


  17. Maureen

    I can’t find my poem here, even though I posted it yesterday. And I can’t work out how to search for it on that program. Aaaargh! I’ll post my poem again, and hope it stays this time.

  18. Khara E. House

    Mr. Atwater:

    That sounds like a good offer for some, but I decline inclusion in your anthology, and also ask that you remove my name (and by the way, you got the last name wrong!) from your poem! Good luck anyway!

  19. JL Smither

    Goodbye to all
    of this, to the night, t
    o the incessantly
    barking dog, to the rain
    and wind, to the street light
    flickering through the tree branches.
    For I, finally,
    am going to bed.

  20. Julia Holzer

    Of the Prompt 30 "Farewell" Poems, I particularly liked (no order): Molly Fisk; Jean Taylor; Neal Freeland; Steve Morrison; Margot Suydam; Claudia Marie Clemente; Keith Vanden Eynden; Melanie Crow; Sean Hanrahan; Dr. Jeanne Hounshell (the post about your postings!) Thank you. ~ Julia Holzer

  21. Maureen Hurley


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

  22. Maureen Hurley

    I too thought we had until 12 midnight, local time to post, not East Coast time. Imagine my shock when I found out at 8 Am that I had one hour to post remaining poems, Suffice to say, it took me an hour to post just three poems this AM, then I had to go to work… In general, it’s been hard to post…I can’t tell you how many times I tried to post Day 12.

    Happy Beltaine

    maureen in monsoon CA

  23. Maureen Hurley

    — for Crawdad Nelson

    I remember the first time I saw
    a family of pygmy screech owls
    marching out of a burrow at dusk,
    we were riding the donkeys home
    around the last bend before the barn.
    I thought the gophers had gone mad,
    or taken leave of their senses,
    until I realized they were small owls,
    on a Groucho Marx drill parade.
    With white eyebrows raised, they
    gravely inspecting a forest of equine legs,
    a moving grove of hairy saplings.
    How many times had we passed their door
    walking home from school, sight unseen?
    On the backs of our mounts,
    we were the invisible ones.

  24. Marie Elena

    Mr. Atwater,

    To quote Walt: "I guess Marie Elena and I have a new moniker for you. "The Wizard of Ahs".

    Yep, yep, yep! I second that motion! :)

    Marie Elena

  25. Linda H.

    Just noticed that my shadorma was off my one syllable…..grrrrrr! How could I miss that! So, I have changed it. Here is the new version which should follow the rules (3/5/3/3/7/5).


    Last autumn
    when we waved good-bye
    I didn’t
    know the hands
    of fate were also waving,
    welcoming you Home.

  26. SaraV

    Robert I hope that you will allow me–I thought it was 12 midnight.

    Farewell to Floyd
    My choice was to hold on
    Or Surrender
    He looked like someone’s
    Half eaten turkey
    I knew I couldn’t keep
    So I surrendered
    Blindly filling in
    The blanks
    Yes he is
    Cross out
    Was a pet
    What happened
    To him
    I don’t know
    I just found
    Him listing in
    The pond
    Like a battle weary
    Hurry, hurry
    We need the forms
    But they didn’t have
    A blank to fill in
    How much I loved him

  27. Karen H. Phillips

    Thanks, Robert, for making my Aprils so memorable. I feel sad and relieved when it ends. And look at what we’ve all created!

    A Turn of the Page

    Last night I flipped the calendar
    the days of April had dripped the colander
    of time.

    I turn a page each day
    the hours breech away
    from me.

    What will I do with minutes?
    What’s time if I’m not in it?
    No use.

    I wish another month farewell
    with a bit of time spent well.
    Praise God.

  28. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    Hi Robert,
    I have had a number of requests from various poets to include them in the Rebirth of Colors poem since they posted after the midnight hour on the 16th. There are as many poems after 16 April as there were on that day. So I will continue the EPIC POEM to include all poets to the end of the month on COLORS. PLUS, I have decided that Three Swans Publishers (my own company) will PUBLISH a complete BOOK of the poems on COLORS with the EPIC POEM "Rebirth of Colors" if I can get ALL poets to send PERMISSION to include their poem on COLORS to me for clearance to PUBLISH.
    Details below:
    Could you please post this ANNOUNCEMENT somewhere on the POETS ASIDE posting board so that ALL Honorary members of "The Living Poets Society" will know about it
    Thank you
    Rich Atwater, President, Three Swans Publishers
    ANNOUNCEMENT to ALL Honorary members of "The Living Poets Society"
    as founded by Obi-wan "Sir" Richard-Merlin Atwater:

    As President/Publisher of Three Swans Publishers of Florida I hereby offer ALL of YOU to be Published Poets in an actual BOOK of Poetry. The book will be based on All of YOU from the posted prompt of the 16th day of April on "Colors" and will feature All of YOUR poems on colors, along with my Epic Poem on "The Rebirth of Colors" to include all poets who posted "colors" poems after the midnight hour all the way to the end of the month. I’ve had a number of requests to write an extension of that poem to the end of the month on posted color prompts–which i will do later this month.
    I REQUEST your email APPROVAL to use your poem on colors in this book, send email PERMISSION to ratwater@tampabay.rr.com or to the website http://www.3swanspublishers.com
    You retain the copyright to your poems, but give PERMISSSION to have your poem on COLORS included in the published (either Hard Cover or Soft cover book) to be released sometime in the next 18 months–or sooner.. Possible title of book: Colorful Poems of "The Living Poets Society".
    Honorarium Edition of April 2009 Poetic ASIDES

    Published by: Three Swans Publishers

    YOU will have an opportunity to purchase the book AUTOGRAPHED by "Obi-wan" "Magic Merlin" "Sir" Richard-Merlin Atwater for your heirloom collection of all the Honorary members of "The Living Poets Society". We will consider posting in the book a photograph of each poet next to their name and poem if you send a non-returnable photo to
    Three Swans Publishers
    c/o: Richard-Merlin Atwater
    3412 Snowy Egret Court
    Palm Harbor, Florida 34683

    Publication will depend upon cooperation of all poets to submit PERMISSION for publication release of their COLORS poem to Three Swans Publishers of Florida under the ownership of Richard-Merlin Atwater.
    Thank you all for your support "Happiness to YOU all" RMA

    In a message dated 4/30/2009 2:07:19 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time, Robert.Brewer@fwmedia.com writes:
    Thank YOU, Richard-Merlin!

  29. Stacey Rasfeld

    Thank you so much for all the work you’ve put into this year’s PAD Challenge! With your creative prompts, the poems almost wrote themselves (OK, not the sestina, but…..)

    This is my first year of participation, and the month’s work has gotten me into a wonderful habit I hope to continue.

    Cheers from the Left coast,

  30. Ralph J Fitcher

     Prompt Lag

    As I awoke today
    The world seemed heavier
    in some way
    Things just weren’t the same

    Suddenly I realized
    I was no longer in the game
    That daily prompt I so prized
    ended as the month changed its name

    Wanting to crawl back into bed
    I started to anticipate
    What might be on Wednesday instead

    While many will celebrate
    That they met the daily challenge with success
    Others like myself might hesitate
    while remembering how that prompt helped them be their best. . .

    Ralph J. Fitcher, 5/1/09, Farewell poem.

  31. Emily A.

    “I shall be *NSYNC”

    I shall be *NSYNC,
    “Baby bye, bye, bye”

    I shall be the von Trapp children,
    “So long. Farwell”

    I shall say good-bye
    With graceful lullabies
    and steaming apple pies
    and awesome coffee highs.
    Yes, I shall say good-bye.

    I shall close one door and open the window.
    I shall turn off the oven but turn up the stove.
    I shall turn a new leaf.
    Head over my feet.

    I shall walk into the sunset
    and do another two step.
    Jig into the moonlight.
    Fly a bigger pink kite.

    I shall say good-bye
    and stay completely mellow.
    I shall say good-bye
    while really saying, “Hello”

  32. Kathryn G. McCarty kgmccarty.com


    Over lazy Wednesday afternoons
    4 years long
    I watch her bid farewell
    To her breasts
    To her hair.
    I’m with her as she dons wigs
    & scarves of many colors
    Says goodbye to the alabaster beauty skin
    burnt by a gamma ray
    Chatter away to her
    as she lives vicariously
    through a trail of lovers left in my wake
    of my work and travels
    my angst ever small in comparison
    I babble like an idiot at times
    Afraid of silence.

    Only once does she cry
    when the final word came
    when the doctors tell her
    there’s nothing to be done:
    I am angry
    she said
    I am angry at God.
    I’m sure he’s used to it
    I offer
    to lighten her sin:
    I’m sure He’s over hasty words
    taunted in moments of fear.
    I am so frightened she says,
    so sad.

    I didn’t think
    I’d be so scared of dying
    She says
    Behind dark glasses
    Don’t remember the time before birth
    When nothing existed
    When the world was empty without me
    Please let me stay awake till Spring
    When flowers bloom and days grow longer
    When frost has left the ground while
    we wait for summer daze.

    She refuses to say farewell
    Slips quietly into Valentine Dreams
    Where we meet every once in awhile
    For coffee and girl talk
    I am angry at God
    Frustrated at the answer:
    The act of living takes decades
    The act of dying only a millisecond.
    Everyone’s life ends in tragedy.

  33. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    Where I’m from (C) Eva-Valentina "Valya" Richardovna Atwater

    I am from the sparkling reflection
    of the moonlight.
    I am from the sweet taste of candy.
    I am from the wind in my hair.
    I am from the bird in the sky.

    I am from the sparkling moon,
    sweet tasting,
    wind in my hair,
    flying bird,
    kind of girl.

    Poet’s Note:
    Written at age eleven in 2004 by me!
    Who am I?
    The daughter of Obi "Magic Wand Merlin" R.M. Atwater
    I am a student at The New York Film Academy of Acting,
    former National Champion Cheerleader with "Palm Harbor (FL) Panthers" at Disney Wide World of Sports (2006),
    and NOW an Honorary member of "The Living Poet’s Society"
    My Dad entered this "challenge" by accident after finding out about it just before it started. He was just released in March in complete remission from CANCER after six months of treatment at the Bay Pines Veterans Memorial Hospital in St Petersburg, Florida as a service-connected Disabled Veteran–fighting CANCER for the past eight years since 2001 when he was at STAGE 4 and given only 6 months to live. His poetry (and me)kept him alive.

    Thank you General Robert E. Lee (Brewer) and clan for– as my military "Major" Dad says "a Fine strategic battle in the fray of life in POETRY." Happiness to all!

  34. Christiane C Brossi


    I fare you well
    On this shiny last day
    Such month stands unequal
    I want to swell
    I want to sway
    Controlling the feelings of people

    Bringing to the surface
    The worst and the best
    Chasing from the Earth’s face
    The faint and gloomy beast


  35. Dione

    And so here we stand,
    already cleaved apart by
    bullet-proof glass. Here
    We say our last prayers, farewells.
    It is forward from now on.

  36. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    Where I’m From (C) Miss Eva-Valentina "Valya" Richardovna Atwater

    I am from the sparkling reflection
    of the moonlight.
    I am from the sweet taste of candy.
    I am from the wind in my hair.
    I am from the bird in the sky.

    I am from the sparkling moon,
    sweet taste of candy,
    wind in my hair,
    flying bird kind of girl.

    Poet’s Note:
    Written at the age of eleven in 2004.
    I am the daughter of– Obi "Magic Wand Merlin" R.M.Atwater,
    currently a student at The New York Film Academy of Acting,
    former National Championship "Palm Harbor, FL Panther" Cheerleader at Disney Wide World of Sports.
    Just wanted to be an Honorary member of "The Living Poet’s Society"

  37. Drew Dillhunt

    Peace Dollar

    The body wasn’t ready for death
    when, at twenty-one, it got the call
    about its grandmother. Out of spite
    or selfishness, the body wasn’t able
    or willing, to share the ceremony
    with longtime girlfriends. The body
    wasn’t ready to make sense of how
    at seventy-four, that body (which might as well
    have been this body) could have been
    overthrown by a coup
    of renegade throat cells
    that metastasize
    to other bodies
    lead to bouts of letter writing
    chain smoking
    an inexplicable sentimentality
    for anything antique: houses, cars
    rusty hunks of steel.
    What a shame, that old Victorian
    had to be repainted
    in triple-toned color wheel perfection.
    O the peeling paint, O the gladiolus
    planted, by the body in question,
    beneath the dining room window. This pallbearer
    one of six other bodies
    carry that body
    down the aisle
    out to the hearse. This body
    strokes a tarnished 1922 silver dollar (the age
    of that body) between thumb
    and forefinger, rescued from one of many
    metastasized cardboard boxes
    headed for the coin shop.

  38. Linda Napikoski

    Farewell, indeed
    It’s practically our creed
    We can’t wait to get out
    We’ve been here forever
    Or only three years
    Three years of tears
    Farewell, indeed

    Nothing better than faring well
    On exams that make you pinch your skull
    With frustrated attempts to grasp what you need
    Farewell indeed

    Nothing like leaving the race behind
    Making it to the finish line
    Donning the cap and gown in a throng
    And knowing you’ll be on your own before long

    Farewell, indeed

  39. Molly Fisk

    Change of Season

    Six in the morning, smell of green grass
    and overnight rain, the air dense
    with birdsong. Nearly the end of the longest,
    most forgiving spring we’ve had in years —
    no April heat wave, no late heavy snow
    that cracks the maple branches or killing
    frost taking an orchard’s harvest in minutes.
    Warm winds, cool nights, soft rain. Lilacs
    so fragrant we smell them across the street.
    Redbuds like fireworks. Dogwoods that nearly
    glow in the dark. But it has to end.
    Our terrain is riparian, Mediterranean,
    predicated on hot dry summers. We won’t
    see weeks of sluicing rain again until late
    October. Soon the hills will yellow, velvety
    from afar but up close prickled with buckbrush
    and invasive star thistle. The red dirt
    will crack in ditches, the blackberries sprawl,
    poison oak blush and glisten, throwing its oils.
    Everything lush that caresses us now
    is going to be tinder.

  40. Christy Dorrity

    Adventure’s Lullaby

    Lay down to sleep, my little one,
    And close your eyes so dear.
    I’m right beside you in your dreams,
    You have no need to fear.

    Adventure beckons us beyond,
    Discoveries abound.
    And where we journey
    Dragons fly and mysteries are found.

    Pirates sail the open seas,
    Damsels are in distress.
    Rocket ships fly out of sight
    And sweetheart’s lips profess.

    We’ll soar the skies, you and I,
    Climb every mountain peak.
    So off you go, my precious child,
    I’ll follow you to sleep.

  41. Cresta McGowan

    April 30, 2009

    Farewell to old Friends….

    The time has come to say good-bye
    to spread our wings and learn to fly
    four years, it passed in merely a blink
    combining it all, what we must think?
    What have we learned as the last sun sets
    Memories of others we’ll never forget
    Good time and bad shared to the end…
    as we say good-bye, farewell to old friends.

  42. Paris Elizabeth Sea

    pleased now…thank you everyone for this challenge!

    She senses we have waited out the frost our deep crevasse salvation darkness sombre sanctuary silent under snow awash in sun windswept until the slow subzero lifts itself by increments and seeps sullen into soil stark nakedness of rocks shedding trickles and sublimation feasting on the dampness a summons felt through subterranean passages this turbulence of fissures and seams seething with our slender massive onslaught sons and daughters of the eons’ choosing sacristy over ossuary swollen spring-sense stirred to swiftness as the grass subpoenas us crustward ruptures unfrosted urges scales and supple spines all undulations steering instincts seeking escape to assemble impatience on the rise in search of her she surfaces to seek us in smooth pursuit encased almost instantaneously slathering bodies sewn sphere-loose swell of suitors swiped inseminant intentions slaying cautions rushing crush surrounds and winds us senseless swooning shift to sway her single choice her sex shoves swallowing his phallus wholly victory over all rivals shown she sheds the hundreds unslaked losers sloughed and swift streaks sated singly towards nourishment and solitary safety in the closest sodden skyshot marshes slim garter sliding snake of Narcisse.

  43. Stephanie D.


    To poets everywhere
    Your words are seeping now
    Your vision spreads, taking root
    Thank You

  44. Lynne


    It was a vacation morning, just a few days before
    Thanksgiving, and it was sudden, so very sudden.
    I ran down the stairs when I heard my sister-in-law’s
    cry of alarm. She called 911 and relayed the cpr
    instructions to me as I struggled to revive Dad, who
    had abruptly slumped over in incredible pain. I tried,
    I really tried so hard to bring him back. I was still
    trying when the emt’s arrived and took over. I had
    given Dad my breath as his last breath but it wasn’t
    enough. My brother had raced home from work.
    Although the medics tried long and hard to revive Dad
    he was gone to us. We had to say farewell to him a
    mere 10 months after Mom passed away. She left
    us right after Christmas, and we figured she didn’t
    want to spend the holidays without him and called
    him home. Farewell, dear ones.

    Lynne Nelsen

  45. Christine Kephart

    The ship has sailed,
    The sun has set; the pot has
    Boiled, and boiled over.
    Farewell to those clichés of mine,
    Lame attempts, half-thoughts, my “poems.”

  46. Kimiko Martinez

    I wish you would go
    taking your pain and self-pity
    but please be sure to
    vacuum up the sad
    little remnants of your life
    from my lovely shag rug

  47. Tammy Paolino


    When I was a kid, nothing made you happier
    than taking me for ice-cream or White Castle.
    You’d order yours first, and be on seconds
    before I even got started with my own.

    The last time I saw you, I fed you yogurt
    coaxing it in with a spoon, while you stared ahead
    at the Christmas tree, not speaking for weeks.
    "I love you,” I said, "You are the best grandpa.”
    And, because I’m sure you knew, "I love you, too.”

  48. A M Forret

    Goodbye rolls off my tongue until darkness blankets the streets
    and night’s quiet fills the spaces of my mind, space no longer
    brimming with snarky replies or angry digs to ease my emotional
    seething. My farewell becomes rather weak as your text vibrates in my pocket, the vicious cycle begins as I text my midnight hour thoughts causing pause, allowing a pinpoint of light to shine brighter with the possibility of hello,
    again. I resolve to say goodbye today and never say hello to your tomorrow.

  49. Elise Huneke Stone

    Praying Mantis

    I caught you fruit flies
    holding the goldfish’s net
    over the door to the composter
    and opening it just a crack.
    Your later appetites were satisfied
    with crickets, dispatched
    without ceremony to your jaws.
    We misted you with water.
    We watched your metamorphosis.
    You left the ghosts of yourself hanging
    from twigs, and lived a bright green newness
    for a couple of hours.
    I gave the students your vocabulary:
    Nymph, ootheca,
    And your horrible fatal love story
    Made the boys nervous.
    Then we let you go in the school garden,
    beneficiary insects.

    The children asked, praying or preying?
    I told them in your case, it’s the same thing.

  50. Leslie Levy

    Until Next Year

    They are fading away
    in my memory even now.

    Driving down the road
    craning my neck for one last glimpse.

    Thankful for cameras
    that capture their likeness

    in the sunshine, now erased
    like the rain washed them away,

    enveloped in the serenity
    of mulitudinal greens.

    Hidden in the forest until
    spring brings the dogwoods

    to life

  51. Meg Harris


    Before we left Oswiecim and went to work elsewhere for the devil and we left you to play your sweet clarinet for those officer’s parties and decampment marches. Six of us said a Novena and made a promise in the bunker you built. Remember that sweet German marmalade Albert? And those cups of tepid soup we brought to you those August nights? I remember your ready smile and broad hands. How capable you were with a carpenter’s tools. We were, each of us, around 19 years old in September of 1944. Karol said you reminded him of his kid brother the stubborn mass of your young muscles despite the wear of starvation and slave labor you endured. You heartened us, my friend, and we loved you as we did another tortured Jew. And in that place where you worked alone those hot afternoons, in that bunker that we built together intended to protect the SS in case of an air raid – the rest of us, we gathered and Bronislow wrote our names and prisoner numbers on a scrap of paper that Karol ripped from an empty cement bag. We used the pencil left by a visiting inspector and there where you hid the evidence of the food we stolen for you, the jelly jars and soups tins. There in the cement wall, inside an old vinegar bottle, after we said a prayer for survival and if nothing else remembrance of our young lives, we secreted that scrolled paper, after adding your name, Albert Veissid and A12063, your prisoner number.

  52. Nori Odoi



    I stood in airport limbo
    between security and my gate
    other passengers jostling past me
    I turned back for one last look

    You were standing behind security glass
    but you were looking across a lifetime
    as you memorized my laugh and smile
    the starlike glisten of my tears

    I’d seen that look before
    on Mom’s face from her hospital bed
    and I knew we both knew this was the end
    there would be no goodbyes again

    I hesitated longing to turn back
    quit my job, abandon my home
    do anything to stay here
    to stop what I knew was to come

    But I couldn’t fight the stream of time
    pebble-like I was swept away
    I had my own journey to the sea
    I left you to follow yours

    Four months later
    you were gone
    Fare well

  53. G. Smith

    (c) 2009 – G. Smith
    Farewell, Blues, don’t come around here any more;
    Farewell, Blues, I’m showin’ you the door;
    My baby’s back, everything is alright,
    You’n’me ain’t goin’… out tonight, so
    Farewell, Blues, don’t come around here any more…

    So long, Sadness, it’s so good to see you go;
    So long, Sadness, I’m so tired of feelin’ low;
    But that’s all changed, my baby’s here,
    There’s smiles now instead of a tear, so,
    So long Sadness, it’s so good to see you go…

    Good-bye, Heartache, now I’m leavin’ you behind me;
    Good-bye, Heartache, and I ain’t sayin’ where you’ll find me;
    My baby’s back and things’re good,
    I’m gonna treat her like I know I should, so
    Good-bye, Heartache, now I’m leavin’ you behind me…

    Farewell, Blues, don’t come around here any more;
    Farewell, Blues, I’m showin’ you the door;
    My baby’s back, everything is alright,
    You’n’me ain’t goin’… out tonight, so
    Farewell, Blues, don’t come around here any more…

  54. Olive L. Sullivan

    Traveling Companions

    How can I say goodbye?
    Three days on a tour bus,
    crammed with our shoulders touching,
    sharing crumbled snacks from our backpacks
    because it would be rude not to.
    A night in a shared room,
    you huddled on your half of the bed,
    me on mine, straining not to touch
    lest it be misconstrued.
    That day we climbed the hill
    to King Arthur’s castle at Tintagel,
    and held each other up
    so the fierce wind wouldn’t
    blow us into the Irish Sea.
    When the cab driver yelled at me
    in French and I could only answer in Spanish,
    you laughed at us both —
    "Everybody speaks English,
    and they wish you would, too!"
    How can I say goodbye now,
    when we’ve just met
    and there’s a whole world before us?

  55. Beth K

    When I leave this place

    When I leave this place at last,
    I will miss the parts I abhorred
    in the past.

    I will find affection for the sand
    that overtook the backyard, and
    I will photograph the monstrous growth
    of unattractive hedge in the corner.

    I will, no doubt, instantly adore
    the cracked and broken front door
    in front of which my children posed
    for so many holiday pictures.

    I will gaze with longing at the paint stains
    on the garage floor, at the dented
    rain gutters jutting out from the side
    of the house, next to the place where they would ride
    their tricycles and toy fire engines.

    I will try one more time
    to clean the slime
    from the low window where our nervous dog
    spent so much time
    pressing his nose and tongue to the glass
    to taste the outdoors and freedom.

    I will look at this house when it is empty
    of all our important things,
    and I will remember the youth of our
    marriage, our children, and
    part of me will say,
    maybe we should just stay.

  56. K.E. Ogden

    K.E. Ogden
    April 30 !!! 2009
    Prompt: Farewell Poem

    after Kevin Young

    I hope it rains after my funeral too,
    mama wailing about all that lost promise,
    and the locusts come to eat the crops.

    I hope it rains after my funeral too,
    cars stuck in false floods, coffins
    floating down to the pier, my daddy

    drunk on Crown & Coke. I hope it rains
    after my funeral, and everybody’s got
    to have a big umbrella dripping on their feet.

    And when the next day comes, I hope it rains
    again, and everyone goes out to the parties
    anyway, or the movies, or the jazz clubs,

    and whistles and hoots and drinks and hollers
    hot damn! What a night!

  57. Chad Frame

    A Not-So-Fond Farewell

    Goodbye is muttered through sour
    morning-mouth, a quick glance in
    your wall mirror, out your dorm-
    room door: a tangle of matted
    bed-head, red-webbed eyes,
    a nod to your half-hearted
    sentiment of, "Call me so
    I know you got home okay."

    Why do we do this? Why
    offer ourselves to strangers
    who switch to intimate lovers
    and back again to strangers,
    flicking on and off the lights?
    This is the last I will see you,
    I tell myself, or anyone like you.
    This is me walking away.

    Until, of course, the next time.

  58. samantha karren

    *honeymoon farewell*

    you ignored the sound of my flying
    mystery, hearing only the roaring wind-up
    of airplane engines, the high-pitched
    electrical cry of a creature leaving
    behind her vacation, her bikini, and sunsets
    on the beach. Even I didn’t realize
    I forgot my seductress, still languid
    on the sand, drinking pina coladas and shooting
    smoky gazes at you over her large shades–
    not until the airplane jerked, and our heads
    slammed back against the seats.

  59. Kristin

    it’s the last day of school
    the seniors wander aimlessly
    shocked that this is it
    their mouths in an O
    they clutch at each other
    amazed that the day they have been looking forward to for years
    is here
    and they are not thrilled
    they are scared

    on graduation day they line the lockered halls
    royal blue gowns swish and sway
    as they hug friends and wave at the teachers as we walk by
    to form the procession of pomp and circumstance

    they sit in rows on the stage
    in front of their adoring public
    every minute
    brings them closer to the end of this chapter

    we sit in rows in the audience
    looking at each face
    and remember the time they spent in our classes
    the work they did, or the excuses they had for the work
    that was undone
    but all that doesn’t matter anymore

    these young women and men
    with so much promise
    I wish them all a wonderful life

  60. Nancy Lazar

    Saying Farewell

    Farewell- from the Middle English faren wel (‘fare’)
    N. a wish of happiness or welfare at parting.

    I resolve to forget the time you yelled,
    that face you made.

    From the merger of Old English fær (‘journey,’ ‘road’)
    and faru (‘journey,’ ‘companions,’ ‘baggage’).

    May the road be kind and forgiving
    without the slamming of breaks, dirty looks.

    Especially a permanent departure:
    a good-bye, adieu; leave-taking.

    May we be united again one day soon;
    with proper maps, reasonable plans.

    Etymology; Fare- from the Middle English fearh-
    farrow- to birth a litter of pigs.

    May we find much pork behind the squeal
    and prosperity in every litter.

  61. Ivy Merwine


    I hold a photograph of you.
    You smile back at me from the frame.
    I remember all the talks we shared over hot cups of tea.
    I miss you.
    Everything come to an end.
    I’m so sorry it was yours my friend.
    Its time to say goodbye.
    I place the frame back on the mantle brushing the tears from my eyes.
    I will always remember you and the times we shared.

  62. Sharon Spielman

    So long, April

    “April Showers Bring May Flowers”
    I’ve heard that once or twice.
    In the Midwest, though,
    We can get a glimpse of warmth
    during the month of April.
    This has been such a gloomy month.
    Too many cold and wet days
    to even count.
    So it is with bittersweet feelings
    that I say farewell to April 2009.
    Bittersweet because the month flew by
    and I know those moments are gone forever.
    And yet I look forward to May, ready to savor another month
    Where I will forge on with my own PAD challenge,
    Savoring each m o m e n t i n t i m e .

  63. Kelly Searsmith

    May you have light for your way, darkness met with clear day,
    and a glorious morning with no memory of mourning,
    children to come after, and an end met with laughter.
    May you remember the good, and make use of the bad,
    and all of us cherish this brief moment we’ve had.

  64. LindaTK

    Day 30:
    Farewell (Limerick)

    There once was a writer in town
    Who couldn’t seem to put her pen down
    Then one day she tried
    And just about died
    It’s farewell she did say with a frown

  65. Penny Henderson

    Walt–thanks, and right back at you. You have been an inspiration to any one facing a great loss as to how to navigate the stormy waters

  66. Doug Pugh

    Time to say adieu

    God be with ye, safe journey, travel well
    archaic curls of gothic fonts
    the smell of printers ink, horse droppings and steam
    and though stiff and formal
    like the collars of their starched studded shirts
    the words were meant to bridge years between each pass
    the onerous trek of each visit the size of a world now gone

    Goodbye, take care, farewell
    industry and war stamping immediacy
    past the bustle of thronged cities, the belch of cars and fast food
    social barriers shifted, not melted
    individual dress and style freed, but not the soul
    the words still trying to convey the pain of love sundered
    the absence of friends, the loss of touch, the wave of the forlorn

    Bye, see ya, be good
    a digital compaction, world hurried
    sound bites and snapshots, emails and mail shots, convenience
    flushing away the bonds between us
    off the peg, branded trust, always made somewhere, not here
    the words tailored brief, smarter now, we hear the tread
    of Time’s pass, too much to do, too little life to do it

    text speak, a button punched
    msg sent, inbox full, delete, delete, delete
    man parted from kind, islands in life’s storm
    no bridges, no words, remote is a form of control
    a billion people are a billion, not a people
    and divided is conquered, fragments of glass in the pane of life

    tighter and tighter
    the spirals wind
    with no time to say

    ©DP April 09

  67. Susan M. Bell

    Farewell Bea Arthur

    I’ve been told that I am a lot like her, the
    most outspoken Golden Girl of them all. If
    that’s true, I don’t really know, but it’s a
    thought that thrills me to no end. She was
    bold, unafraid to speak her mind, stood tall
    both literally and figuratively. In real life and
    in the television world, she was one of the brave
    ones, those who attacked topics others left
    behind. She was Maude, Archie’s nemesis. She
    was Dorothy, the voice of reason. She was Bea.

  68. Ellen McGrath Smith

    The Hell-O to Sack
    (after Robert Herrick)

    Hello, my little beanocopia of peace,
    my wobbly stick, my pyrotechnic
    piece of brittle sky. It’s the end
    of the year, Enid Dame has died,
    and the squirrel in my front yard
    has learned to pull the lid off
    the birdseed mayonnaise jar.
    My child is going off to some far
    place marked by my choices.
    My country has spent money
    in one country to destroy
    what a natural disaster next door
    has destroyed in one half-hour.
    Hell-0 sack, silence all the "shoulds"
    and make the keyboard monkey
    dance, dim all the lights of
    all the misbegotten signs
    of romance I’ve misread,
    zoom all focus down to this soul
    that at one time was created
    perfect. No, it means no harm.
    Though, yes, it sprouted lips
    and a clitoris, sank some ships
    and looks for shore. And yes,
    it has accountrements it doesn’t need
    which, sack, you know already.
    Steady, steady, sack, or chardonnay
    by any other name, for there is all
    the world to blame but for your
    wild stroke of forgiveness
    as I’m forced to live with what
    I have rejected in my others,
    all my sisters, all my brothers
    who receive my drunken blessing
    on this night, the final night
    of this long year in which I learned
    that only love can conquer fear
    and with the learning, ran
    to this dark corner, here
    with you to muster all my troops,
    which are as ants around a crumb,
    which are so *comfortably numb,*
    and I will say farewell to you
    tomorrow morning.

  69. Cassandra O'Shea

    It’s been amazing, thank you to all and to Robert!


    A Belgian boy-man in a bar
    told me the Flemish for farewell,
    long sea voyages, you will return.

  70. Reesha

    Again, sorry if this is a duplicate submission. Yesterday after posting, the nifty search tool said I was missing this day as a post so I am reposting now…the tool isn’t working today for some reason.

    You already know I’m here,
    What my name is
    And that I’m lying down.
    So I’ll spare you the details
    Of saying "Here lies me".
    You’ve already wished me
    To rest in peace so please don’t
    Put that on my stone.
    What else could I do in this coffin
    But rest?
    And have you ever heard of someone
    Resting in a non-peaceful way?
    If you want to know how I died
    Well, then I suppose that
    Might be interesting.
    And I suppose I have a few
    Good words of advice.
    Mostly, just don’t wish me farewell
    As if you were in doubt
    That I would fare ill.
    It should be clear to you
    Where I’m going.

  71. Julie Hairston

    Go! Go now-

    I can’t bear it any longer
    You know you’re going- you’ve known it all along
    Go! Go now-
    Pack your things, pack it all
    Take that blue tie that looks
    so good against your eyes
    Take that dumb seashell I brought back from
    the beach where we pledged our love
    Please be sure and take the millions of cards
    and sentiments I wrote to you over the years
    Please, please take everything that reminds me of you and me.
    I can’t bear it any longer.
    Go! Go now-
    But please…
    Give me back my heart.

  72. Ruth Mattern


    You held my hand so tenderly
    Standing by the old oak tree.
    You gently kissed away my tears
    Quieting my thoughts and fears.
    I didn’t want to see you leave
    I thought of how my heart would grieve
    Just because we’d be apart
    Knowing it would break my heart.
    Though you had to go away,
    I wanted so for you to stay.
    Never to leave me alone
    To stay with me and make a home.
    But you said that you had to go
    For reasons I would never know.
    You waved your hand and said farewell
    And left me to my private hell.

  73. Walt Wojtanik

    That was a heckuva twister you laid on me. I found the courage of the lion in putting my heart on the line, and I feel like the Tinman with the twinge in my heart at the moment. But, if I only had a brain…or at least the one I had throughout April, then I’d have a snappier retort other then, "I’ll see you in OZ". We can invite the "Wizard" (Merlin) and make a day of it! Be well.

  74. amanda

    Farewell, Craig Arnold?

    “Missing Vagabond Poet’s Remains Found”
    today’s headline read.
    But it wasn’t you.
    It was a California poet, Everett Ruess—
    gone missing since the 30’s
    that they found in redrock country.

    Where are you, Craig Arnold?

    Poet, artist, wanderer,
    volcano lover! You, who takes your role
    so sincerely: compelled to roam where most
    men dare not tread.
    Not for vanity or fame or fortune—
    but for the sake of poetry!

    You, traveling Japan in the footsteps of Basho.
    You, missing for three days now.
    You, somewhere on, or —good god— in
    the island of Kuchino-erabu.

    Will your wanderlust become your undoing?
    Did you tumble into a molten, fiery pit?
    Oh, Craig Arnold, if you did traipse into
    the underworld to find Persephone, please,
    let you, as she was, now return—
    and be “Made Flesh.”

  75. Laura Graham

    Day 30: Farewell

    With apologies to Hemingway…

    Old Venus was known for her charms,
    But somehow, she came to some harm.
    She first missed her a hands,
    Next, her elbows and
    Called it a farewell to arms.

  76. Marie Elena

    De Jackson, Hannah, Daniel, Pearl, Sue, & Earl: My very best to all of you! It’s been such a pleasure being in your company this month!
    Daniel, your Clearly Marie Elena poem will always be a treasure to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

    Mr. Atwater,
    You are truly a fine gentleman! Keep up the teaching, mentoring, and spreading of good news! God bless you “real good!”
    Marie Elena

  77. Marie Elena

    As I pause to reflect
    On this month as we close,
    I think of the excellent
    Works you‘ve composed:
    Many uplifting,
    Some made me cry,
    Heart-felt, disturbing,
    Or cleverly dry,
    Insightful, inspiring,
    Ingenious, or fun,
    And also the comments
    We’ve made one-on-one.
    My heart has been touched,
    You’ve won my respect.
    ‘til our lives once again intersect.

    Robert, thank you so very much for the opportunity you have given us. I will truly miss you all very much.

  78. Lee Kottner


    Here I met a man
    selling views of Saturn’s rings
    for a dollar.
    Here, I came upon a homeless man
    frying his breakfast egg
    on a manhole cover
    and wondered if I could stay.
    On this corner, one cold February day,
    a man with a cat
    perched on his hat
    trolled for change,
    his only talent
    the love of animals.
    Here, I looked down the avenue
    and saw a poem
    in the shape of concrete, light,
    and overhung boughs.
    Here, in a bar empty
    but for people I don’t see anymore
    I had my first taste
    of tequila and lime and salt.
    Here I met a crackhead angel hipster
    who stole my watch, my Bible,
    and a Miles Davis CD,
    and left me a lesson
    in the basic goodness
    of even the worst of us.

    And that was just a moiety, a dram
    of my history and the beauty I see.
    How can I ever leave here
    when there’s so much more?
    Yet, if I stand in one place
    it will all leave me
    step by step.

  79. Marie Elena

    Farewell to Walt (Fib form)
    The Scarecrow
    To my Dorothy
    I will miss you the most of all
    May God grant to you

  80. J. R. Simons


    "Parting is such sweet sorrow,"
    opined the immortal bard,
    but he was speaking of love,
    which is always sweet,
    even when it is bitter.

    Some partings are never sweet,
    like the parting one takes
    when leaving a job that is
    nothing more than a job
    and less than a career.

    What makes a man decide to leave
    a job that has fed his family
    so well and kept him from being
    naked and homeless is something
    not so easily determined.

    I suspect it has something
    to do with dignity and respect
    for oneself and one’s desires
    and ambitions and one’s relationships
    when a man makes this decision.

    So, farewell to long and tedious
    hours of mindless corporate gobbledygook
    and the incessant ringing of phones
    that brings those questions from
    the masses of the great unwashed.

    He risks nothing at all who
    dares not risk it all.

  81. Mariel dumas

    This is Morning

    Leaving no stone left unturned; pillows made
    Unmade you and me
    Now the sip of coffee melting my tongue
    Pause in the pink mouth
    Red skin white with morning sleep
    I’ve paused before near windows
    And this is the year I missed
    Opportunities and moments
    For a chance at idle things, fixed patterns
    Stars that were mine
    And what we wait for is not what we seek
    But a coffee made in haste
    A last cigarette
    Blood on the sheets dry
    Wishing this was over
    Waiting for it to begin
    Swallowing it down; thick and deep
    Life-stuff, sticky, bloody, wet and sweet
    But I’ll make you coffee and you’ll stay for a while
    Until you go with the rain
    We’ll breathe it in and pretend not to notice
    The closing of the door
    Heavy breaths; morning dew
    Painted ceilings and empty halls
    The light is now gone
    But we still have our pockets
    To keep things in
    Folded up in neat piles
    We pretend to notice
    We gaze up at ourselves still
    And we say it will be gone before tomorrow
    This thing that we carry on our backs
    Scratching our flesh pink; choking us still
    More blood still and I’ve hurt you too
    I pause and watch the rain
    Computer is on and it’s empty
    No music heard
    And the door closes behind piles of clothes

  82. Earl Parsons

    Now I begin the withdrawel
    Only one prompt per week ’til November
    What will I do
    I’ll miss all of you
    ‘Twas another April to remember

    Guess I’ll get back to the business of
    Promoting the name of my Lord and Savior
    And working to perfect my position
    As a ‘right-wing extremist’
    (according to the administration)

    I’ll look for everyone’s names on Wednesdays.

    God Bless

  83. Marcia Gaye

    Previous post left out middle section. Sorry to repeat. This is the updated poem of farewell.

    Fare Well, Words

    A breeze has lifted all the words
    that rested on the paper
    and off they flutter,
    April’s gifts;
    silent, still each one is heard
    in water
    in color
    in the touch of leaves
    in sound unbreathed.

    Discovered gently rarely
    glinting translucent
    in the light
    of moon or sun
    ripples in the air,
    tripped upon by a slip of tongue
    floating over a cheek
    brushing past the ear.

    Fly, sweet nothings which carry
    Everything within.
    Fare well! Fly!

  84. Diane Truswell

    You Never Know

    In November, I was quite certain
    Mum wouldn’t make it to Christmas
    and I thought I could be saying goodbye
    for the final time when I departed.
    In December she battled pneumonia
    was hospitalized twice and I was more
    certain that she would not survive at 92.
    January was worse — her nursing facility
    was quarantined for an entire month
    and none of my siblings could see her.
    But in February, quarantine lifted, not
    only was she still alive, she was in
    better shape than she’d been before
    very alert, eating well, observant
    smile on her face, still cracking
    jokes, and saying what she’d always
    said, "You never know." She’s right.
    You never do. I wonder if on some ‘
    level she wants to join the ranks
    of her mother, who died at 94
    or her grandmother who lasted
    until 96, strong women, like her.
    I won’t know our final farewell until
    it happens. You never know.

  85. Judy Kneprath

    Farewell to What Cannot Be
    By Judy Kneprath

    It’s a wide, wide world
    And all our actions have results and consequences
    And when you decide something
    That affects my world
    Both you and I are forever altered
    And some things then cannot be

    I have a right to be shocked
    Rant and rave, hopefully mostly in private
    Process it all the best I am able to
    Forgive you for your choice
    Try to understand the soil from whence it grew
    Come to acceptance
    And then I must allow my ownsoul to
    Grieve the loss
    And say farewell
    To what now cannot be

    And sometimes the layers of farewells
    That continue to be needed
    Linger on and on
    Show themselves in fits and starts
    Over the years
    And require tending as they struggle up
    Through the hard ground
    More anger at the realization of this additional thing
    I lost
    Because you chose
    More ranting, more processing,
    More choice of my own to forgive
    More grieving
    And more farewelling
    To that new understanding of yet another thing
    That now cannot be

    Ah, but once most of that work is done
    And farewells have been rightly said and worked
    And laid to rest
    The horizon beckons
    Full of new provisions for what now
    Can be

  86. J. Thomas Ross

    Farewells Are Not Easy
    by J. Thomas Ross

    Tonight I sit silent between my two sons
    on the cool, white cement of the front porch steps
    in the rosy glow of a summer sunset.
    The guests, stuffed and happy, had long ago left,
    The gifts had been packed in the crepe-covered car,
    and we’d said our farewells and tearfully waved
    as daughter (and sister) with Mike headed south.
    Now we sit mute on the lonely front steps
    blowing bubbles from white wedding cake bottles
    and watching them sparkle and float high and pop.

    We stay outside till stars take over the sky,
    feeling happy and sad – things will be diff’rent.

    Big events in our lives bring bittersweet change;
    farewells are made to the old and familiar
    for the chance to grasp the new and exciting.
    Still, despite time spent preparing and planning,
    farewells to old times and ways are not easy.

  87. Pearl Ketover Prilik


    fly away
    from me
    leaving me
    with the scent
    of your little
    girl bodies
    still on my pillow
    where we snuggled
    in the mornings
    the touch of your
    velvet cheeks
    your arms hugging
    my neck
    as you fly
    you sparkled
    my days arriving
    and leave
    me emptied
    as tears rain
    in your empty
    as I wish
    as I must
    fare the well
    my little
    into the plane
    into the future
    the keeper of the
    memories we’ve made

  88. Mary McCann, The Bone Mama

    Lorraine Appreciation Week

    The first week in May is Lorraine Appreciation Week
    Celebrations in all major metropolitan centers of North America and Canada
    The key features will be dragon slayings starting with hatchlings Monday-Wednesday
    Young adults Thursday and full on stop you in your tracks
    Singe your eyelashes within 50 feet of them sleeping
    Melt your sword, scale rot, halitosis infected, pus oozing adults for the weekend

    Dragons courtesy of Lorraine and carefully nourished
    In a knot of dread and panic fueled decisions over the last ten years
    Made extra strong by double clutching on all the curves
    Where gravity held her to the pavement when she
    Really just wanted to fly

    Dispatch the dragons, Lorraine
    They’re only here because you feed them
    They don’t need you on any level
    Slay them during Lorraine Appreciation Week
    Starve them, they never see that strategy approaching
    Surprise them and yourself

    Send them on their way
    Then see how we’ll party in your honor

  89. Jolanta Laurinaitis


    Fare thee well my dear
    For I concedingly fear
    That I shall no longer appear
    In your dreams so austere

    Fare thee well Miss Gallowsraven

    Fare well Sir Eldricht

    Until next time we attack.

  90. Rebekah

    "To Bid This Town Goodbye"

    It’s time to say goodbye
    to the rivers, mountains
    lakes and streams,
    to Coal, the tribal King.

    It’s time to bid farewell
    to the tumbling, crumbling
    buildings along the streets
    beside beloved places to eat.

    It’s time to leave behind
    the cloud of gloom and doom,
    saying, "You’ll never leave alive,"
    and naysayers buzzing like a hive.

    It’s time to strike out alone,
    to spread my wings, to fly,
    to live and breathe on my own.

  91. Ginger Galloway

    The last prompt is a Farewell poem

    We Came to Say Goodbye

    We all came
    We stood around
    talking softly
    about memories
    little things
    that we remembered
    We talked about the illness
    and these days
    Some of us prayed
    Others just touched a hand
    maybe transferring thoughts
    or love
    or both
    We all stood there
    looking at one another
    shadows and reflections
    of a free soul
    we knew when we came
    that this would be goodbye
    Some cried silently
    in the hall
    others hugged and comforted
    In three days we would come together
    for one last
    and we would stand together
    to rejoice in the life
    Lives touched
    by mama, auntie, sister
    my grandma
    I know the angels stand around her now
    looking in her eyes
    and sharing the love
    she shared with us
    when we stood alone
    and when we all stood together

  92. Kim King

    Robert, thank you for inspiring and challenging us to write every day. I found myself mulling over the prompts even after I posted because the inspiration last longer than a day. There are an amazing number of poets out there and I enjoyed reading into the souls of each of them.

    (A special thanks to Merlin Atwater for including all of us in his colors poem)

  93. Kim King

    My Father’s Lamp

    Thirty-two glass prisms dangle, sparkle, tinkle over
    the table from the band of the brass lamp rescued
    from the trash at John’s Second-Hand Store.

    Wrapped in brown Bell’s grocery bags, he had seen
    the Victorian oil font protruding from the garbage
    can on his way downtown.

    He pulled over, bundled it into the car like an adopted
    orphan and didn’t unveil the dull, shadeless skeleton
    until introducing it to our kitchen.

    By the time he electrified the lamp, my mother had
    redone the kitchen to match the mauve art-glass shade
    and I was wearing mascara and eye shadow.

    Catching the light, reflecting slanted rainbows on plastic
    floral place mats, the prisms were not originals, but ones
    he found at Hector’s Hardware where he took me every
    Saturday for wing nuts, screws and five-penny nails.

    During those drives in the car, he used random errands
    as disguises for lectures about honor, patriotism, and as I
    grew older, and more uncomfortable, boys.

    He warned about drugs and sex, but like Gigi, our poodle,
    I put my head out the window, smelled the summer grass,
    and let the wind whip my hair, blowing my eyes closed.

    I avoided his eyes when I left on a date with a half-drunk
    baseball player who squealed tires, one hand on my leg,
    a beer in the other, when he pulled out of the driveway.

    When they revived me later, I only remember those
    prisms over the table, hundreds of them glistening through
    my blurred vision, and his tear-filled eyes.

  94. Alissa

    spring green
    from the earth
    begin to form
    flowers turn
    their smiling faces
    to the sun
    casting shadows
    that bid
    farewell to winter

  95. Eaton Bennett

    A nuance of pain
    indefinable in the
    emptiness of

    Did we mirror each
    other in the mutual
    field of despair

    No it was only my
    desperate hope
    that lingered in an
    improbable moment

    I searched but found
    no sorrow in you

    how sad

    Silently I shed my tears
    in a transcendent span of


    Richard, thank you for the opportunity to test my writing metal in these 30 days. I have thoroughly enjoyed the challenge.

    Anders, your search tool is a marvel. Thank you! I checked and all my poems were present and accounted for just before I posted my Day 30 Prompt.


  96. Jodie Placek


    And so it begins…

    The end of all my yesterdays
    Empty sounds of long ago
    Echoing in the distance
    Brilliant colors slowly fading
    Until they cease to exist
    Unable to feel the
    Gentle touch of love
    A slow beating heart
    Pumping its last goodbye
    The sun is setting
    Everything is silent now


    A special thank you to all the Living Poets I have found here. I have fully enjoyed this month, reading, writing, sharing – I’ll be coming back often to check in – you are all truly inspiring!! Be well! :) – Jodie

  97. Jane Millar

    Richard Merlin-Atwater:
    Thank you for the marvelous epic gift-poem that connects us all. You are worthy of Merlin as a word magician. May you age backwards after you reach 400 or so.

    Thank you for making this community possible.

    Jane aka Selra

  98. Merddyn Aladar

    "Goodbye to Save the World"

    It is time now, my friends, to say goodbye
    But this isn’t a time to cry
    We all knew that I’d soon die
    No matter what we thought to try.

    But you will die soon, too, my friends
    Now our journey will soon end
    But we knew we would die at the end
    To save our world, which only we can mend

    So now it is time for me to leave
    And tommorrow is your lives’ eve
    In each other you must believe
    For you, our enemies will deceive.

    It’s good to see you again, my friends
    Our journey is now at its end.
    The people on this world never knew
    how close to death they drew

  99. Belinda Furby

    Robert and all at Poetic Asides – thanks for the time and effort put into this challenge. I’ve learned a lot about poetry and about myself! So many talented people out there!! Wow! B.

    Farewell to April’s Challenge

    Thirty days of stringing words
    like beads on a necklace.
    A few I found were precious jewels
    that I will keep and cherish.

    Others, though, I have to say
    were better left unsaid.
    I should have kept them floating
    in confines of my head!

    So farewell April’s Challenge,
    I bid you all good-bye.
    These last words I type
    with a much contented sigh.

  100. LivSafe

    An Old Friend

    You served me well
    Dependable and smart
    So comfortable I could hardly tell
    Whether you were with me or not

    You made me feel warm
    Protected me from the breeze
    A cold rain at times
    Drenched you but not me

    Now we part company
    Your fabric old and torn
    No longer able to hold me fast
    Farewell old jacket too worn

  101. Jeremy Jusek

    I will unfortunately have to turn in two poems late (only two..!)… I have eight done, but due to this past week being finals week, and I’m a senior in college who needs to turn in his research for the year, I will have to miss the noon deadline. However, I will have the rest of the poems up before May 1st is out! (My last final exam is today..!)

    Here is today’s poem:

    "Discovered Too Late"

    So here pitted now against the rest of the best
    I’ve fought, stayed up late, and taken their tests.
    Set upon by thousands, I’ve come out on top…
    …now is time to open my eyes, now that I’ve stopped.
    Here you are, lady, bade
    the heartbroken, looking for freedom?
    Feelings drape shades
    of confusion, alluded protrusions, unveiling a lilac kingdom:
    there stands a conflicted castle
    housing torn and tattered vassals
    all annoyed for having been discovered
    in their shady, cool, waterfall worlds.
    These new open eyes have uncovered
    banners flown by promise, emblazoned images unfurled.
    Failure! Fie on the new eyes
    that brought what has been described
    into consciousness in the past few days
    since before long I’ll be going away.

    Promise upon return we’ll reunite?
    Fight for right to see a positive end in sight!
    Nothing doing, nothing done, everything run
    until everything feels like the setting sun.
    Ignore that setting sun, this is a beginning, not an end.
    Fend or bend to the giving trend that is probable love.
    With a full, nostalgic heart I set upon a path alone,
    hoping inspiration strikes your heart
    melting away the current, constant, candid heavy stone.
    Promise that I, whether or not my appetite to sate,
    whether to argue about fate, or the heart’s hidden estate,
    promise instead that I haven’t discovered you too late!
    …I will close my eyes, with other peripherals cropped.

  102. Mary Campbell


    When I’m no longer where you are
    accustomed to my being, then
    regret my going if you must,
    but know I live, and not so far
    away. And I do not forget you.
    Will you look for me?

    Look for me in commonplace
    and sacred spaces. Look for me
    in prayers and hymns and growing things…
    the calm vitality of a supple reed
    in shallow water just at evening,
    at the cusp of autumn.

    Look for me where there are children.
    Set your cynical imposture
    aside and be astounded. Don’t
    you know that nothing is
    coincidental? If you, having
    found me, disallow your intuition…
    if you walk away, I will run
    behind and tug your shirttail, and whine
    and wail till I turn blue; and you
    will gather courage, as if to contemplate
    a Gorgon, instead of loveliness
    too compelling to embrace
    for fear of losing cognizance
    of time and place. And there you will
    remain a bit, nonplussed, bemused,
    and ill at ease, fumbling for
    your pipe and flask or the equivalent;
    but in the end you will be satisfied,
    not all at once, but by degrees,
    that I still live just as I promised.

  103. Juliene Munts

    Falling Short of Farewell

    Last night it happened
    Again, word came:
    A beloved near death
    Long after her wishes,
    Strength defying will.

    We had talked about
    This—only now I was
    Thousands of miles,
    Two oceans, beyond
    my reach to her aged
    hand. My comfort
    should be that Hospice
    was there singing hymns
    in her ear, calming her fears.

    How to say goodbye
    to an inspiration
    –true character and
    intense love for life—
    from this distance?

    Email, of course! Not
    a letter written when
    prompted, but sterile
    electronic digits read
    to a morphined mind.

    Should you hear it best
    in a poem living beyond
    you; Farewell, my friend
    I celebrate you—your
    chance to be with the
    One you love.

  104. Christopher Stephen Soden

    so long

    cold rough surface swimming effulgent veil his thumb behind my ear breath on my shoulder sharp tingle chilling my scalp lightning summoning downpour

  105. Mary K


    Each time I leave you or you leave me I wonder
    if we will see each other again. We are no
    longer young, and more time passes between
    our times together and one day it will happen
    that we will say farewell in our usual way and we
    will not realize it is our last farewell. As much
    as I try to ignore the possibility, one day
    something expected or unexpected will happen
    to one of us, and the other of us will be left with
    only memories. And tears.

    Mary Kling

  106. Iain D. Kemp

    Mr Atwater… Thanks for the inclusion in your epic and I’m really glad you liked my penultimate poem of the month. BTW (& I take no offence- I have to do this all the time!) Its IAIN with an eye not an ell…like Ian only Scots.

    Great writing sir, you are not only prolific but incerdibly talented.

    And a big shout out to everyone that came out to play this year..amazing!!! And of course to RLB for doing it once again.

    Me? I’ll be back on Wednesday as always along with the boys ( Ringo. Da Moose, Greek Jimmy is due to show up any day now and of course B.F. is bound to have some new disasters to cope with)

    POETS NOTE! I’m training to teach English as a foreign language and I started a sentence with AND!!! Hope my tutor doesn’t see this!

    Cheers Merlin!
    Cheers Robert!
    Cheers POETS!


  107. Rebecca Chasteen

    Goodbye is an Evening by Rebecca Chasteen

    No goodbye
    I ever tried
    really did anything
    like what it said.

    Even funerals were just midpoints,
    resting spots,
    before everything
    spun off.

    Every person’s movement,
    every person’s light,
    attached to the thinnest strand:
    unbreakable still.

    Each person
    going where they go,
    where they’ve been,
    weaving me in.

    So goodbye was just a word to say
    temporary things,
    to say something changed-
    the end of the day.

    You can’t put people away,
    you can’t put away things
    that keep moving,
    keep meaning.

    Goodbye is only an evening-
    a moment when we rest between
    the places we’re going
    and the places we’ve seen.

  108. Christopher Stephen Soden

    so long (a prose poem)

    it was the cold rough surface swimming behind an effulgent veil his thumb behind my ear breath on my shoulder sharp tingle chilling my scalp lightning summoning a downpour

  109. Iain D. Kemp

    One more to close the month…I’d written an odd number & I like things to be neat!!!

    A Farewell to Charms

    She used to be so sweet
    She took care of my every need
    Put herself out
    Showed me the beauty within
    Taught me to appreciate the kindness
    Another can give
    She said she loved me
    (I loved her too)
    And she showed it everyday

    Now her true colours show
    The honeymoon is over
    Just glad there was no wedding
    Bitter and twisted
    Isn’t even close
    She’s mean
    Cold hearted
    She has a tone in her voice
    That spits venom and hatred
    I don’t know where my love has gone
    But she isn’t here no more
    So I bid you adieu
    Vaya con Dios
    Pero no te vas conmigo
    You said farewell to your charms
    So I’m saying farewell to you


  110. peacegirlout@yahoo.com

    Good bye

    Your good bye is my hello
    To life
    It’s ebb
    It’s flow

    You provided
    For poetry to grow

    I’m so sad to see you go

  111. Li Yun Alvarado

    La dulzura del adios

    se encuentra en la esperanza del rencuentro

    quizas fui ingenua, imaginando besos de azucar
    como el cafécito con leche que baila en mi lengua

    pero aun no me canso de esta vida encafeinada

    quizas es tu adios el único sabor
    que verdaderamente apetezco

  112. Cheryl Lynn Moyer

    Beneath the Daffodils

    A pure white Persian cat had just carefully
    shook each of her kitten’s throats
    until they were asleep.

    She had no milk to feed them.

    She laid them in a row in the sun’s
    last rays to keep them warm.
    Their eyes dimmed into the night.

    Now as I stare into empty cupboards
    and the bottomless grief on mothers’
    faces, I wonder

    how many infant souls
    have been silently laid to rest
    gently beneath the daffodils?

  113. angela readman

    My play and adaptation of villanelle :)

    Sakura So Long

    Let us not say goodbye,
    allow the confetti to fall, the trees to wave for us,
    cherry blossom to drift across the sky.

    Hear only the mouth of the river ask why.
    Pale pink on your shoulder I don’t brush off,
    one simple hand is too much like goodbye.

    Let the clouds gather each vapour from our eyes,
    petals be in your hair I don’t smooth behind your ear,
    the unspoken drift its cherry blossom along the sky.

    Hear only the birds sing their lies.
    the collar half in, half out your jacket, I don’t straighten
    it feels final. Let us not say goodbye.

    Let trees shed the burden of all that curled tightly in them
    all winter, all that so slowly opened and now must fall.
    I stand still as stones on a grave, cherry blossomed, adrift of sky.

    Walk away and let the wind sigh,
    the mouth of the river do our talking.
    Let the clouds cry tomorrow, but let us not say goodbye.

    All month I’ll find pink in the tread of my boot,
    petals rushing through gaps under doors, everywhere,
    a million tongues of spring undone, bring in our goodbyes.
    Somewhere, petals spill from your suitcase, cherry blossom

    reminder parachutes.Our season adrift in your room,this sky.

  114. Kellie M Shanley

    Shall I ever walk this way again

    I think not.
    I marvel looking back… walking toward the future,
    hesitant, with a vague desire to return.

    I focus ahead, though
    daunting at times
    to see beyond the bends and curves.
    I slow a step
    fear, I feel with its oppressive weight.

    I cannot see in front of me
    Go slow—don’t wait.
    With each step forward, I gaze over my shoulder
    I feel the weight.
    Run— I cannot,
    the purpose not visualized.
    Merciless push and pull, so tedious to stay
    Look back—look forward.

    Shall I ever walk this way again

    I think not
    Ahead, doubtful curves, attainment of new sights
    bends and curves retrospectively
    behind the wake of me.
    With no choice
    I’m obligated to look ahead.

    Shall I ever walk this way again

    Kellie Shanley 2009

  115. Kathleen De Witt

    To Richard Atwater

    It is so appropriate that you have "Merlin" in your name. You have to have magic to do the amazing things you do in your poems.

    The "Epic Poem" blew me away. And it was so refreshing to be called a "wit" instead of "witch" or "dimwit."

    I can truly say now that a poem has been written about me – I just won’t tell my friends that a multitude of others were included. Thank you, Richard, for sharing your gift with us.

  116. Juanita Snyder

    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Class is over
    seats scoot back
    hard drives chatter
    then grow silent
    keyboards push away
    laptops click shut
    assignments pile up
    on the e-corner of
    Brewer’s desk
    as members of the
    Living Poets Society
    hug one another
    farewell and
    slowly file out,
    some holding hands,
    others exchanging notes.
    It’s been fun
    it’s been excruciating
    it’s been therapy.
    Some of us lived,
    some of us died,
    some of us have
    been here since
    since the wee hours
    arguing with the muse,
    but we all leave here
    carrying poems in our
    mouths like cough drops,
    to coat hoarse throats,
    to fight flare ups,
    to get us through the
    ying & yang of life.
    April PAD is over,
    Spring Break
    has just begun.
    Catch ya in
    the Fall!
    Hasta lluega.

    © 2009 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  117. Barbara Ehrentreu

    First, thank you to Robert for all of the work you have done and for persevering through computer disasters and wipe-outs. Always posting late I am in awe of the talent of the poets here. I will try to come back on Wednesdays.

    Richard-Merlin Atwater I missed being in your poem since I posted way after midnight, but you are definitely our Poet Laureate even before this poem. I will await the rest of it and see if you have my name in there. Your combinations are brilliant.

    I will miss reading all of your work and being a part of this talented group. Writing a poem a day has reawakened my love of poetry.:) Until next year, farewell to you all.

    For Flash – my long gone Newfoundland

    Born in a snowstorm you loved the snow
    Your bear like body bounding through it
    Like water – the white sticking to your fur

    Glossy black with a white diamond on the front
    of your chest, you were my protector and my
    friend. I have missed your enormous rough
    pink tongue raking my face and the softness
    of your fur in my hands. Your relentless pursuit
    of food, You in your puppy days ate all of the
    Entenman’s cinnamon buns without destroying
    the box. Chewing on my favorite red shoe with your
    puppy teeth back in Kew Gardens when you were
    my only baby. The day you escaped from the
    backyard through the alley door – secret as a
    spy – the super found you out on the sidewalk
    unsure why you were even there and brought
    you back. Your posture penitent and
    affectionate your tail wagging in excitement
    when seeing me.

    But I will always remember you as the cushion
    for my babies as they rested against you
    bottle in hand and you allowed them Your noble
    head flush to the floor as you became their pillow. –
    ever playing the nanny as you nosed them out of
    danger and watched over them as if they were
    your own. The growl you’d utter when you sensed
    danger and the way you placed your body between
    anyone who you felt was an enemy – our security guard.

    We cried as we petted your fur for the last time
    Knowing this would be the final moment and I
    Was not ready to bear the emptiness.

  118. Leslie Uehara

    The train said it
    as it ran tracks behind your house
    hugging the hills, whining into the night
    waking me with the crying
    of having too much to bear
    It whistled it
    as the ceiling fan whirled space
    you held in the picture frame
    of the bedroom doorway
    with eyes dark and candid
    filled with the epiphany of knowing

    We were on our way to goodbye.

  119. yolanda davis-overstreet

    Day 30

    Farewell, I say, “hello” – to you
    Farewell, the land -that offers out its hand
    The land of rest
    Lay down in peace

    Farewell -to knowing me
    The good you pull
    from the soil that borne
    This trembling soul
    Reach out your branches
    extended far –
    they are
    To save the last of what I have
    – I offer you

    – here’s reaching for the stars
    Your home I stand – feet leveled
    And strong
    my day is done
    “Hello,” I say to you-

  120. Adriana Borzellino

    Is there any way to double-check that you got all of my submissions aside from me going to every date and scrolling to find it to make sure they are there?

  121. Amanda Caldwell

    Considering goodbyes

    I don’t like to think it,
    but no one lives forever.
    I speak around it in euphemisms,
    not naming names,
    speaking of generations
    instead of individuals.
    Wondering aloud that my parents
    probably won’t be around
    in thirty years,
    when my son is my age,
    a possibility
    in my hopeful imagination.

    And my baby wakes up as I post the last poem. Thank you so much, Robert, and all you other wonderful poets.

  122. Ayesha Chatterjee


    I am not ready to let go,
    But I already have.
    Everything is new to me that used to be old.
    The language I slip into like a second skin
    To play at being someone else
    Has loosened into unexpected textures
    And the billboards are unreadable again.
    The feathered masks and candlesticks
    And papier-mâché boxes have
    Blossomed into colour; marigolds
    That I’ve begun to deconstruct and press
    Between the heavy pages
    Of the past, making sure the petals
    Haven’t torn. Together, we lead
    A double existence, one of knowledge
    And one of ignorance and both
    Are right.
    When the time comes to fill the years
    With fragrant oil and little wicks of cotton
    And set them on the river,
    I will watch the little boats of light
    Float into the darkness.
    How small they are, how fragile.

  123. alana sherman

    (after Po Chu-I)

    There are so many I will not see again
    so many people finished and gone.
    Those who are left are scattered—some
    thousands of miles away. I have known
    and loved many but we have grown old
    pining for each other. We travel through
    the wide world a-float in a river of a lake.
    Each morning I wake from dreams of
    someone walking away from me
    down a long beach. I call to him—
    he does not turn. But I know the path,
    the clearing. The angle of the sun is perfect.
    A mosquito buzzes and leaves.
    Those days when we danced and feasted
    are disappeared. When shall we meet again
    and laughing, gaze into each other’s eyes?

    To Robert: Thanks. This challenge was a pleasure. I looked forward to every day and every new prompt.
    To all the other poets: WOW and thank you for all your hard work.

  124. Amy Gunn


    Rhymes are bouncing through my head,
    My brain has turned to mush.
    Finally I’ve hit the end;
    My words no more than slush.

    Happily I say goodbye
    To this long month of poems,
    But I’m sure I’ll give another try
    When next year’s challenge comes.

  125. Fenella Berry

    Come September with
    the warmth of canicular days
    to wrap tiny, burnished body
    still sea-salty. Empty
    grains hidden in sandals.
    Touch ridges of shell
    secreted in pocket
    a souvenir of the last
    summer of freedom before
    big school starts.
    Anxious, bittersweet
    watershed reached.
    Cutting cord, reins, strings;
    saying farewell to babyhood.

  126. T.B. Bryceson

    His Hand

    I look at him lying there,
    Sleeping peacefully, serene,
    His aged but still vigorous flesh
    Now grey and cold under the make-up.

    I doubt my own belief,
    So reach and touch his hand;
    I’ve done this before.
    It was years ago when he had been dead.

    But that had been a planned death,
    Under a surgeon’s knife, chest spreaders, clamps
    And other tools of the trade,
    Planned to mend his heart.

    His heart.
    His heart was as large as anyone’s,
    Always understanding, giving,
    Loving without restraint.

    I recall standing beside him then,
    His cadaverous body cold under thermal blankets
    As they slowly raised his temperature
    Back to that of the living.

    I took his hand, then, as I did just now
    And somehow I knew back then:
    The next time I held his hand so cold
    Would be the last time.

    The last time.
    The last time I spoke to him we laughed
    As we always did. We always did.
    We always traded jokes.

    We always ended with “I love you”,
    Never withheld, never shy.
    We always hugged,
    Goodbye and Hello.

    I will always remember his hug,
    Firm, strong, heartfelt.
    I recall his scent as my head lay against his shoulder,
    For he was always taller than I.

    His scent that would fade from the towel
    He kept in his work room,
    The towel I keep sealed in a plastic bag;
    I should have used a Mason jar.

    It was a clean scent,
    The scent of sweat from a man
    Used to and unafraid of sweating,
    Like a running stream that never sours.

    I hold that scent in my mind
    But it’s not the same
    I hold his hug in my heart
    But it’s not the same.

    I hear his voice in my head,
    But it’s not the same
    I hold his cold hand in my own,
    And I will never be the same.

    Copyright 2009 by T.B. Bryceson

  127. sally evans

    Farewell April

    No mean April this,
    always the month of my birthday
    and usually Easter,
    of crocuses giving way to daffodils,
    here in our northern season
    later than elsewhere.
    Snowdrops leaves still flop
    their distended seedheads,
    where cherry blossom falls
    and winds whip up tantrums
    though they never last.
    April, so welcome
    when it arrives,
    is left hurriedly,
    often ungratefully,
    as summer work piles up.
    Farewell, April,
    no mean April,
    this is my final look.

  128. Adriana Borzellino

    This has been really great and I’m so happy that I participated in it! I hope to make it a tradition.

    I had the hardest time
    Writing this farewell poem
    I wrote about 5 different versions
    And hated them all

    I wonder if anyone ever
    Fares well
    In goodbye
    I don’t think so, so
    I’ve decided not to try.

  129. Shirley T.

    Season Change

    Buds pop,
    Snow recedes.
    Birds warble,
    Sap bleeds.
    Straw grass
    goes green,
    in between.

    From the Ground

    He watched the tram
    slide up the slope,
    standing down from
    a fear of heights,
    as she, ready
    for anything,
    rode to the top.
    Was she ready
    when the cable
    slipped? He thought
    he saw her once
    before the car spun
    round,its red paint
    casting splinters
    across the snow,
    before the worn
    cable snapped.

    Final Farewell

    When acid rain had killed the trees,
    so mountains crumbled to the seas,
    The seas rose up and covered all.
    Blame man again for this downfall.
    But this time there’ll be no rebirth,
    Say farewell to planet Earth.


    You walk away and I pretend
    that I will still see you again.
    My half-dream hasn’t come to end
    Like this.
    Now, this is where you turn to look,
    a wave, call back "I’m in the book",
    I’ll phone, or write; for all you took,

    Farewell to all the poets out there, thanks to Robert and good luck searching through the thousands of poems! And all you poets, remember that no matter how bad things may be for you they can always get verse. TTFN

  130. Paris Elizabeth Sea

    Not my best, but my third attempt at this prompt gets a boost from a line taken from a poem fragment I wrote some time ago, now a completely different thought. I may try again if the hectic day before me allows…

    bright metallic shard
    silent orbit needles air
    greying astronaut

  131. ina Roy-Faderman

    Recent Conversation with an Octopus

    Perhaps in honor of the spring,
    She wears both pink and red,
    A blush entwined around
    Her handler’s wrist.
    On my approach, one tentacle
    Extends and tastes my palm.
    She turns a happy lavender
    Of remembrance.

    Of gentle shape and color, like
    A boneless, pulsing hand,
    She can open jars
    To reach a crab inside.
    At night, she twists and breaks
    A valve to overflow her tank and
    Visit with the cuttlefish
    Or have a lobster dinner.
    And no one tries too hard
    To stop these pranks.
    Her kind in boredom
    Turn upon themselves, and
    Desperately, beak themselves to death.

    One time I read her
    Aquarist had gone away,
    And on his advent seven
    Full weeks later,
    She threw herself out of her tank
    And flung her arms around his neck,
    Her gentle beak pressed to his face
    To never let him go.

  132. Kimmy Van Kooten

    To My Sweet Babies

    Now that you’ve opened my letter
    I can see you, there, reading it loud
    I guess your all hoping to finally "get"
    what it was about me that was sound

    You will find all your pictures in boxes
    separated and sealed with your names
    Your school papers and report cards, were my stuff
    to gloat, so keep them, feeling the same

    Don’t bury me with gold or diamonds
    The lace can be itchy too
    Rather, a worn pair of jeans and a light cotton blouse
    White, if you want, will do. . .

    Simple is me, but don’t get me construe d
    Had I monetarily done better, I’m sure I’d be singing some other tune!
    But, since I didn’t, and I’m now gone
    Be proud of me, my sweet babies, Love and Peace were my only song!

    Don’t bury me in satin, O’flannel is best!
    A pair of warm fuzzy socks, will keep me at rest
    …and I wrote a poem specifically for you!
    It’s all I have, it’s all I could do . . .

    You can find all my junk that I carried
    house to house, to store somewhere else
    More than likely it’s labeled, nostalgia
    because I doubt if it’s really worth much . . .

    Now that you’ve read my last letter
    Now, that you’ve read what you’ll get
    A women, a mother, a grandmother too
    I was just me, there, always just living for, and for forever here, still loving you!

    We’re set!

  133. Denise Noddin

    There are no goodbyes.
    Like the daffodil,
    we bloom and grow,
    then our richness wanes
    and we cycle back into
    the loving arms of Mother Earth,
    our Maker.
    As the seasons change,
    with another spring we are reborn,
    to know the gentle embrace
    of the sunshine,
    the satisfying replenishment
    of spring rains.
    We live today and always
    with the hope and joy of

  134. Lisa Kwong

    Farewell to Depression

    Diving into shark-infested waters,
    I shed life’s baggage,
    go deep into each wreckage,
    bear all the cuts and stabs,
    feel the pain completely,
    then swim back to the surface.
    Washed clean of the past,
    I walk on scorched rocks,
    unafraid of light.

  135. Lauren Wayne

    Separation Anxiety

    Clinging like a monkey
    and your wails following me like guilt
    to the coffeeshop down the street,
    where I write my novel
    and count the minutes
    till I pick you up again.

    Will you become the child
    who lets go of her mother’s hand
    without a backward glance
    and runs to greet her friends?

    And am I ready for you to?

  136. Cathy Sapunor


    Coach put the seniors in as
    starters in the last game of the year
    so their friends could cheer
    and moms like me could cry.

    I wrapped the car rug around me
    while the girls chanted:
    Go Cougars! Go!
    and they ran in the cold
    onto the lighted
    soccer field.

    The last game of the season
    is played under
    lights. A dramatic end to four
    years of toil, not to mention
    Grace’s broken ankle in junior year.
    Now I am afraid to say to
    anyone for luck "Hey, break a leg!"
    because they might.

    Soccer parent Tomas got her to the hospital
    promptly. What would we have done
    without him? He stayed until the
    doctor said it was okay to go. Months of
    surgeries, rehab, tears, and finally, a return.

    Now Coach is putting the seniors back in the game
    to play the last five minutes of their high
    school careers. The wind is whipping around the
    stadium, through even my wool blanket.
    When Grace
    comes shivering off the field, I will grasp her
    in my arms
    to keep us both warm
    in the empty soccer-less days ahead.

    Cathy Sapunor
    (Happy graduation to Grace)

  137. Bernadette McComish

    Please, Please, Please, Do Not Go

    I don’t want to say
    I want to hold onto the last bit
    of star before dawn.

    Juliet didn’t want to hear
    the morning lark
    she wanted to linger
    longer in Montague arms.

    I’d rather take
    the next train; smoke, drink another;
    another kiss, fuck, or piece
    of chocolate. Please,
    there is no easy way
    to ask for stasis, plead
    for the same pain
    before bed—
    sexless and without apology.

  138. Jean Tschohl Quinn

    The Piano at Mr. Vitamorte’s House

    I didn’t know that it was goodbye
    The last time I played his piano.
    I played it twice weekly for nearly twelve years
    While he lingered with painful malattio.

    The action was quick; the tone was warm,
    But bright in the middles octaves.
    High A-flat was chipped and yellow and warn,
    And he kept it in tune for my practice.

    I’d polish it up and wipe down the keys
    The ebony shone in the bright morn
    And then I would play for two hours at least
    Whatever he asked for the week before.

    Beethoven, Haydn, Mozart or Bach,
    DeBussey, Chopin, Tchaikovsky and Lizst,
    I’d practice for long hours in preparation,
    For Peterson, Evans and Munk, he’d insist.

    He looked pretty chipper when first we met.
    For years, he demanded with humorous nerve.
    Then little by little the illness beset him
    As I watched his body slowly dissolve.

    I played with my heart and my mind and my fingers.
    He studied and commented on every piece.
    Once in a while I’d swear I heard groaning.
    Of late talk of death often peppered his speech.

    He died in his sleep late Saturday night.
    I didn’t find out until Tuesday.
    The funeral was handled by nephew or niece
    Attended by family, but few stayed.

    The niece telephoned me to pick up a check,
    Some sheet music, fakebooks, my cushion.
    To play once again really tugged at my heart,
    So I warmed up before the intrusion.

    She opened the door with a nod and a sniff.
    I entered the hallway familiar.
    So much had been altered, she moved in right away.
    The piano she sold. It was not there.

  139. Rachel Olivier

    Thank you for stretching me.


    It’s always too busy to begin with —
    the point of departure before farewell.
    Too short, time. Too much to do as the path
    rushes along: run, run, run. Who can tell
    how long before you meet again? And then
    if you do stop – what to say? Awkward pause
    stretches to long silence. And thoughts of "when"
    or "why" or "what if" remain unsaid ’cause
    in a moment it’s over and you’re gone –
    or they are: moved, left, died. Doesn’t matter.
    Words unsaid are not heard; life carries on.
    Rock’s already sunk beneath the water.
    Trick is to make every hello – goodbye.
    Say, "I love you." Tomorrow we may die.

  140. Linda H.

    I have written my first shadorma (3/5/3/3/7/5).


    Last autumn
    I waved good-bye
    not knowing
    that the hands
    of fate were also waving,
    welcoming you Home.

  141. Linda Black


    I prefer to say so long,
    because it’s hard to stay strong,
    when good friends have to part,
    it weighs heavily on the heart.

    It’s so hard to say goodbye,
    for it always makes me cry,
    but a farewell I bid to you,
    ’cause I know you’ll miss me too.

  142. Sherilyn Lee

    No More Edits

    We walked down the sidewalk after eating some delicious sushi.
    Yeah, but my writing isn’t ready, I rationalized.
    A food coma began sneak up on me as we got to the car.
    He shook his head, You can’t just wait, and edit, you have to send it out.
    What? Send out something that isn’t perfect? An anathema.
    You’ve been writing for years, you have stuff that’s ready, he said, It’s time.

  143. Rick

    My Farewell

    To all, my farewell,
    Great times it’s really been,
    Gods allowed me to spread my seeds,
    But now its time for my journey to end;
    May I leave no bad feelings,
    And take no guilty quarrels,
    You all knew my love was unconditional,
    Because I understood there’s no tomorrows;

    I’ve lived life to the fullest
    Or so I’ve tried,
    To all who comprehend this,
    With you, May my soul ride,
    Forever when you think of me
    Know that I’m not far,
    Remember us on Sunday nights,
    I’m the air you tend to catch,
    When hitting switches in your car.

    So to end my farewell,
    Send me off
    Through one last cruise,
    Pour out a little liquor
    Just like we used to do;
    Hold no tears back
    Yet let none to much fall,
    Remember life is a gamble,
    With no time to stall.

    (thanks RLB for putting this togather, to bad i caught on in the last week of it, but for sure i’ll be here in november!!)

  144. Buddah Moskowitz

    Farewell National Poetry Month

    I won’t miss you
    as you marked my days
    with a gun pointed
    at my head.

    You taunted me into
    writing one a day
    based on some arbitrary inspiration.

    Ours was not a marriage made in
    or anyplace remotely literate.

    We communed out of desperation
    and I often resented your presence,
    gnawing at my time
    never letting my head rest on the pillow
    until you were fed.

    So, to Hell with you.

    I’m only too happy to see
    our dissolution,
    but I confess
    in all honesty,
    thank you
    for the 30-odd children
    we produced together.

    They will be loved
    and cherished
    as any of my other children
    and though I claim authorship
    we share their lineage
    and I won’t forget this time.

  145. ina Roy-Faderman

    Thank you to Robert for taking so much time with us (and ‘way more time with us in a different way over the following weeks, I suspect). Many many thanks to all the wonderful people who posted their souls in their poems; it’s been a lovely reminder of what a delight reading poetry can be.

  146. lizz huerta

    farewell spark

    there is no more breath,
    no flame to trapeze off,
    morning is coming, the
    planet is sliding our side

    to the sun again, beside
    her you are nothing, a
    wisp, a gleam, a thing
    blinked out of an eye.

  147. Lisa Mrazik


    Highway 30, miles from nowhere, watching land fly by.
    The ring finger of your left hand catches my eye,
    My heart contracts, my chest aches, one more tie.
    Your future, mine, in a metal circle, you smile, I sigh.

  148. Alyssa Watson

    Farewell to the Maids

    She raises her hand as the ship glides out to sea.
    A breezy wave she gives me full of sadness and mystery.

    I can see her tear-streaked features glowing in the fading light.
    It’s hard enough for me to bear before she is out of sight.

    My heart doesn’t want to beat because, I know, I’m leaving her forever.
    There’s so much more to her than the bonds that I’ve severed.

    How can we keep going when we both know we were wrong?
    As her figure grows misty, I break into song.

    This is the last I shall see you, my love
    Until we meet once more in heaven above.

  149. Lauren Dixon

    Dear Robert-Thank you for 30 days of fun. This was my first time participating in this wonderful event. I enjoyed reading the work of so many talented poets.

    Until We Meet Again

    Toodles, so long,
    Farewell, and Good Bye,
    I’ll miss you tomorrow,
    I said with a sigh.

    I’ll miss daily prompts,
    Inspiring the muse,
    She gets even louder,
    If I have any booze.

    I hope she still knocks
    on my poetry door,
    I’ve still lots to say
    And there is so much more.

    Thank you for making
    April a hoot,
    Enjoyed every minute
    Now I gotta scoot.

    This poem is terrible
    My eyes have red lines,
    But I’m happy to say,
    That I’ve met your deadline. :)

  150. Kathryn Shirley

    At the End

    What should be my parting words
    to you, my love?

    I don’t think I could muster enough insincerity for
    “goodbye” or
    “all the best.”
    I definitely don’t want to
    “see you later, alligator” or
    “catch you on the flipside” or
    thank you for the memories of the
    ten years of my life I’ll never get back.
    There’s no need to tell you to
    “take care”
    because your best skill was always
    taking care of yourself.
    And when it comes right down to it,
    I actually would love to see the
    door hit you on the way out.

    Maybe “so long” would work best.
    So long were the years we spent together and
    so long are the years I hope I’ll
    never see your face again.
    So long are the years I wish (but don’t expect)
    you’ll spend alone
    thinking of the one that
    got away.

  151. Marcia Gaye

    Fare well Words

    A breeze has lifted all the words
    that rested on the paper
    and off they flutter,
    April’s gifts;
    silent, still each one is heard
    in water
    in color
    in the touch of leaves
    in sound which is not breathed.
    Fly, sweet nothings which carry
    Fare well! Fly!

  152. Lorraine Hart

    Day #30 prompt "farewell"

    Time, rhyme and rhythm bends
    by each April gathering’s end;
    eyes rest on each guest
    a moment.
    Again I taste phrases
    from intimate places,
    see sprayed graffiti walls
    in colourful scrawl.
    Some knitted,
    some kidded,
    some made
    the words fitted.
    Sparkles of laughter
    and you can’t catch me!
    Parted waves of wan ink
    on the roiling read sea,
    revealed pearls hidden
    in treasure chests,
    saying more while
    talking less,
    sparing us
    unveiling layers
    with poetic mystery.
    Some showed their heart,
    some played a part,
    some even admitted
    they farted!
    Some cried,
    some lied,
    not all survived
    who started.
    Here at the end
    the passing days blend,
    spent in exercise and game.
    I want you to know
    before you go
    that I hope you
    fare well.
    Sparkles of laughter
    and you can’t catch me!
    River ends where
    begins the sea.

  153. Brian Hager

    No Farewell…
    Till The Next Time

    Bon voyage.

    of passage;
    a ramp
    that carries
    your feet
    from where
    you were
    to where
    you’d like to go…

    What or who
    awaits me
    on the
    other side?

    a friend;
    an acquaintance?


    Who is
    to say
    I can’t cross back?
    No Farewell…
    Till the next time!

  154. Natasha Gruss

    Farewell Disappointment

    Farewell to the gnawing feeling
    that I just decided to keep,
    instead of staying up
    late while my child was sleeping to work
    on my creative talent. Goodbye to
    the disappointment of not finishing
    something which seemed so within my grasp.
    When four poems one day a week is so common,
    one poem once a day still screams commitment.
    But a blessed end, below the horizon,
    so I can see myself entering the land of
    the light of the sun was so appealing.
    Now there is completion,
    and the fear of letting it go has now passed,
    while I smile that I did not stop exhaustedly.
    Goodbye to the disappointment
    I feared I would create,
    and hello to pride that I hoped
    I had a chance of achieving.

    by: Natasha Gruss

  155. Tanja Cilia

    Farewell, from Calypso….

    Ulysses I loved you, I lived you forever.
    I offered you immortality
    At the risk of losing mine

    My dream was to make Ogygia
    The jewel in the crown
    Of Malta

    I tempted you with wild thyme honey,
    Capers, olives, grilled lampuki, and
    Fresh sea-urchins,
    Culled from the clear blue

    But your heart was elsewhere.

    Goodbye, Ulysses.

    My dolphins swam with you
    They sang to you and
    You heard them –
    But you were listening to her voice,
    Which drowned them out.

    I made this Island a perfect haven
    But you yearned for her still.

    My Hyades and Limonads and Petrads
    Catered to your every whim.
    But you were having none of that.
    You still craved her.

    Penelope – I hate the sound of the name.
    Absent, and yet she held the strings to your
    Soul, your mind, your heart, your body.
    Telamon will know his father again.

    Goodbye, Ulysses.
    My cypress groves will echo your voice for ever.
    My Arcadia will echo no more with your steps
    Ithaca will welcome her Hero once more.

    I knew it would be so
    When I heard the swish
    Of Mercury’s wings
    Bearing Jove’s message.

    Seven years passed by in a flash before my mind
    As I helped you gather the wood
    For your raft
    And asked Aeolus
    To summon his summoned up his Anemoi
    To speed you on your way.

    The red sand of my bay will remain in your mind
    You will tell of Xagħra and Nadur for the rest of your days.
    And I will pine for you until eternity ends.

  156. Ronda Broatch

    Did you know

    I was coming today,
    to see you, much as I always do
    you and I, sitting in the lunchroom

    you, offering me your lunch
    and I, with my knitting, my many yarns
    in blue and lavender and purple, you

    asking after my apples –
    is this from your tree? Did you know
    I was coming to see you

    today, because yesterday
    I was sick, afraid
    to give you that kind of gift.

    Did you know last week, when I
    put away my skeins of blue,
    lavender, purple, packed the bamboo

    needles, bagged the last
    apple core and told you

    and you smiled
    kept all of your words
    inside – did you know

    I’d be a couple of hours
    too late?

  157. Olga Zilberbourg

    Walking away.

    I’ve become so good at it lately.
    I hug and walk away.
    I kiss on the cheek and walk away.
    I shake hands and walk away.
    I say good bye and walk away.
    I wave through the glass and walk away.
    I text message, call, email,
    blog, facebook and walk away.
    I sit at my desk and walk away.
    I read a novel and walk away.
    I eat chicken salad at Café Trieste
    and sip cappuccino and walk away.
    I am on the elliptical machine
    at the gym and walk away.
    I climb out of the ropes
    in yoga class and walk away.
    I get off the subway and ride
    up the escalator and walk away.
    I chew gum and walk away.
    I am in the middle of a
    conversation and I walk away.
    I stare in your eyes and I walk away.
    You touch my elbow and I walk away.
    We’re in the car, having a conversation,
    you touch my elbow and I walk away.
    I am eating cereal for dinner and walk away.
    I am planting flowers and walk away.
    I think of you and walk away—
    I am always walking away.
    I come back and walk away.
    I go to sleep and walk away.
    Yes, I’m this good at it. I go to sleep
    and walk away.

  158. gbivings

    My Voice

    I began this journey
    with such hope;
    I didn’t realize that
    the kicking, gas,
    bloating and weight-gain
    of pregnancy
    would accompany me
    throughout this labor
    of love.
    but I am grateful-
    and pleased- to say
    to silence wrought with excuses.
    I have found my voice.

  159. Raven Zu


    Say farewell?
    To the heart throbbing urgency,
    the intense heroin high
    of passion-driven, voluntary
    production on demand
    of poetic, well, some, gems?!
    To the delicious surprise of
    ‘did I just write that?’
    how can I possibly get by
    on a mere weekly fix?

    I shall congratulate myself
    on achieving the challenge,
    on finishing the task.
    I will enjoy the discovery
    of a whole community of
    strange people like me–

    And I will promise myself,
    as an act of self-love,
    to start earlier in the
    mad month of April next year.

    This has been most intense, wondorous experience. Thank you.

  160. Elaine Parny

    fare-well, poet friends

    walk with your words close at hand,
    give them room to grow;
    keep a keen eye on the world around,
    a perpetual student loves to know;
    mistakes are part of the game,
    sometimes the process is slow;
    when all your thoughts come together
    your inner poet will glow

  161. Nanette DeLaittre

    Final Farewell

    It was a cloudy autumn morning
    with a brisk wind blowing.

    The last leaves of the season
    swirled at our feet.

    It was time for me to return home
    after a long visit. I was leaving
    with tearful sighs, regrets.

    You shuffled your way back to the
    house to watch me as I drove away.

    I sometimes wonder if the dying leaves
    scattered at our feet knew the secret
    hidden in the moment.

    That our farewell — your slight frame,
    face pressed against the back door glass,
    hand raised to wave good-bye —
    would be our last.

  162. Tara Browne


    …lullaby, to help me sleep
    …treasure to keep

    …snuggle, to make sweet dreams
    …strawberry and cream

    …story, about a dragon
    …ride in the wagon

    …pass, I’ll run wide!
    …ride down the slide

    …piece of bacon, please
    …top-down breeze (may I borrow the keys?)

    …year of school to go
    …thing you should know

  163. Stacey Cornwell

    Saying goodbye
    Is never pleasurable
    And your love
    Never measurable

    But when it happens
    And they must leave
    Will you be strong enough
    To survive the grieving

    For only when things
    Come to an end
    Can you fully appreciate
    The loss of a friend

  164. Stacy-Jane Etal

    Saying Goodbye.

    It is so very hard to say goodbye
    To the many people who
    Have been so significant in your life
    Because they cared for and nurtured you
    They say some people come into your life
    For only a specific a reason
    While others can only stay
    For a single season
    But even though in my head I know this
    I can’t help but cry
    Because in my heart I can’t understand
    Why we had to say good bye.

    (Dedicated to Mark Sanbrook and Stephen Ward. The best therapists ever! We miss you guys!)

    © 2009. By S-J Etal

    Thanks also to all who have contributed here and to Richard for setting the challenge. I have enjoyed it immensely and am now trying to work out how to keep inspired to write daily. Any tips? See ya next time. S-J Etal

  165. Starky Morillo

    heaven’s kitchen

    heels grace the tiles,
    listless, lost silhouettes
    of the feet who ran this kitchen.
    stains, hints of the savoy truffle,
    bolster an au revoir
    from legs long past

    –starky morillo

  166. Bruce Niedt

    Character Actor
    (for Robert Prosky)

    A Polish butcher’s son from Philly,
    you cut your teeth early in amateur theater,
    then the regionals, working your way
    from Washington to Cape May,
    and finally, to Broadway, garnering
    accolades. Many knew your face
    from movies and TV – the desk sergeant,
    the judge, the station owner –
    but they couldn’t attach it to a name.
    No matinee idol, you had a mug and physique
    that reminded them all of a favorite uncle.
    Last time I saw you, you were doing
    Arthur Miller with your sons, a proud dad,
    and a few weeks after that,
    a one-man evening, a career review,
    where it was impossible for you to hide
    your warmth and generosity.
    Six months later, you shuffled off this coil
    without a goodbye, and I didn’t hear the news
    till three months after that.
    It’s as though you didn’t want to make
    a fuss, just do one more show,
    then slip quietly offstage, leaving them
    to wonder who was that guy
    who did such a good job,
    and where have we seen him before.

  167. Cheryl Wray


    wave goodbye
    to tattered teddy bears,
    butterfly kisses.

    adolescent crushes,
    wishes so real.

    cherished moments,
    another year.

    I’ve waved goodbye to
    even love,

    looked out the rearview mirror,
    helpless and torn.

    Parting is, yes,

    but the new truth is that

    parting is

    as hello beckons,

  168. Miss E.

    Written by Miss E –age 9

    Farewell to the spring,
    Summer is coming.
    Farewell school,
    A big school break,
    Farewell, farewell.

  169. Julia Holzer

    Prompt 30
    A Prompt Farewell

    bone anatomy
    or bone sociology
    poems seek bone truth

    Sometimes I think that
    poets travel inside out
    come in orphan words

    the problem with thought
    sweet fraying tenuous knot
    is we must climb up

    a bulldog’s big jaw
    clenches two nagging taut ropes
    no. now one thought gone

    please translate Shakespeare for me
    sometimes I get lost

    working nine-to-five
    two jobs maybe three poets
    miss community

    full trash cans can wait
    concentration takes their place
    for messy poets

    each day obsessive
    thinking spinning words words words
    reverent routine

    craving love love love
    getting high on power both
    lose truth’s memory

    Thursday night is great
    a kind of Christmas Eve too
    pre-Friday weekend

    Brainiac’s CD
    Superstar and plastic disc
    forked our Robert’s road

    So we decided
    to challenge ourselves joining
    poetic asides

    The stale dreary sky
    blocks out all triumphant blue
    my hobby is sight

    how can I love you
    only with your poems and names
    how words engulf me

    do not go softly
    into this new prompt or do
    at least try or lose

    cornflower blue a
    flower I don’t even know
    but the name is so…

    all I want is more
    time to rewrite or reword
    these PAD poems

    Rocky Horror Picture Show
    strange interaction

    driver flips me off
    truck plate reads Vet [dash dash dash]
    humbled thank you Sir

    so many world woes
    catastrophy what is it
    our country’s rebirth

    look in the mirror
    of this paper reflection
    a doppelganger

    I make a point to
    smile at each oncoming glance
    broken heart is work

    April PADs
    one year I wrote no poems
    there’s no going back

    walking in Florence
    caging the imagined place
    take poem this dream

    high school reunion
    hippies cheerleaders surfers
    some lost their muses

    so many secrets
    too late I apologize
    she says that she knew

    cabinet makers
    longing ideas for wood
    wood like poetry

    phone call’s great timing
    Trinity as prototype
    sestina matrix

    never leave behind
    a computer at deadline
    if you want the badge

    I write this farewell
    as my farewell poor haiku
    must do as thank you

    Julia Holzer

  170. Stephanie Miller

    Leave Taking

    Perfect summer night,
    Warm breeze
    Touches their skin
    Air smells of lemon blossoms and jasmine
    Smoke and beer
    The door opens
    Opens again
    Outside they stand in a tight circle
    Conversation slows, halts
    Starts up
    Their glasses are empty
    Reluctant to go
    The familiar dance
    A step toward the door
    A pause
    One last conversation
    Full moon rise,
    Shadows touch, join
    And part
    Inside the house
    Bright, electric light
    The smell of brownies
    And the empty pan
    Outside, somehow colder
    Sounds of the party carry over the fence
    They turn their backs
    Head home

  171. Jessica Schafer


    we stood outside the bakery
    in the bright grey light
    the morning after grad
    we just stood
    too tired too numb
    to feel the weight of this goodbye
    or maybe we already knew
    we’d carry the heaviness later
    we shrugged
    because there was nothing to say
    a hug, a quick smile
    then you left to catch your flight
    and I walked home alone

    p.s. Thanks so much for organizing this Robert! I really enjoyed it!

  172. Ellen Joy

    Flight Overseas

    I have to say farewell next week
    try and hold in the tears
    smile a lot and not speak

    I’m gonna be a nervous wreck
    as usual
    clearly I’m not good at this

    Especially when it comes to them
    my parents that is
    I love them so
    and hate to see them go

  173. Claudia Marie Clemente



    like serpents devouring
    their own scaly tails,
    they cannot slither:
    our goodbyes

    the vicious act of biting.

    PS: Many thanks, I have thoroughly enjoyed (both writing and reading) the April PAD responses! Here’s my wish: that every poet continues to challenge him or herself with poetry – every day of the year!


  174. Don Swearingen

    It’s three A. M., it’s dark outside,
    But I can’t sleep, our love has died,
    You told me that you couldn’t cope
    That we didn’t have a hope
    Of ever making our love work,
    Since you thought I was such a jerk
    For working late most every night,
    But darling, I have seen the light!
    For while I’ve been gone a lot,
    Your the one that has been caught.
    For every night I ain’t been working,
    Around the house, I’ve been quietly lurking.
    I’ve talked to him, he’s quite unnerved,
    Tomorrow, dear, you will be served.

  175. Faye E. Arcand

    April 30, 2009
    Day 30

    by Faye E. Arcand

    to say goodbye now
    makes for a brilliant ending
    I’m proud of myself.

  176. Midge VanEtten

    Happy Trails

    Tom’s horse, Patty, reared,
    And you, on her back,
    waved your hat
    in a Roy Rogers salute.
    The sun was setting and I’m sure
    I heard Happy Tails playing somewhere in the
    sunset the colors of mangoes, cherries and papya
    promising good weather for tomorrow

    The moment frozen in a photo,
    brings to me the scent of the desert night,
    the feeling of a slight cool breeze,
    the laughter of your madness
    foreshadowing farewell.

    Midge VanEtten

  177. Tonya Root

    Here’s my "two-for-thursday" :-)



    was something never said
    you were there and then
    you weren’t

    i wasn’t even aware
    at first

    suddenly – awkwardly –
    i realized you were

    with a piece of my heart

    does this mean you
    never meant to go?

    or that you mean
    never to return?


    In The End

    This cliché
    all is said and done
    seems so all encompassing

    How do you know
    you have said all
    there is to say?

    How do you know
    you have done all
    that can be done?

    Could just one more
    word change the course
    of history?

    Could a simple
    act reverse the trajectory
    of a life?

    In the end who’s to say
    that ALL
    is said and done?

  178. Elisa Alaniz

    So Long Idleness

    No more lazy days
    Empty of motion
    No more all day haze
    No more lazy days
    Ignoring sun’s rays
    Lacking commotion
    No more lazy days
    Empty of motion

  179. Kathy Doherty


    It’s so over.
    Funny how you think
    something will just go on
    forever and then you just
    start to relax.
    Get a little bit comfortable,
    feel like you have all
    this freedom, luxurious,
    languorous, lounging, time
    to meditate, to muse, to imagine
    create, let your mind just wander
    away like some errant sparrow hopping
    around between your backyard fence,
    the white crabapple tree blossoms,
    the grass that is that fresh, vibrant green –
    only appearing now – in spring.

  180. Devon Brenner


    on our way to Michigan
    we met half-way
    at the Illinois Tollway Oasis,
    a shoebox of glass
    and steel beams
    stretching over I-80
    with a Howard Johnson’s,
    lots of bathrooms,
    and signs against loitering.
    While we waited with mom
    we’d all stand together
    against the glass,
    over the eastbound traffic
    watching for the Nova
    as the sun shone
    on the green corn
    on the asphalt
    as the traffic just kept moving
    all those families
    in station wagons
    on their way to Des Moines,
    or to Gary.
    Whenever a big truck came close
    I’d take Beth’s hand
    and together we’d jump,
    trying to stay up long enough
    for eighteen wheels
    to roll beneath us,
    long enough to forget
    about saying goodbye again.

  181. Buffy McGarrigle


    To the sickness
    The whole inside of me
    That I fill with food
    Monday through Sunday
    I eat till I’m bursting
    Ashamed of myself
    Aware of the blob of emotion
    Quivering in my sides
    Shaking my resolve to be

  182. Stacey Rasfeld


    Our lives are individual trajectories.
    They intersect, then
    continue on separate tracks.
    Occasionally, the lines parallel
    or two roads converge, running one into the other.
    For a space of time two souls touch,
    breathe together,
    then exhale apart.
    in, and
    off —
    solo once again.

  183. Ramona Gonzales

    Lover, we should be over.

    We’ve been together for so long,
    you’re like a part of me,
    the part that keeps me free,
    open to possibility…
    and yet,
    you make me late,
    and hesitate,
    and fluctuate,
    look like a flake,
    all because I only know you.

    I have to let you go
    and start my life anew –
    no tardiness
    no rushed last place,
    i think i’m over you.

    Adieu, Procrastination,

  184. Boyce Miller

    Hard to Keep Awake When the Coffee’s Cold

    Finding out the road way
    That going isn’t gone;
    Learning when the music stops
    Is not the end of song:
    Making all the compass moves
    Won’t get you anywhere
    Mapping out the journeys
    Is not the same as "there."

    I left a verb or two behind
    The couch that you can keep;
    There’s a feral gerund somewhere
    In the backyard curled asleep;
    Behind the chimney in the attic
    Are some adverbs you sell;
    But I took the punctuation
    In the hope they’ll break the spell.

    If you ever find a moment
    To look behind the books,
    Written in the dust there
    Is a cure for hangdog looks,
    And one day I might have you
    Send that formula to me
    When I’m feeling kind of lonely
    Between the devil and the deep blue sea.

    But for now, I lift my hand up
    From the high plains on I-40,
    As I think about the thoughts
    You think I’m thinking on this sortie,
    Already drifting into places
    That I may have just dreamed up,
    Farewell to thee as you look for me
    In the tea leaves in your cup.

  185. Frank Mand


    The blood on this card
    was Steamed Lobster Red.
    The perspective top bunk,
    upside down laughing,
    hang over the edge
    bug my brother
    Mom Bobby’s hitting me
    surreal. The Cumberland
    rammed by an unnamed
    Confederate frigate.
    A dying sailor
    in his canvas shirt,
    hung up in the rigging.
    Bad luck, I guess.
    He might have waited out
    the fight from his perch,
    then hopped a ride on
    the bunk beneath him.
    On deck, further below,
    my years plus their years ago
    miniature shipmates
    heave buckets of fire
    onto bushels of snow.
    In the top corner
    of that cardboard day
    an Ironclad’s canon
    injected much needed light
    into autumn Maine’s
    now eternal gray.

  186. Diana

    09-0430 Farewell to My Friend Jim

    I’ll never really understand
    why you felt there was
    no other way.

    Why you thought it best
    to plan it out so carefully,
    go, alone, to Estrella Park,
    and then take your life.

    You called a friend,
    not to help you change your mind,
    but to tell him where you’d left your car.

    You were so calm
    so assured
    so certain
    so wrong.

    So many of us loved you.
    So many of us were
    by this seemingly sudden decision.

    But this was something you’d planned.
    Every step was taken with
    a sort of relieved

    How long did it take you
    to decide?
    To plan it all out?
    To get your family out of town?
    And then,
    to die?

    And someone please
    tell me why.

  187. Karen Perry

    It could have been your
    hand that I last saw
    as it swept the papers
    into the wind.
    your legs running
    to the car, your
    wheels swerving
    around corners.
    the last glimpse
    of your tansy top
    was a tasteful
    debate among
    the western girls
    left on the street
    that day. your hand
    could have been the
    very last thing, but
    today i wonder if
    i have really seen
    the last of you.

    you don’t answer.

  188. Michaela Watson

    Farewell My Poetry

    Do you feel like your leaving?
    Perhaps part of you goes with it?
    But you still have your wit.

    Don’t be afraid to let it go,
    It will come back soon,
    You’ll find them at the full moon.

  189. David Yockel Jr.

    Thank you Robert. Thank you everyone for an amazing month. I never read emails from my mother, but i am glad i checked out THIS link!!!

    keep writing.

  190. Judy Stewart

    Day 30 a farewell poem

    I decided to do a different farewell poem than a farewell from the challenge! I was sitting in the parking lot of the dance studio I go to and thought about all of the reasons people say they don’t want to dance so here it is……..

    Can’t dance, have two left feet!
    That’s the excuse people give.
    Can’t dance, have no coordination!
    That’s the excuse people give.
    Can’t dance, have no rhythm!
    That’s the excuse people give.
    Can’t dance, have no partner!
    That’s the excuse people give.

    Well say farewell to all of these excuses,
    Check one of those left feet at the door
    There is a right one there to fit.
    Get your body moving, listen to the music,
    There are plenty of people out there, Can you count?
    Then you can do the steps.

    Say farewell to all those excuses,
    go take some dancing fun,
    dance lessons, the instructors are there
    to help you say farewell to all of those excuses!

    (I am going to miss the daily challenge but I am going challenge myself to learn some of the forms of poetry I do not know how to write, the first one being the sestina!)

    Bye to all of the people who have been a part of this!

  191. David Yockel Jr.

    No Exit

    I am no romantic.
    The bard was never in me.
    So I loose these words on
    the world and let the breeze
    bring them up into the Homeric

    Farewell to my own soul.
    I have no hope of retrieving it.
    It is now part of the earth.
    It has been broken up
    into sentences to be served

    Seeds of incalculable trees.
    Leaves that will blow forever
    down open highways and dirt roads,
    either way their destinations
    are towns with no exits.
    We jump over crumbling

    bridges and land on statues
    in the middle of rivers.
    We collect fragments
    along the way and other
    clauses and punctuation.
    The poems come back to us.

    We have lost something
    with every word. But have made
    something as well. I am no poet.
    I am a vehicle of poetry.
    I will drive.
    I will drive.
    I will drive away.
    Connecting dots on an invisible
    map. Lines forming
    constellations. Shape shifting
    in a futile attempt at perfection.
    But an attempt nonetheless.

  192. Lanette Cadle

    The Changeover

    Crocus petals fall
    and blow across
    the grass, a last
    spot of color before
    the large-scale
    blooming bonanza
    the daffodils,
    then the tulips, hyacinth,
    and the aftermath–
    swaying stems
    that soften and curl
    to the ground.

  193. Penny L Kjelgaard


    He said goodbye to the soft upper room
    painted the same color as the sands
    he studied every day
    from the west window
    his life spent eyeing swells
    and white caps on the horizon
    from his serene site
    sometimes he slept there
    waking to seeing the undulating ocean
    his first view of the day
    rising, falling, rising again
    like is breath
    but not his life
    not rising
    he was falling
    falling with the sands of time,
    descending to the depths of humanity
    going the way of all the earth
    like sand waves repeatedly pummeled
    he would wane until he vanished
    he said farewell
    farewell to his room
    farewell to the sand
    farewell to his life
    he turned to disappear
    hospice awaited

    Penny L Kjelgaard copyright 2009

  194. Kathleen Jercich

    Grease 4: The Reverse

    I found summer for sale in the Classifieds
    and I think–"I’m such a bad movie" but
    I’d gladly trade my forty June freckles
    for a phone call with you that ended the next morning

    peel this sun-skin from my bones.
    I can rest awhile. but
    those nights swilling Smirnoff from a bottle shared
    between til I thought I could taste your teenage braces–

    I’ll keep those for the plane rides, tucked
    away behind a pack of gum.
    keep my ears from popping. this has to end.
    the future’s on the west-most wing and it’s purpling

    make myself a promise:
    by the time I come back I can sing in key
    will have lost twenty pounds, color me native
    laughing too loud to remind you where I am

    my thumbprints crack for lack of us.

  195. Kit Cooley

    “Let them go”

    Watching a life slip away,
    the spirit packing bags
    and departing a tired home
    for the stars,
    the outlines of this body
    shimmers, goes out of focus,
    fading as a fire burns to ash,
    going cold in the night.

    Almost can see the circle
    going round and joining
    up again
    on the other side;
    still it’s hard to say
    to feel the helplessness,
    the pain of emptiness
    to come;
    Crow brings the Universal Law,
    the book of black feathers,
    mystery of death
    and life.

  196. Alyssa Poinan

    The Journey’s End

    The wax and wane
    Of everyday
    Wears the fabric thin.
    Sometimes we walk
    With holes in our socks,
    Until we can rest again.

    The miles past
    Have gone so fast,
    And I’m closer to the end.
    The road will curve
    And I can’t swerve
    Or bend with it again.

    I’ve reached my limit.
    All that’s in it,
    Has gotten me this far.
    I’m proud I’m here,
    Though I won’t cheer
    Or wish upon a star.

    The journey’s done
    And I’m someone,
    That I wasn’t at the start.
    I’m someone new,
    Cause I followed through,
    And followed my own heart.

  197. Christopher D Granholm Jr


    There I sat with her
    In her car
    Just holding each other
    “When will you be back” she asked me
    All I could tell her was
    It wasn’t the first goodbye
    Between us
    But it was the one that meant
    The most
    No longer anyone
    To come between us
    No one to tell us
    We couldn’t be happy
    And although our ever after
    Never happened
    At that moment
    We couldn’t wait
    To return to each other

  198. Audell Shelburne

    Valediction in an Airport

    I find myself standing
    somewhere between
    the arrival and departure,
    wondering if this going
    and coming will somehow
    amount to something.

    I sit in airports
    watching people hiding
    behind technology,
    wedging themselves apart
    from others in an electronic
    pretense of presence.

    I remember the old days
    before terror, husbands
    and wives, lovers, children,
    dripping tears, lingering hugs,
    longing kisses, hungry eyes
    committing leaving to memory.

    Now goodbyes happen outdoors
    at the curb, or inside before
    security slams the doorless
    portal of metal detectors,
    cold wands and empty stares
    replace the embraces and kisses.

    And we text and chat,
    twitter and shuffle,
    we do whatever we can
    to avoid the silence of
    terror descended in the
    vacuum of modern life.

    And goodbyes simply go
    unsaid, missed in the constant
    contact of instant messages
    and empty smileys, the depth
    of longing stolen by cheap
    presence, goodbyes forgotten.

  199. Tara Vaughan-Williams

    I’m glad it’s done,
    Though I’ve had fun.
    Was wont to shirk
    All this hard work,
    But now I’ve got
    An awful lot
    To show for when
    I put my pen
    Up to the test
    To find the best
    That’s in my head.
    And with that said,
    All good things end.
    Goodbye my friend,
    Until next year-
    I’m out of here!

  200. Rose Marie Streeter

    April 30, 2009 (prompt-farewell)

    Final Farewell

    you lay there
    barely breathing,
    your face revealed
    a calmness

    holding your hand
    I couldn’t help but
    what was it
    behind closed lids…
    were Angel’s
    also holding your hand
    ready to lead you home?

    the room was silent
    ‘cept for repeated
    sounds of machines
    doing for you
    what you could no longer do

    those last few hours
    dragged on with me
    watching the clock
    counting every minute
    of every breath you took

    was drawing near
    ‘n tears overflowed
    as an emptiness
    filled the room
    with feelings
    of doom…
    a cruel reality
    of which I had
    no control

    blankets that
    your frail,
    tired body
    raised ‘n lowered
    at a much slower
    pace with
    each breath
    becoming more
    each with
    a long
    in between

    mixed emotions were bouncing off walls…

    didn’t want to see you suffer any longer
    yet, weren’t quite ready to let you go

    realizing we had to
    set you free
    our decision was made…

    machine silenced
    as the knob was
    to off position

    still sitting by your bed
    ‘n clinging tight your hand
    I waited for
    the veil of midnight
    to make its last curtain call

    at once
    a peacefulness
    washed over you
    and for a
    fleeting moment
    I thought…
    maybe a miracle

    your eyes opened
    slightly followed
    with a half smile
    and faint little

    ‘I love you, sis’

    with that…
    took a final
    and were gone

    (c) RMS

  201. Robin Waring

    Adios April

    Fare thee well
    my fellow Bards
    we’ve gone on for some time
    with our daily ruminations
    of cleverness & rhyme

    It has truly been inspiring
    and great fun you can agree
    although on some days
    I was dismayed and
    words abandoned me

    But other days in many ways
    the words they flowed like wine
    and we poured our souls
    and mined for gold
    as we wrote them line for line

    and all the while we
    searched for words to
    turn a pretty phrase
    the clock ticked on
    til time was gone
    and Robert had to say

    our time is up
    it’s over and
    there’s now just one to go
    so call your muse
    and click your mouse
    belly up and think like Poe

    and kindly take them with you
    my fellow unknown friends
    all the odds and the ends
    that you woven and you penned
    as you traveled this magical journey
    and you’ll never regret
    having said them I bet
    so keep writing
    yours sincerely

  202. Judith Breadner


    A poem a day
    Proved too much for me –
    For now.
    I tried.
    I loved it
    As thoughts, images, memories
    Flowed from my mind, my heart, my soul
    And an increasing belief in myself
    Welled up from my very core
    Reminding me
    Of parts of me
    That I had forgotten.
    Thank you for that
    And farewell –
    For now.

  203. Del Cain

    I Will Not Say

    It is not that I will not reach up
    to touch your hair on the pillow
    beside me or set out a second cup
    when the coffee is done, I will
    and I will wonder where all
    the hangers came from that crowd
    my closet and why my socks
    have so much room in their drawer,
    why no one rearranges the rocks
    that decorate the garden
    or moves the furniture when I am gone.
    I will miss bringing you the glass
    and setting the basin by the bed.
    I would hold you as long as you can stand it
    but I understand, I can see,
    a time comes when it’s not
    enough to be helped and held,
    to be touched and waited on although
    I would have still
    done it gladly.

  204. becky


    It is both better and worse
    than I expected: quick
    and quiet; no drama
    no melodrama
    just we two, quiet
    as always.
    You recline; I read.
    Hymns fill in
    the silence. We wait:
    one definition of faith.
    No dread of death
    no fear; its coming
    only a small wave
    through your body
    and the quiet room.
    If I believe anything
    I know you are alive
    more now than ever.

  205. Christina Bass

    “Farewell to April”

    It’s not good-bye for once again we’ll meet
    A year flies by winter’s cold and summer’s heat.
    Adieu, farewell my fairy sprite
    Your showers brighten with all its might.

    Flowers and blossoms May will bring
    Green spreads around while birdies sing.
    The rain will fall but not as much
    An intro to Summer, smells and such.

    April is lyrical in its atmosphere
    Wiping away cold and any fear
    That farewell to winter is a cure
    For spring time adds a special lure.

    Adios, farewell, toodle-oo dear friend
    My greetings of merry moments I send.
    For April’s over and May is here
    Good times abound so have no fear.

    Farewell to April I bid it past
    It’s been a good month; it won’t be the last.
    For once again next year we’ll see
    April will return with her spritely me.

    Farewell dear April until we meet again
    When I’ll welcome you back as a gracious win.
    Hopes, dreams, and beliefs we seed
    Water to make April grow and take the lead.

  206. Carole Egler

    Day 30 PAD prompt – farewell

    The Farewell

    In the beginning time was all ours.
    We would talk and plan ‘til all hours.
    We were eager and ready to do it all;
    We were ‘immortal’ and ready for life’s call.

    We didn’t know what we didn’t know.
    But we had forever to learn; just eager to show
    We were gladly sharing all the events of life We were so happy – husband and wife.

    Gloriously happy we greeted our three.
    Beauty created by God, you and me..
    And we proudly celebrated their births.
    Our life was perfect and full of mirth.

    As time marched on and we got older;
    There were cares and worries to shoulder.
    We never believed that there was not time
    To go on and on living in our prime.

    Along came the reality,
    life doesn’t promise immortality.
    It doesn’t even give a fair shake . . .
    It gave us belated heartbreak.

    Now our precious time is slipping away;
    as we try to get the best out of each day.

    We can only hope to hold and whatever
    Happens, our love story’s the best one ever.
    We will meet in the afterlife
    Heaven celebrates the devoted husband and wife.


    It has been absolutely fantastic to be part of April PAD! Thanks for tolerating me and my humble offerings.I really enjoyed rubbing keyboards with you all.

    Thanks to Robert for all you have done to host this endeavor.

    There are too many to name because I’m not Mr. Richard Merlin Atwater . .
    Thanks to him . . . he did it for all of us!

    Farewell my ‘pen’ freinds. Carole

  207. Jay Cole Simser

    I will never say good-bye
    only au revoir
    or “So Long”

    Good-bye is so final
    I don’t like it!
    For we are friends
    and friends, true friends
    never part.

    We will meet again
    and it will be a joyous
    For we are friends, true friends
    and we can never be separated

    Good-bye does not resonate
    with what we have.
    Our friendship is more
    like family
    more than friends
    something much, much more

    So I will never say good-bye\
    only au revoir
    or “So Long”
    or maybe “See you soon.”
    Good night Sweet Prince –

  208. Lynn Barber


    Why are you leaving?
    Is this what you need to do?
    Will I see you soon?

    I say good-by now
    and I smile a cheery smile.
    But inside I cry
    and cry.

  209. J. Alvey

    The Cancer Has Been Drinkin’
    (Dedicated to my old friend Paul, with apologies to Tom Waits)

    The cancer has been drinkin’
    While the eyeball has been floatin’
    And the symmetry’s all gone to hell
    While the family is emotin’

    The IV needs its daily fix
    While I focus on the center
    There’s a nurse I saw just yesterday
    And a place I’d like to enter

    But the cancer has been drinkin’
    Not responsible for thinkin’
    And the atmosphere is stinkin’
    And I might be old Abe Lincoln
    Cause the cancer has been drinkin’
    Not responsible for thinkin’

    There’s a doctor in the hallway
    And a monkey in the window
    One of them is gonna say
    It’s time to let your kin know

    But my eyeball has been floatin’
    And my brain has let me down
    And the IV needs a refill
    And I need a different gown

    Cause the graduation’s over
    And the Prom Queen was a needle
    The chaperone was every nurse
    I could not coax or wheedle

    And goodbye means forever
    And forever means it’s over
    And over means a parachute
    Off of the cliffs of Dover

    Now the cancer has been drinkin’
    And the atmosphere is stinkin’
    But my ol’ friend Paul is winkin’
    Though his eye is barely blinkin’
    Yes, the cancer has been drinkin’
    The cancer has been drinkin’

  210. Diana R. Wilson

    How it ends.

    I’m dumping all this crap
    Tearing up all the notes,
    Tossing them into a can.
    Outside it’s spring, but in here
    At this desk, the floor is littered with
    Piles of leavings. Crumpled papers
    In an autumn storm of a writing frenzy, hot
    And sweat stained, some speckled in ink, from a time
    When I thought someone would pause, turn just one over and reflect.


    I’m throwing them all away, I don’t want to see them again.
    This how I knew it would be.
    This is the end of the ride.

  211. trigger

    Fly On Home

    Sugar palms over fields of rice
    Stilted houses, children’s cries

    Sidewalk urchins and their mothers
    By the Lucky Burger

    Orange-robed monks smoke on the corner
    Tuk-tuk drivers waiting

    Silver haired American takes
    Young Asian girls up
    The elevator

    Phnom Penh orphan girls… and boys
    Exploited, infected, left
    In fear.

    Now, now, don’t think, pack your suitcase
    Fly to your home sweet home.
    In the clear.

  212. Marcia Neu

    Never final

    Can’t say farewell
    smiling or crying
    it’s always the same

    even if you turn away
    your back tells all

    with me goes
    the weight having known
    you, me, us

    with you stays
    the hollow where could
    might have been

  213. trigger

    Fly On Home

    Sugar palms over fields of rice
    Stilted houses, children’s cries

    Sidewalk urchins and their mothers
    By the Lucky Burger

    Orange-robed monks smoke on the corner
    Tuk-tuk drivers waiting

    Silver haired American takes
    Young Asian girls up
    The elevator

    Phnom Penh orphan girls… and boys
    Exploited, infected, left
    In fear.

    Now, now, don’t think, pack your suitcase
    Fly to your home sweet home.
    In the clear.

  214. Laura Hoopes

    Goodbye is a moment of mirrors and magic
    say what you will, this time will come back
    in memory, in phrases, a turn of her cheek
    someone else’s dark curling hair blowing
    that exact shade of red lipstick
    the smell of oranges and orange blossoms
    blowing in the warm wind
    will make this moment live again.

    You think it’s the end, but you will relive
    this moment, this hour, this day
    many times going down the road
    you’ll taste the black coffee
    smell the rank fertilizer on the lawn
    you’ll hate the neighbors’ noisy mower
    and wish there was time for one more
    chance to make it right.

  215. Janet Richards

    For Pam

    It seems only fitting
    to remember you
    and say good-bye

    at the end
    of a month
    filled with words

    you have chosen poetry
    Edna St. Vincent Millay
    Mary Oliver

    it seems only fitting
    to write your memory
    as rain taps on the roof

    at the end
    of a month
    filled with words.

  216. Diana R. Wilson


    Leave the keys on the table
    With the last rent check
    Alongside the promises you made
    When you kissed me.

    Before the color
    Bleached and ran
    Under clouds doubt,
    my ugly jealousy.

  217. sarah provence

    Farewell to Atlantis

    We will wonder one day if this was
    all just a legend, something we invented
    to explain love lost. Long after the last coral
    dogwood petals fall away under the sun,

    we’ll examine the artifacts,
    won from dive after dive into winter’s
    salted sidewalks and dark purple skies.

    Could there really have been glassy
    branches shining along the parkway?
    Did we only dream the sound they made,
    chiming in the depths of the subzero night.

    It’s all an ancient dream now. The only real
    proof I have, cupped between my palms loosely,
    afraid I will crush
    my delicate new wings
    is the memory of goodbye.

  218. Tracy Chiles McGhee


    I’ve seen folks fight it with all their might and
    and I’ve seen folks actively seek it and embrace it
    Still others don’t even know they lack it
    You can get it again and again
    Acquiring it can be gradual or sudden but
    the moment you receive it, you cross over
    and you can never truly turn back
    not without insanity but why would you want to?
    I know why and so do you
    It comes with responsibility
    You have to figure out what to do with it
    Spread it
    Take note of it
    Grow it
    Hold on to it
    Save it for a rainy day
    Sit with it
    Run with it
    and every now and then you have to say farewell
    to an old friend whose very existence depends on you
    NOT having it

  219. John Pupo

    “Roll Credits”

    The film doesn’t end
    until the end credits roll,
    and the blue screen pops
    up reminding us what the
    rating for the film we
    already viewed was.

    I’m one of those people
    who stays that entire time
    as people loudly get up
    and discuss major plot
    flaws, or that the ending
    totally sucked, or that the
    effects were the only thing
    it had going for it.

    I stay because all of those
    people who worked
    extremely hard on that film:
    gaffers and key grips,
    caterers and stunt doubles,
    animators and sound mixers,
    are all getting their time
    to actually shine.

    I want to know that the
    film was shot entirely
    on Kodak film over Fuji,
    or that location shots were
    done in Tacoma, WA or
    Beijing, China.

    Plus, who could forget that
    song that was playing when
    that one guy jumped from
    the building, or was playing
    in the car when the red-
    headed lead was murdered?

    It’s all here, getting its due
    time, since aside from the
    three to five main actors
    aren’t making that much money,
    and are putting their true
    heart and soul into every
    scene, frame and moment.

  220. Sarah Pottenger

    No title yet

    You told me there is never any night
    when you’re blessed with two suns,
    but each sun is bound to set.
    You said everything is born from stars,
    but they are cold and far away.
    Sometimes laughter tastes like cranberries,
    and tears are sweet lemon drops.
    You said you always knew we’d find each other,
    two wispy souls frothing to and fro,
    and we danced ever closer,
    but not touching.
    Not touching.

  221. Christine Fletcher

    Interesting that this prompt came today. A few days ago I was catching up and writing the Travel poem, remembering my aunt who had been quite the globe-trotter in her time and is now in a nursing home (she was a teacher, I became a librarian–our family is involved in education in one way or another). Then tonight, as I was writing the Farewell poem with a focus on the poetry challenge, I got a call from my mom that my aunt may be dying; and if she does not rally in the next day, she won’t recover. Needless to say, I now know how prophetic my reminiscing was earlier this week, and my Farewell poem has a new focus.

    This is dedicated to my aunt, Fran Templet . Whatever happens in the next few days, fare well.

    Saying Fare-Well

    Years ago, before I was incarnate,
    You made pilgrimage up a holy mount in Japan.
    Your belled walking stick bearing the sigils
    Of all of the roadside stops, proving
    You, unlike most American tourists,
    Completed the journey.

    Later you walked me all day
    Through the French Quarter
    Stopping for small sensual feasts
    At our favorite shops and cafes.
    The scents of sugar, café au lait
    And Miss Cida’s soap shop
    Would trail in my head –
    incense from holy shrines.

    I’ll likely miss any masses said for you,
    Being too distant and in the pagan way.
    I did not miss your lessons:
    The value of ritual to engender spirituality
    And the emptiness of religion without knowledge;
    The value of leading another to learn
    And the cheapness of information
    Gained for its’ own sake.

  222. Kimberly Brock


    so soft a word yet
    full of meaning as it
    rides away from you,
    where you still stand
    on the platform of life,
    hand in the air
    left limp from a wave.
    images of all you have been through
    run statically by like an old film.
    you remember how it was
    what could have been
    what never will be.
    someday soon, you will
    accept this farewell
    (for others will come too)
    and you will be glad
    that everything happened
    as it should
    after all.

  223. Kendall A. Bell

    Eulogy for E

    The ground above you has not yet filled in
    and there is a suspicious hole that slants.
    It could have been the rabbits looking for
    another spot to keep their young warm,
    while you grow colder and colder.
    I will try to remember your personality
    and your playful manner over the last images:
    you lying motionless, your mouth open.
    I want to remember the sound of you greeting me
    over the sound of my wife’s inconsolable grief.
    I held your stiff body one last time
    and whispered, "It’s my fault.", as if you could hear me.
    I still walk by your room and look for you.
    The next day, we threw away everything of yours.
    It was hard to see the empty space that was left
    when you left us.
    We said our goodbyes –
    too late.

  224. A~Lotus


    belly-up against the sky
    like birds, balloons,
    and butterflies…
    seeing how the water in the well
    turns the world
    and everything flutters in agitation
    like how farewells
    would turn my own stomach
    inside out,
    (missing you, longing for something
    to hold onto…)
    yet at the same time,
    seeing how bloated it is
    with words–
    a hearty fare for the soul
    in this rainy month,
    a round-trip fare to art
    and beauty and back again
    to the real spiraling world.

    make it stop spinning, please,
    but you can’t
    as only words reflected
    in the moon and stars
    mean something, a destiny
    filling in someone else’s shoes
    and they bring charisma
    to the moths around a candle flame.

    blow it out quickly,
    shape the wax from your dreams
    and spin the wheel like a clock,
    then raise your hand in greeting.

    only in Vietnamese,
    "chao" greets and dismisses
    a loved one
    just as the French
    would say "bonjour"
    and "a tout a l’heure"
    within a few minutes of friendly chatter
    or flirty banter,

    because everything is reincarnated–
    from love to death to poetry:
    to fare well is only a mark
    of the beginning of an Odyssey
    and a continuum of elements and questions
    suspended in mid-air, mid-mind,
    going back and forth like a pendulum,
    something that human nature tirelessly seeks

    when that shiny coin flips
    and breaks the bonds of that water
    in the well,
    hoping to catch the rays of the sun
    on its pale face.

  225. Connie

    Farewell to caution
    I’m stalking freedom
    From fear
    Let the chips
    Lays that is
    Fall where they may
    Let’s stomp on them
    Crumbs stuck to our feet
    Hell I’m too old to bend
    Down and pick them up
    Let’s roll in them
    Rock with it
    Make love in it
    Who cares that there are crumbs
    In the bed
    Greasy crumbs stuck to
    Our love starved souls
    No, this is not your
    Grandmother’s room..
    Let us live
    Let us love and play
    Again as children
    Let us sing and dance
    Create again
    Write some more
    Love again
    Forgive and keep
    Farewell to caution
    So long fear
    I’m so outta here

  226. Constance Brewer

    How To Become A Constellation

    Time gallops on pointed hooves,
    a frightened stag haunted by notions
    of Artemis. Overwhelmed, I flee
    in the same manner, heart pounding,
    nostrils flared, the whites of my eyes
    exposed for all to see, afraid to glance
    over my tensed shoulder, staring forward
    only forward, always looking ahead,
    never planning further than a swim
    in the ocean. You probably think little
    of my rapid departure, expect me
    to return within the hour, in a while,
    a day at the most. I move faster now
    gathering momentum, the courage
    to run from your fixation on mortal
    love. I escape to the sea, become
    that distant object on the horizon
    your brother challenged you about.
    Expectations needle my back,
    just before the arrow of your unerring
    aim pierces my heart. The final
    humiliation, to be placed in the night
    sky like a signpost, to look down
    at what I’ve missed, what might
    have been, to watch as your world
    spins in a circle, close, yet distant.

  227. Karin L.


    Goodbye. Adios. Sayonara.
    You’ve blown my inner life
    to smithereens
    destoyed my slumber
    ruined my digestion
    but the world without you

  228. David H. Snell

    Fare Thee Well
    Not exactly a month of Sundays did
    we have. But, crammed into moments,
    inspired and mundane, we glimpsed
    new vision, revisited old rapture, touched
    the handle of despair, and emerged,
    a kaleidoscope of word and creed,
    image and connection, only to
    say “Goodbye” until
    we—both changed and the same—meet
    and wave the wand
    yet once again.

  229. Khara E. House

    Oh I’m so sad it’s over! I’m glad I got a chance to catch up today :) But I’ve got to admit this poem almost made me cry …

    :Why it matters:

    Today I watched a child dance down the steps
    and I don’t mean that as a figurative phrase—literally
    he started down one step and began to twist
    his hips, and suddenly was dancing his way

    down to the pavement. And as he reached the bottom
    he entered full gyration, hips in full swing,
    with a smile so wide you could lay on it
    like a hammock. Oblivious, he did not notice my eyes

    watching him, wondering in silence if tomorrow might
    mark the end of his innocence, if someday he might forget
    the song his heart sang this afternoon. If someday
    he will read this and wonder where the music has gone.

  230. J.A. Jensen


    Now to say farewell
    Nothing grandiose
    Just a simple adios
    It’s all been swell

    I’ve enjoyed the rhymes
    Now it’s au revoir
    Best writing lesson by far
    Though hard at some times

    I did learn this
    I’d rather battle hyenas
    Than write sestinas
    Other than that it was bliss

  231. Renee Goularte


    Don’t placate me with
    fond farewells and promises
    to be friends. When you
    walk away it will be for good.
    There’s no mistake. Someday
    when I ask for a moment
    we’ll see what kind
    of promise you can keep.

  232. Raymond Alberts

    Sorry about the misprint Robert heres my second try.


    Farewell seems way too final
    Not what I want to say
    More like Aloha Catch you later
    Or have a real nice day

    Its been a blast to join you
    In this April Poem a day
    Feel kind of sad it’s ending
    But there be another day

    Thank you for your helpfulness
    You’ve kept things all in line
    All the best to you Robert
    Until we meet next time

  233. Annie

    What I Left Behind

    We were in a hurry. We had set a date,
    an itinerary, and I was all packed. I’d already
    gotten my deposit back. There were only a few
    boxes, a couple small pieces of furniture,
    and time for one last trip. But I made
    a miscalculation of time and space; needed
    one more trip or another few cubic feet
    so standing there on the icy Portland sidewalk
    consented to leave the funky old chair in the
    basement of the old brick building. I am starting
    a new life, I told myself, there will be other
    flea markets and thrift stores, and another gold-chintz
    upholstered barrel chair will find its way to me
    but it never has. I have driven across the continent
    in a Volkswagen van, lived in two other states,
    divorced the reason for those miscalculations
    and sometimes I still dream that I have the key,
    that I can get back into that brick building and
    take back what is mine.

  234. Amelia Williams

    Saying Goodbye
    (for Karl)

    You and I alone
    at last, after the tooth jarring ambulance ride,
    I holding your head from slamming up and down
    and the paramedic
    thinking you were my father
    because you looked
    at least ten years older than fifty two.
    Cancer does that.
    “Fifty two – that’s how old I am,” he said,
    as if his own mortality
    had just occurred to him.

    Alone in a quiet emergency room
    very early in the morning
    ours the only occupied curtain,
    I said my first goodbyes to you aloud,
    as best I could,
    in case you were hovering
    in spirit there
    above your body.
    You didn’t seem like a dead body —
    a thing — but like yourself
    lying there, dead, still warm.
    It was all a little unbelievable,
    though I acted as if I understood.

    What should I do now, I asked you, who
    should I call? I had to leave you to use the phone.
    Be right back, I said.
    I thought you’d want me to call your brother,
    so I did. I went back in to see you.
    You looked tired and vulnerable in the light-weight
    sun-protective clothes we’d bought
    so you could sit out on the cruise ship deck.
    I wish we’d made it to that ship.
    I’d made all my calls, and still no Nana and kids – turns out
    they’d been taken to the wrong hospital by mistake.

    After those first goodbyes, came the more public, formal ones.
    The obituary I wrote, the speech at the memorial service,
    the little touches you’d asked for – Gary Burton’s
    Crystal Silence, ACDC noise – the chase ‘em away music,
    and then the core friends and relatives dancing
    to celebrate
    your love of music, of rhythm.

    Then I said goodbye in increments,
    whenever the house you built would creak,
    red oak timbers releasing
    or absorbing summer’s moisture.
    It seemed to indicate your presence – so I would talk
    to you, ask you what you thought, tell you
    my worries, as if drawing you out of the posts and beams
    into my own head, where I carry you still.

    Now after six years
    I don’t say goodbye much–
    but more often hello,
    when you visit my dreams,
    or when I notice your twinkling eyes looking out at me
    from my favorite photograph.
    I asked you once, “What is that look you have in that picture –
    and you replied, “Don’t you know? That’s my ‘I love you’ look.”

    I love my life, with our sons
    and my new sweetheart, but still
    I wish you were here.

  235. Annie

    What I Left Behind

    We were in a hurry. We had set a date,
    an itinerary, and I was all packed. I’d already
    gotten my deposit back. There were only a few
    boxes, a couple small pieces of furniture,
    and time for one last trip. But I made
    a miscalculation of time and space; needed
    one more trip or another few cubic feet
    so standing there on the icy Portland sidewalk
    consented to leave the funky old chair in the
    basement of the old brick building. I am starting
    a new life, I told myself, there will be other
    flea markets and thrift stores, and another gold-chintz
    upholstered barrel chair will find its way to me
    but it never has. I have driven across the continent
    in a Volkswagen van, lived in two other states,
    divorced the reason for those miscalculations
    and sometimes I still dream that I have the key,
    that I can get back into that brick building and
    take back what is mine.


    “Between Poeming”

    I’ve heard about riled up days that hated names of verses
    They preferred riding jaunty jeeps through the old town
    Earlier than the rooster, stopping for certain numbered doors

    Possibly those sweaty days turned swear words into Molotovs
    Singed bamboo screens drying after summer’s whimsy and rain
    Left a few blackened posts under roofs where someone lived

    Possibly I imagined my footsteps would precede yours there
    Even now, waiting, a tender pastured horse munching rhymes
    Your leftover half-ghazals, their florid ‘maktas’, for this was love

    Didn’t Ghalib live here? My rickshaw man pedaled and smiled
    He bought his quarter peg here every evening, walked from there!
    No wonder I imagined your beard hair on the banister, wind-tangled

    If he was still behind that cindered verandah I would not know
    Holding broken bangles pieces of a departed love, post intermission
    ‘Alvida’, he must’ve said, in a sad refrain, adding in English, “So long”.

  237. Lytton Bell

    Forgotten Phrase

    The bumper sticker on the van in front of me reads:
    Live every day like it’s your last
    Why do I find this suggestion intolerably depressing?
    Perhaps because I really don’t WANT to spend my
    last gasps for breath
    writing up a will
    or coughing in a gurney

    If this really is my last day
    I better come up with some kind of a goodbye

    Laundry: sorry I never folded you
    Don’t take it personal
    Car: sorry I never filled you with gas
    Cat: sorry about the litter box
    Boss: sorry I never finished the memo
    and that I stole your breath mints
    and cut and pasted your picture onto a target
    that I would throw things at sometimes

    Hopes and dreams: sorry I never finished grad school
    Husband: I told you you should have married
    that girl you liked in high school
    Kids, parents, friends: don’t miss me too much
    don’t cry
    I’m sure I’m in a better place now

    Not just a hollow carcass
    rotting in a box

    Maybe I’ve just vanished like that comment
    you were about to make at a party once when it slipped
    out of your mind
    Until you wake up in the middle of the night some weeks later
    a little panicked
    I know there was something else
    I wanted to say

    But what could it have been?

  238. shann palmer

    The Not-Quite Last Farewell

    Wallowing seems right,
    occasionally to lay out the night
    across my bed like a moon beam
    run amok, hiding in the dark.

    Fully in the moment as a child
    I was zen master- pure experience
    in extreme states: hot, cold, hungry,
    then the increments began to matter.

    Soon I learned to spot death
    scuttling around a corner ahead
    I made sure to go another way
    and for awhile, that sufficed.

    Until recently, I never considered
    what I might say if I had to leave now
    suddenly, like earlier when I turned
    across traffic because I was distracted

    listening to a song you gave me,
    singing as if there was no tomorrow,
    because there almost wasn’t, for me
    it wasn’t time to go, not yet, not quite.

  239. christina

    To Conclude

    I gave you this kiss before
    you said goodbye—I give it
    to you again—I want you to
    take it, but you, of course,
    are already dancing,
    crushing blackberries
    for mead—purple and
    red—and the soles of your
    feet are stained, and your hair
    is long and loose and glints
    like copper in the sunshine.

    In the light somewhere, I,
    of course, stand, trying to
    give you this kiss—paper
    angels perch on the
    branches of an apple tree—
    you are already dancing in
    a dress of silk that flutters like
    the poppies that grow
    through the lumped stones
    of your tomb toward
    a sky that shifts shape
    like the sea.

  240. Jackie

    Farewell to All That

    Farewell to ivy quadrangles,
    to ivory towers and tweed jackets
    with suede elbow-patches;
    farewell to tenure, that mothballed
    relic, that holy grail;
    I’m leaving it all, I’m walking away.

    Farewell to university life,
    to students drunk on beer, physics
    and feminist theories;
    farewell to committees, tuition
    freezes, dense pedantic
    monographs no one ever
    disturbs in the vaulted archives.

    Farewell to the academic life–
    I think we both knew this is how
    it would end eventually. Thanks
    for the memories, the students,
    the brief span of time when I
    felt I might someday, somehow
    join the storied ranks of those
    who contemplate and cogitate
    for a lifetime.


    Thanks, Robert– this has been quite the thrill, and I’m so excited to sit down and sift through all the poems I’ve written in this mad rush of April!

  241. Raymond Alberts

    FarewellFarewell seems way too final
    Not what I want to say
    More like Aloha Catch you later
    Or have a real nice day

    Its been a blast to join you
    In this April Poem a day
    Feel kind of sad it’s ending
    But there be another day

    Thank you for your helpfulness
    You’ve kept thing all in line
    All the best to you Roger
    Until we meet next time

  242. Ernest M. Whiteman III


    This is the end of all things
    I take up my burdens once again
    And walk towards the dying sunset
    Looking for that reason for life

    This is the end of my heartache
    As I move on to places unknown
    Where no one knows me or the
    Natural shocks I’ve been heir to

    This is the end of my love
    As no one can ever replace you
    In my heart, my soul, my life
    And so I will cease to look for it

    This is the end of all things
    As I make my way into the world again
    Proclaiming myself as Nameless
    Moving towards that future unknown, alone

    Ernest M. Whiteman III

    NOTE: Thank you for the challenges this month. EW3

  243. Oscar C. Pena

    End of the Day

    I thought it would be hard to leave
    after thirty two years
    of driving out to the same place.
    So on my last day
    I worked right past going home
    then picked up the lunch box
    empty as always
    and left work one last time.

  244. Jill

    The Garden is Round So the Devil Can’t Corner the Pansies, Yet the Children Still Stomp

    Dig deep dig deep dig deep
    trowel the roots
    rip them apart dusty veins
    tight as the narrow roads that feed

    our hearts. Hearts of palm grow
    well in some soil that we do not walk,
    black earth flecked with fertilizer
    white maggots shrunk and dried.

    Dig deep, the hole is not big enough
    cover the roots, be sure to break
    the cluster apart first, let the dirt fall

    through your small hands. Farewell
    pale skin, translucent fingernails, crescent
    moons glowing in dusk’s dim shine.

    I knew it was time for you when the sun
    grew too hot to finger. Wings like wasps
    drew me in stinging, aching. Growth hurts.
    Shadow right before the storm hit.

    Thunder during labor is no wive’s tale
    but it might be, if someone wrote it.
    Drop the shovel when lightning strikes.

    We are planting pansies at bedtime,
    racing bathtime—clock’s breath.
    Blooms say goodnight to their pots
    pots say goodbye to their lovers.

    Life is like this—holding what is dirty
    close, carrying the earth and the water
    until it is time to dig deep
    dig deep and tear apart new life.

  245. Karen Decker

    Doesn’t roll off my tongue
    It gets caught in my throat

    bring about sores
    that don’t heal
    and instead fester
    until I no longer have a voice
    just trapped sobs
    and an inflamed heart
    a wasteland of what I used to be
    effectuating an end to the real me

  246. Marcos A. Cabrera

    Rare Farewell

    One month went by so fast…
    It was a ride that cannot be compare,
    with this one thirty poems was my fare.
    From my mind once more I took off the cast
    and this trip was a thrill, it was a blast.
    It was like a flare
    lighting up the shadows from my past.

    I know, my thought is rare…
    Since I can’t stop its willingness to write
    and my feelings to that end I can’t hide,
    before finishing up I want to spare
    with all my emotions to live and share
    a little bit of time
    and a goodbye to something that I care.

  247. Julieann S Powell


    Parting is such sweet sorrow
    As said by someone greater than I
    Parting brings pain
    Whether for a day or year or forever
    Parting also brings sweetness
    The joy of looking forward
    To a forthcoming rejoining
    So without further adieu
    I bid each and everyone a fond farewell
    And look forward to meeting again
    Next year

  248. Kimberly T. Thompson

    “30 Days”

    The ORIGIN of this bond was a challenge,
    Making all non-poets OUTSIDERS,
    As we wrestled with “THE PROBLEM WITH…”;
    Neglecting friends, family, work, ANIMALS.
    Familiar names a LANDMARK in a sea of posts.
    Panic when our poems came up MISSING.
    Most were CLEAN attempts, a few DIRTY,
    Experimenting as we got into ROUTINE,
    Writing MEMORIES of heart and head.
    Even writing on Good FRIDAY.
    Waking to prompts, the OBJECT of our affection,
    SO WE DECIDED TO check online. Once more.
    Obsessed with our HOBBY, really passion,
    Stuck in this LOVE/ANTI-LOVE affair.
    Just trying to get past the POEM TITLE;
    When we do, Oh! The COLOR it brings to life!
    ALL I WANT IS to write forever,
    Forsaking all other INTERACTION,
    ANGRY when the words elude me yet
    Experiencing REBIRTH in rhyme and form.
    Scanning humble HAIKU and Shakespearean sonnets,
    Desperate for more time to read, less WORK to do.
    We have no REGRETS.
    We have TRAVELLED this path bravely,
    No longer a challenge, but an EVENT.
    Grown closer despite MISCOMMUNICATIONS,
    Sharing our lives and our LONGINGS,
    Our hatred of SESTINAS (most of us anyway!);
    Vowing to make it to the end, NEVER quitting.
    Success!! FAREWELL my friends and fellow poets,
    Until we meet again…

    Thank you so much Robert for all your talent and hard work!
    Thank you EVERYBODY for sharing your words, and your stories :-)

  249. Cory Q

    Turning to Go, Mumbling

    Everyone has a brother
    Or uncle named Frank.
    They always die in
    A motorcycle accident, young.

    One of the grandparents
    Was a boozer, certainly.
    It was the bottle,
    Not a stroke untimely.

    A high school friend
    Well, maybe an acquaintance
    Kicks off from meningitis.
    Word still gets around.

    Does anyone fondly recall
    The last thing said
    To anyone who passes
    Without a formal farewell?

  250. Megan Jensen

    Sweet Dream

    Farewell sweet dream,
    I have other things to do.
    A whole lifetime of mornings
    To wake me up from you.
    Each time day I am disappointed
    When I realized you cannot stay
    With me to push me forward
    Give me confidence in your subtle way.
    I know I cannot keep you forever
    To embrace me and make me shine.
    Though we need to party our ways
    Sweet dream, you are always mine.

  251. Linda Robertson

    April PAD Challenge
    Linda Robertson
    © April 30, 2009


    to these days of challenge.

    to all these moments of inspiration.

    I say “adieu”
    to my muses,
    who stayed up with me
    past midnight,
    and stirred with me
    as the dawn awakened
    to each new morning
    of the past thirty days.

    My good-byes are those
    of sadness and loss,
    for I wonder if I will remain motivated
    in the coming season
    to continue creating my songs and sonnets,
    my rhythms and rhymes.

    Farewell to you,
    my triumphant promptmaster,
    for leading me
    through a maze
    of delightful themes.

    Farewell to you,
    these days of enchantment.

    to fun!

  252. Beth Melles


    I am done with goodbyes,
    dark skies brooding storms ahead,
    dreading partings, and farewells.
    Instead I shall dance the line
    until the time I must leave.
    As the raindrops fall, I will dodge each ball of water ,
    fill my last days with songs, love, and laughter.
    I shall close my eyes to the clock’s hands
    and simply dance to the tick tock of time.

  253. Shannon Cameron

    At times it can be hard
    to make changes
    At times a change
    is what it takes
    to make things better

    At times it can be hard
    to move away
    At times moving away
    is what it takes
    to see more of the world

    At times it can be hard
    to say goodbye
    At times saying goodbye
    is what it takes
    to realize you had something good

  254. Jodi Adamson


    Farewell, good bye.
    The man on the moon is high,
    Bright stars sparkle in the sky.
    My brain is an egg that has been fried.
    My creativity, like winter skin, has run dry.
    The poetry challenge is over-sigh..

  255. Sheila

    I tried to post this several times,this afternoon but couldn’t
    find a record of it. So by the light of the silvery moon, I’ll try again hoping you don’t mind if, it’s hiding there– My final goodbye
    that rhymes.

    "Hi and Goodbye" is often the Alpha & Omega of Life and Death.

    Let’s raise a joyful alarm with bright flags unfurled!
    To welcome a baby from Mom’s womb into this world.
    My first child arrived. Her birthday is today.
    There is no celebration. She did not come to stay.
    "My dear,It’s a blessing. Her heart was not strong"
    and other soothing platitudes. She didn’t stay long.
    Once born, life is(short or long) then all of us die.
    No joyful welcome unless by us. Only a sad Goodbye.
    With tears freely falling,often from failng eyes.
    We cannot see our loved-ones, yet they have not gone,
    but freely left their mortal coils, having passed on.
    Goodbye is too final.At rest now, having done their part,
    and will always be with us as we hold them in our heart.

    Enjoy life each day. We have but one chance.
    So take of you shoes, make poetry and dance!

  256. Virginia Snowden

    Farewell to the child who once couldn’t smile
    Farewell to the girl who never came out of her shell
    Farewell to the young lady who always felt un-pretty daily
    Farewell to the woman who just said she couldn’t
    Farewell to all the insecurities, heartaches, and heartbreaks
    Farewell to the tears, sadness, and fears
    Farewell to all negativity, madness, and chaos
    Farewell to this chapter
    Close the book on tragedy
    Say hello to the great American novel; simple titled “Her Story”

  257. D Mwamunga

    Farewell PAD

    Until next year
    We look forward to see what challenges you’ll deliver
    Oh how I wish this could go on throughout the year
    Or maybe just quarterly
    It’s been so much fun for sure
    To everyone avedazane
    Till next April when we meet again

  258. Valerie Polichar

    The Last

    She steps out the door,
    turns the key in the lock,
    then pauses a while,
    holding the key in her hand.

    She lifts it to her face,
    presses it to her cheek;
    it is cool,
    it is innocent.

    This key has no part
    in its fate,
    she decides.
    She hefts the suitcase in her hand,

    and bends
    to slip the key
    through the mail slot
    before descending the stairs.

  259. Victoria Hendricks

    Farewell, Good Soul

    I wonder if you will die tonight.
    If not tonight, soon. Too young.
    Includer, friend, husband, father
    son, brother, seeker, keeper of trees,
    you have feared, raged, wept, hoped,
    hung on, calmed, wiped tears, let go.
    You walked into my office seeking
    wisdom, left as much as you found.
    Thank you. I will miss you. Farewell.

  260. Jenny Doughty

    Letting go

    Fireflies in the dogwood trees – cold
    torches in the honey-heady
    summer dusk – flash synchronized
    codes signaling the brief passion
    of a short crepuscular life.

    Hold one in your hands and see
    the green-gold pulse decay,
    the lightning flash become
    a common bug. Nothing trapped
    can shine: let it go with love.

  261. Paul Pikutis

    On My Way Out

    Kicking down doors
    flipping off every boss
    and letting them know what I think/
    What I really think.

    On a high, skipping
    down the hall,
    humming every four-letter word
    I can think of.
    Even making up a few new ones.

    One final act:
    matches and kerosene
    light the pyre
    on bended knees;
    praising the cubic god
    for the last time.

  262. Joan Huffman

    Joy in Parting

    He is gone, on one more Bacchanal escapade;
    I am going, going for good,
    making good the threat of leaving.

    I open the front door:
    golden dew and dulcet chirrups
    summon me to depart.
    Movers tuck my treasures in the truck,
    I don’t belong here any longer.

    A last look back,
    into the gloomy great room,
    not in regret but resolve.
    As I close up the house,
    the world yawns wide.

    Joan Huffman © 04/30/2009

  263. Hannah Bowles

    By: Hannah Bowles

    Get out the party balloons, streamers and hats,
    we’ve made it through the challenge and that’s a fact.
    I feel an accomplishment happy dance brewing.
    What a gift it has been viewing,
    all of you guy’s inspirational work,
    conjuring up feelings from deep within, where they lurk.
    Kind of makes me melancholy,
    for I sure will miss this daily trolley,
    heartfelt trips down memory lane
    and prompts with forms that make me feel insane!
    All in good fun and part of the growing process
    of all my writing experiences so far nothing can top this.
    Farewell to all my favorite fellow poets,
    you all are talented and I hope you know it.

  264. Beth Browne

    As it happens, I had to say farewell to my babies today for the weekend visit with their dad.

    I will miss PAD. Thanks for everything, Robert!


    It gets easier with time
    watching the clock
    at the meeting place
    for his tardy arrival.

    I kiss their faces
    see them buckled
    into their dad’s car,
    praying it will bear
    them safely.

    Still, when they drive off
    it always hurts, a sharp
    knife in the gut
    leaving a hollow place

    At home, I move the toys
    and books off my bed,
    wipe the sticky
    off the kitchen table
    fill my calendar
    with grown-up activities.

    It really does get easier
    as time passes, but
    I can never really
    breathe right
    until they return.

  265. Anysia Derora


    See ya later
    After while
    of unexpected

  266. Vonnie Thompson

    This one is dedicated to all of you who have shared this 30 day journey with me. Thank you for the inspiration and motivation to pick up my pen again after so many years. You have all helped me piece my writer’s soul back together and I cannot thank you enough.

    The end

    It’s just words,
    this goodbye,
    a structure of sound
    and rhythm.
    But isn’t that what we shared?
    We travelled hand in hand
    with our words,
    over hard fields of regret
    and through skies of azure joy.
    We shared laughter
    and dreams
    and words.
    My ears don’t know your voice
    nor yours mine,
    but we’ve traded
    bits of our souls
    and I know
    and I will miss you.

  267. Warren Tong


    She wasn’t found
    until days after her death.
    The foul stench
    was how we knew.
    In life, she lived alone,
    a good neighbor, never too loud.
    She used to tell me stories
    about her job as a counselor.
    I hope she found her salvation
    but I doubt it.
    Maybe I’ll find out one day.

  268. Stephanie Ibbeken

    A total stranger you have been
    but I am still lost in the heart
    beating calm that stood still
    I raise my hand to the deep
    wounds that pour open creativity
    soaked into a warm soothing creation

    I whistle as I mingle,
    I can skip now to my step
    my corroded smudged prints
    are clean with a fresh taste of goodbye…

  269. Gerry

    April 30 – farewell

    Farewell is Not Good-bye

    Farewell to crispy, frosty mornings
    with breakfast pancakes and coffee brewed over the fire.
    Farewell to icy water swirling around my feet
    as cast flies tease rainbows to rise to a tasty meal.
    Farewell to happy shouts of grandchildren
    discovering anew the joys of outdoors in the Sawtooths.
    Farewell to dancing diamonds peeking through the trees
    as we scoot closer to glowing campfire embers.
    Farewell to the loading and unloading of too much gear
    and grub Into too small a space.
    Farewell – until next summer when the fun begins again.

  270. Lyn Sedwick

    April 30 Poem Farewell

    Farewell Fat

    This was no marriage made in heaven,
    More like made in leaven, as in bread,
    Cake, cookies, crackers and the worst
    For me: potato chips. Utz chips will
    Forever whirl in my dreams (you from
    The mid Atlantic know them). Anyway
    No more will I stuff my butt into jeans,
    No more will I play flap-flap with my
    Arms, no more will I wonder how tight
    Underwear can get without snapping,
    No more will I have “fat” and “not fat”
    Clothes in the closet. Starting right now,
    Which is after a pretty good breakfast,
    Fat and I have irreconcilable differences,
    We are absolutely incompatible, and
    Our union needs total dissolution.
    I’ll be fair: I don’t want any alimony
    Though I know by tomorrow at the
    Latest, I’ll want a, well, you fill in
    That blank while I try to find the
    Right lawyer to handle all this.

    Lyn Sedwick

  271. Padgett Posey

    "The Landlady Waits and Watches"

    She is the one
    who taught her daughter,
    all those years ago,
    how to print
    her alphabet.
    Made a game
    of it:
    the letters
    aren’t for your ears,
    she said; not pitchers
    meant to hold noise.
    Their shape
    is for your eyes.
    The swollen bellies
    of a and b.
    (They refuse
    to face each other.)
    The c
    a burst seedpod.
    A union in the d.
    Do you see?
    she said.

    she tries
    to make herself
    in the wingback chair
    that faces
    the mailslot
    in her apartment door.
    She sits here
    the first
    of every month,
    throughout the day
    as the fall
    of the renters’ envelopes
    form a dusting
    like snow,
    her welcome mat.
    She imagines
    each one
    as a letter
    a faraway
    containing news
    she’s been hoping
    to hear.
    Each letter,
    by an unseen hand,
    the salutation:
    Dearest Mother–.
    She can picture
    the greeting
    so clearly
    of the sharp
    like trees
    blown low
    by a strong wind)–
    she finds
    she cannot,
    no matter how hard
    she tries,
    of the bodies
    of those missives.
    She tries
    to conjecture
    with the basics
    of composition;
    those letters she taught
    her daughter,
    they will
    arrange themselves
    Dearest Mother.
    The farthest
    the trick
    has ever
    gotten her.
    Two black words
    an ivory page.

  272. Alan Deeth


    His last word was an astonished greeting,
    A vain attempt at maintaining normality
    As he shattered their routine and disrupted regularity.

    She waits, now, for the halo to gradually vanish,
    Mesh with its surroundings and fade from memory.
    He bends down and retrieves a small shining loop from the earth.

  273. Alan C Reese


    and so I must leave you this day, old friend,
    you have served me well these many seasons
    provided me shade from the afternoon sun
    protected me from the chill winds that blow
    kept the rain and snow off this poor old head
    but allowed the moonlight to enter
    here I have watched the cherry blossoms fall
    and listened to the songs of the cuckoo
    and the frogs leaping into the sound of water
    as season passed into season these many years
    but now I must take the long and narrow road
    to the interior and follow another path
    and tell others what I have seen there
    so I must turn away from here and take that step
    to begin that journey that leads me on.

  274. Lisa W.

    Fare The Well

    “Parting is such sweet sorrow,”
    and this was never more true.
    When we bid each other adieu,
    until next year when we partake
    in each others excellent
    poetical company.

    Lisa A. Wooley

  275. Helen Peterson

    That’s Cold

    Goodbye freeze, your gifts
    Of diamonds on the windows
    Have melted away like false
    Promises on the lips of
    Car salesmen crossing
    Their fingers and toes
    Trying to stay warm
    While pushing the last
    Faded SUV on someone
    Else’s grandma—
    May you find on your return
    Our hands keeping toasty
    Wrapped around fat wallets
    In our pockets.

  276. Hannah Bowles

    By: Hannah Bowles

    Time to make one last trip down
    to the pier, one last trip to town
    to gather one last meals worth
    of vegetables across the turf
    of sweet smelling fresh cut grass.
    Round the old loop, my favorite tree I pass.

    Time to enjoy one last fire-lit night
    indulge in the moon-lit lake surface, relish the sight
    indulge with a glass of my favorite wine
    feeling the prickly heat creep up my spine
    feeling the lavender scented crisp cotton sheets.
    Sounds of the lake water and the rocks when they meet.

    Time to breath in the aroma of rich camp coffee
    soak in the sun, dangle toes in the water, little fish greet me
    soak the sheets and curtains for one last washing
    board up the windows to ward against the glass smashing,
    board the car all loaded up, a book and my travel pillow ready.
    Found a place to call home that makes my heart beat steady.

    Time to say farewell to this imaginary place
    wish I had a gorgeous camp like this on the lake
    wish I had crisp lavender smelling sheets
    maybe one day the fish in the lake my toes will greet
    maybe one time I will drink rich press-pot coffee.
    Mounds of imagination will suffice and I won’t feel sorry.

  277. Tyger

    Little Devil

    Farewell little devil on my shoulder
    You tempted me for the last time
    I snatched away your pitch fork
    And stabbed you in your fiery belly
    No more will you whisper nonsense
    And make me do the Bad Thing
    I have banished you to the outer circle
    Where you escape my short attention span
    Let me for once be distracted by goodness
    So I will not feel this pull…
    This pull…
    Something is drawing me out and away
    I unfocus from my great intentions
    I see red fur and cloven hooves
    My lands, you’re sexy!
    Maybe I won’t fight you off
    When you return

  278. Sally Valentine

    So Long, April

    It’s been fun, but just one
    of those flings.
    Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t looking
    for a permanent relationship?
    I felt like such a fool the day we met
    after that 31 day march,
    but you showered me with spring.
    Bright, sunny days,
    wild windy nights.
    Remember that Friday I wanted to die for you?
    Or that Sunday when the world seemed reborn.
    Up, down, around the town. That was us.
    Look, it’s been great, but I’m late
    for another date.
    See ya next year.

    Well, hello hon.
    What’s your name?

  279. Ryan C. Christiansen

    "Goodbye," the girl said.
    Her head was still in shambles
    as she left behind the home
    where mother cooked
    where mother soothed
    her broken heart.

    The river and the flood
    took everything,
    rising faster than swift hands
    and higher than strong hearts,
    the waters filling her life
    and taking away those things
    that had meaning.

    And now she leaves.

    Wrecked and swollen,
    the house will be torn down
    and the river will reclaim
    its long-forgotten banks.

    And she will forget about the photo
    with grandfather and his catch
    and about the pillowcase
    hand-sewn with mother’s touch
    until that day, moving forward, far removed
    when her memories return
    like pages unfolding.

    The flood will return
    to fill her face with grief
    and to wash away the veil;
    then return moments,

  280. Daniel McGill

    Farewell to an old life?

    I said farewell to my old life
    when I lost my heart and gained my wife
    She taught me to think of someone else
    other than my self
    So, farewell to my old life

    I said farewell to my old life
    when I found my soul through God’s love
    Jesus Christ
    He taught me this new Way
    Guided me when I went astray
    So, farewell to my old life

    I said farewell to an old life
    when I welcomed my son
    into the world one night
    He taught me about unconditional love
    So, farewell to my old life

  281. Melissa Johnson

    No More

    I’m done, finished, through.
    I’ve had it with you,

    with your charm, your grin,
    your easy lying flattery–worn thin,

    the way your eyes go dark
    like a blooded shark.

    I won’t fall for it again—
    your claim to be a friend.

    I can smell your lust—
    like old meat, like rust.

    I won’t give it back—
    knowing you’ll retract,

    draw up like a snail,
    backpeddle and quail.

    I’m done, I’m free,
    won’t be your Eurydice.

  282. Sharon Chaffee


    How refreshing it is to wake
    from a full night’s sleep, to feel
    the awakening of my body,
    the alertness of my mind.

    The day wears on as I do
    and we both continue on.
    As I grow weary, daylight dwindles,
    giving way to night to be reborn.

    As the day lies down to sleep
    and I not far behind,
    I give in to weariness of body,
    saying farewell, it’s renewal time.

  283. Kathryn Hessler

    On thinking of “farewell,” the song “Farewell, Angelina” comes.
    Internet’ing, a google search told me Dylan first, then Baez.

    Her voice is the one I know,
    For this ballad-song.

    Wikipedia calls it primarily a love-song,
    To me, it is a sad and complex farewell and story, not only about two people.

    Maybe not just a farewell, to me a longing, a confusion,
    Anger, sadness, and possibility…feelings & wants & needs.

    When I listen to the lyrics, though, the speaker calls for “no need for
    Anger, no need for blame,” and that she or he “will see you in a while.”

    Somehow, still, there is some loss and pain on the part of the speaker to me,
    Perhaps he or she has so much inside of feelings, even while wondering about the future,

    Not just sadness or confusion, but some surety, of things to do alone,
    “where it’s quiet” that he or she does not want “Angelina” to think on.

    And as wikipedia pointed to there are those interesting lyrics about,
    “jacks and kings” and “gypsies,” a portrait of beauty and depth painted.

    And the sadness again, and pain, from “bells of the crown” stolen,
    To “machine guns are roaring,” and, the “sky is erupting,”

    Image after image of the sky, then, as the speaker says, “call me any name you like,
    “I will never deny it,” says, “farewell, Angelina,”
    At least for a time, to “go where it’s quiet.”

  284. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    4/30/2009 9:40:05 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)
    The lighthouse lifts its
    massive masonry
    a pillar of fire by night
    of cloud by day

    H. W. Longfellow
    The "Bed and Breakfast" portrays its
    Victorian style
    a canopy bed to sleep in by evening
    with breakfast by morning

    R. M. Atwater

    Richard-Merlin Atwater |rmatwaterAT NOSPAMaol dot com

  285. Sally Deems-Mogyordy

    Farewell To My Comrades in Creativity

    Seems like only yesterday
    the poets came to play;
    and now that we are done
    I’d like to say just how much


    it’s been to read all your great stuff!
    I just couldn’t get enough;
    and now that we are through,
    my hat goes off to all of you.

  286. Cheryl Foreman

    Not Really

    I never wanted to see you go
    though I pushed you toward the door,
    grabbing your coat and hat
    and helping you to turn the knob.
    The problem was that having you stay
    would mean you’d go eventually
    leaving me with too many empty spaces.
    So nudging you out now
    means saving me later
    though I wouldn’t resist
    if you reverse your direction,
    toss down your outerwear
    and took me in, somewhere,
    where I didn’t have to think
    about seeing you go.

  287. Juliann Wetz

    I only said goodbye because I had to. And because
    I was afraid that if I waited too long, I wouldn’t have
    another chance. But there are always more things
    I want to tell you

    like Izzy won MVP at her soccer game tonight. Isn’t
    that exciting? I saw a group of turkey vultures in the field
    across from Lou’s place. He finally got his window fixed.
    I want to tell you that I went shopping today
    and bought a new book by A. Manette Ansay. It made me
    want to learn piano

    what do you make of that? Of course,
    you’re not answering. You’re not here.
    These one-sided conversations are
    dissatisfying, but they’re all I have

    I don’t know if we’ll meet again. You and I
    discussed it, but never came to any conclusions.
    How could we? We both liked to think that
    we’ll meet again someday. It was the only thought I could
    hold onto while I was telling you

    but I wish you were here now so I could
    tell you about the phone call I had with Mac;
    he was full of plans to be a teacher. That might be
    a good option for him, don’t you think?

    Did I tell you I wrote a poem today?

    This PAD Challenge has been fantasic. I have read some incredible poems and have been so inspired not only by the challenge itself, but by the multitude of ideas that flowed from such simple prompts. Best wishes to everyone!

  288. Akua Lezli Hope

    A few Shout outs

    in this world by James Longfellow

    "thank what flows through me" Sandra J. Robinson

    Thanks Richard Merlin A. for braiding us all together
    How I Say Goodbye to April by J.hugh MacD.

    Many thanks to Robert!

    Kevin Olitan’s Farewell
    Never Trust a Fat Woman
    Never drink whisky with a German misogynist on the train
    Moving the Garden and Ship Rock and
    Easter dinner conversation with aunt sonia by Julie Eger
    That all be well for us all!

  289. Daniel McGill

    Farewell to an old life?

    I said farewell to my old life
    when I lost my heart and gained my wife
    She taught me to think of someone else
    other than my self
    So, farewell to my old life

    I said farewell to my old life
    when I found my soul through God’s love
    Jesus Christ
    He taught me this new Way
    Guided me when I went astray
    So, farewell to my old life

    I said farewell to an old life
    when I welcomed my son
    into the world one night
    He taught me about unconditional love
    So, farewell to my old life

  290. Joannie Stangeland

    Farewell, My Forties

    Goodbye, anxieties.
    So long, serious misgivings
    and au revoir, reluctance.
    Auf Wiedersehen, jade and envy.
    Arrivederla, late nights
    pretending I’m still 35.
    Ta-ta to the mirror’s critque,
    for now. Adieu, silk dress
    I can’t slip into anymore.
    Aloha, low regard.
    Ciao, Bella! Hello.

  291. R. SANTER

    School’s Out

    Tableau gypsies litter the remnants
    of a year’s anatomy of reason

    then flee with little respect for gravity,
    not one right angle in sight.

    Gearbox puppets in perpetual motion
    toss their bangles into trenches

    machined out below the rim.
    Stewards are validated:

    It is more fruitful to be appropriate
    than truthful. They nod as they secure

    the trusswork of chalk mythologies
    and butter the plumb bobs of summer.

  292. Sally Valentine

    So Long, April

    It’s been fun, but just one
    of those flings.
    Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t looking
    for a permanent relationship?
    I felt like such a fool the day we met
    after that 31 day march,
    but you showered me with spring.
    Bright, sunny days,
    Wild, windy nights.
    Remember that day we thought our love had died –
    not a good Friday.
    But by Sunday, love was alive again.
    Up, down, around the town – that’s us.
    Look, it’s been great, but Im late
    for another date.
    See ya next year.

    Well, hello hon.
    What’s your name?

  293. Michael A. Wells

    April Adieu

    So long National Poetry Month-
    You were just thirty days out of a year.
    You brought heaps of poems
    to my email, so many that reading them all
    will stretch well into May, when many others
    have returned poetry to the back burner.

    Gone too will be my open opportunity
    to preach the virtues and love of poetry
    to the poetically deprived.

    Even during your own month, we risk
    retribution from many who will not
    allow us to share what joy we find
    woven into the soul of your many stanzas.

    But not all is melancholy today-
    No, today too ends the Poem-A-Day
    challenge I undertook at the onset.
    To take a predetermined prompt
    for which I have not control
    and mold it into a single, artful, cohesive
    poetic unit each day.

    Even the love of poetry-
    yes, even a driving passion for writing
    cannot prevent such an undertaking
    from taxing the mind and sometimes
    in the late hours of the night,
    the body as well.

    So, goodbye poetry month. So long
    for now. I shall not stop reading
    what many great poetic minds created.
    I will turn to you over and over
    throughout the year. And probably
    after a momentary pause,
    I’ll return to the page with ink
    and write from that place deep
    within the human spirit
    where poetry is born.

    Maybe, just maybe-
    come next April, in a weak moment,
    I may forget how difficult
    the daily birthing process
    of creating these poems was
    and again accept the challenge
    of a poem-a-day.

  294. Sara McNulty

    Farewell Shout outs to: Robert Lee Brewer who offered up this excellent challenge and pulled words out of me. thank you so much, Robert.

    Farewell Poems: Salvatore – such beautiful writing
    Daniel P. – so true, your first posting, and
    I have enjoyed your poems throughout
    Michael T. Young – gorgeous writing

  295. Seth Heiserman

    Thirty-five years, but still farewell.
    With nothing left he had to sell.
    The door was closed, the key was turned,
    The truck was packed and bridges burned.
    He turned to go, but tripped and fell.

    His bad knees both began to swell.
    He tried but failed to quell a yell.
    And all the while his stomach churned–
    Thirty-five years, but still farewell.

    He knew for one he’d miss the smell
    Of the flower beds and the dell.
    They say you get what you have earned;
    The end at last of all he’d yearned.
    Tears welled up as he dialed cell.
    Thirty-five years, but still farewell.

  296. Nita G Isenhour

    What a trip! Thank you Robert and Poetic Asides for the challenge. I have read so many (not nearly enough) wonderful words this month, my head may be spinning for weeks. I plan to come back to the prompts and continue reading to get more.

    Anders – awesome search aide you created, thank you so much.

    I hate good-byes, I’m not good at them, but here is my attempt.


    The End
    (Waltz Wave)

    heart breaks
    say farewell
    to new friends.
    This time
    been a
    true experience in
    perseverance, learning, laughter and tears.
    I have giggled
    till I
    and yet
    I longed for
    more of

    Nita G Isenhour
    April 30, 2009
    PAD Challenge prompt # 30: farewell

  297. Maria D. Laso

    elk’s last call

    autumn falls
    on wilderness haunts
    forest meadow undergrowth.
    plans made for colder tomorrows.
    on windswept telegraph,
    foxtail whispers to wheat grass:
    “Last stag run out of town.”
    A wreath of willow leaves
    for the gray-backed victor
    whose winter
    will be warmer.

  298. Carole Egler

    Day 30 PAD prompt – farewell

    The Farewell

    In the beginning time was all ours.
    We would talk and plan ‘til all hours.
    We were eager and ready to do it all;
    We were ‘immortal’ and ready for life’s call.

    What we didn’t know was what we didn’t know.
    But we had forever to learn; just eager to show
    We were gladly sharing all the events of life We were so happy – husband and wife.

    Gloriously happy we greeted our three.
    Beauty created by God, you and me..
    And we proudly celebrated their births.
    Our life was perfect and full of mirth.

    As time marched on and we got older;
    there were cares and worries to shoulder.
    We never believed that there was not time
    to go on and on living in our prime.

    Along came the reality,
    life doesn’t promise immortality.
    It doesn’t even give a fair shake . . .
    It gave us belated heartbreak.

    Now our precious time is slipping away;
    as we try to get the best out of each day.
    We can only hope to hold and whatever
    Happens, our love story’s the best one ever.

    we will meet in the afterlife
    Heaven celebrates the devoted husband and wife.


  299. LindaSW

    Sir Richard Merlin-Atwater-

    THANK YOU for your wonderful epic pome. I am overwhelmed at your creativity and genorosity. Perfect encapsulation of the month, and a perfect tribute. I would love to see the entire poem – what an undertaking! Peace, Linda (of the yellow Alveoli ridge)

  300. Eva Robertson


    I never knew you except as a personal
    commitment, always got a good feeling
    from you, but knew I would remain an
    outsider anyway. And here I go: snip!
    No more, you’ll fade from memory, the
    things I do never seem to stick. I am
    spread too thin, and yet not doing enough
    at all. Please be like that rare friend,
    and keep me in your thoughts. When you
    cherish me, I take up your cause; I love
    that you have made a choice for me, and
    given saving outlines to my slipping self.

  301. LindaSW

    ROBERT, THANK YOU for hosting this wodnerful event – this is now a tradition for me. And FELLOW POETS – thank you for sharing and baring your souls. Thank you for the journey… until April 2010…. Peace, Linda


    It is a dream
    I have often:
    a river roils
    through a broken
    city, lapping,
    lapping at my
    window, flowing
    up stairs, water
    rising, rising,
    floating me from
    my sodden bed,
    down a hall where
    ancestors frown, out
    the front door past
    cars and trees rooted
    still, past the steel
    I spent waking
    hours just drifting,
    drifting to the
    harbor, yachts and
    barges bobbing
    on still glass, the
    sailors waving
    as I slip, slip
    toward the dark
    smudge, infinite
    a soul unmoored.


    Peace, Linda

  302. Melissa Rossetti


    Farewell, Aloha, Bon Voyage
    It’s time to say good-bye
    Our work was fun
    But now is done
    We can say that we survived!

  303. Sheryl Kay Oder

    Farewell PAD 2009

    Poems posted
    Images attempted
    Forms revisited
    Acrostics used
    Some rhymed
    Some did not
    Some were blessings
    Some were blah
    Deadline Met


  304. Jennie Fraine


    Goodbye to all those weeds and boards
    That in my yard have brought
    A fear of snakes and spiders
    Though none have yet been caught.

    The red-backs must have scuttled
    And the brown snakes surely slid
    But now the place they came from
    Is no longer the place they hid.

    The trailer took those dangerous
    Thoughts, those fears I uttered.
    And left me with a foreign space,
    A piece of yard uncluttered.

    So now the end of all that junk
    Makes possible wishes to grant.
    I’m off to the market tomorrow
    To load up the boot with plants.

    Leucodendrons, eramophilae,
    We love for they love the dry.
    So goodbye and thanks to that angel
    Eddie the Local Guy.

  305. Bridget Gage-Dixon


    You still go there in your dreams,
    Walk the brick lined street
    nestled against the watershed.
    You travel the fenceline unhurried,
    run a hand across the peaks and valleys
    of coated wire, all of this takes place long before
    You even considered the mutiny of independence.

    Your father’s there, though you cannot see him,
    his voice drifts through the window screens,
    Oh Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling,
    in the dream you cannot remember his face,
    all the lines and angles you spent a lifetime
    navigating have blurred to vague impression.

    But the sun will always wrap its clenched hand
    around your body, yank you into daylight.
    All day the melody will repeat mercilessly in your head
    You’ll come and find the place where I am lying
    and kneel and say an “Ave” there for me.

    You may stop on the way home,
    buy flowers to lay at his grave,
    or enter a church for the first time in years,
    dwarfed beneath the crucifix
    perhaps you’ll light a candle, or return
    to your living room, take his picture from the wall,
    study the creases of his forehead,
    the curve of his chin,
    trying desperately to retrieve the face,
    tuck it back into the place in your brain
    that always takes you home.

  306. Paige

    Empty Rooms

    Fare thee well, o’ nights lost to looking
    And days of hopeful searchings
    Stale breath and empty rooms
    Lingering smoke of karaoke echoes
    Bouncing between recorded lines
    Sung off key to out of beat foot tapping
    Grinding hips sway and thrust
    Faces lit up with smiles of alcohol
    Saw dusted floors of flashing lights
    And brown beer bottles clanking

  307. Jane Eamon

    This is the first time I’ve ever done a poetry challenge, I’m a songwriter. So I found it interesting, rewarding, frustrating and infinitely fun. I looked forward to the prompt every day and shall miss it tomorrow…thank you all for writing such interesting and cool stuff…

    jane eamon

  308. Linda Benninghoff


    Rain sheeted the house.
    You had gone in a train
    The day before. The drops
    Kept needling my mind–
    I wasn’t glad or sad
    That day, just vexed
    By the shining dogwood
    In the yard, our cat
    Who still seemed
    To know you–the
    Believability of all things,
    The shimmering air.

  309. Sammy

    To see you lying there
    It stings to know that you are gone
    What is meant to be a peaceful point,
    leaves us, on earth, without words.
    You are safe now in the Father’s hands.
    There is no pain, no sadness, and no cruelty in a crippled
    body where you dwell.
    There is no mystery of what will be but only joy
    We miss you, please pray for us.

  310. Robby Lynne Strozier

    It is time
    to say

    is pulling
    on her gloves
    all bundled
    in her coat
    and closing
    the door.
    Be gone.

    is having
    the door
    in her face
    told she is
    not invited.
    Be gone.

    is unloading
    her clothes
    all of the
    and rooms.
    She is here.

    be gone.
    be gone.
    she is here.

  311. Walt Wojtanik

    And I would be remiss if I would forget to mention Carole Egler, De Jackson, Kimberly Thompson and Sara McNulty in my praises. Thank you for your inspiration and poetic skills. I’ve relied on both.

    I just can’t stop this:

    (A Revision)

    It’s not really easy
    for me to explain,
    and I’ve analyzed it
    for a long time.
    Even I can’t really
    put into words,
    although they are
    my tools of choice.
    You’ve all touched my life
    in so many incredible ways
    And never cease to amaze me,
    even after thirty days.

    This past month
    has been a learning thing,
    and who knows
    what the future holds for us.
    There’s no pretending
    that I even have a clue.
    It is just really clear to me
    beyond the shadow of a doubt,
    I have enjoyed all you have done
    to help complete this circle.

    Whether we stay
    these “poet friends”,
    as we have for this time,
    and we magically become
    the poets we’ve all
    imagined we could be,
    Or maybe even both
    would happen to occur,
    As long as this P.A.D.
    was in our lives
    we will have had a reason to smile.

    Something about this challenge
    made me smile uncontrollably.
    Not just with my mouth,
    for my mouth was only
    the outward manifestation.
    And not just with my eyes,
    for my eyes were merely
    the triggers for my smile.
    You have all planted
    this smile in my heart,
    and its roots go
    all the way to my soul.

    Thank you for what
    you have all been to me,
    which is pretty much everything
    I could have hoped.
    For being the poets you are
    has made me all that I could be.
    And adding a happiness
    to this crazy life of mine
    is what you have done best.
    You have given me a reason
    to smile as you always have,
    in all ways,
    for thirty days,
    with all of you.

  312. Sean Hanrahan

    New York Farewell

    The last hastily eaten bagel and slurped coffee
    subway breakfast. Strolling past the dives in
    Alphabet City where I spent many hours consuming
    friends and listening to the wisdom of freshly
    poured beer. Never have I wanted, hoped for, loved
    anything as much as the pulse of Manhattan’s
    taxi-strewn avenues, the dangerous neon lure of
    Broadway and sex shops, the over-priced clothing
    boutiques beckoning me with the guarantee that if I
    forked over some cash, I, too, could become a Jackie O
    style icon. The last pilgrimage to the secluded grove
    in Prospect Park where the city disappears for just a
    second, and God is even possible. Entering the final
    Chelsea gay bar, watching the queens, who never have any
    intention of leaving, scan the trade with their habitual,
    amused, and pursed-lipped disdain. Tears in my eyes,
    crossing the Verrazano, the skyline refracted and
    flickering in the rear view mirror. God, this city
    has never looked more beautiful and less full of promise.

  313. Beth Rodgers

    Farewell to Saying Farewell

    Memories cascade through my mind
    As I say farewell to time gone by.
    Saying goodbye seems easy until
    You realize you don’t yet want to give up
    On those dreams you once had
    Journeys you once took
    Emotions you once felt
    Stories you once told.
    Farewell seems to be a euphemism
    For the tragic ending that always seems to come
    With everything you always feared giving up
    And somehow had to come upon relinquishing
    As time passed.
    So I say farewell to saying farewell
    And promise to keep goodbyes at bay
    Allowing every memory to be closer to my heart
    Than the last.

  314. JaniceMartin

    I started this adventure
    At my baby girl’s request.
    “I can do a poem a day,”
    “After all, it’s Writer’s Digest.”

    Did not know what I was getting into!
    Never written free verse or haiku,
    And the sestina almost killed me.
    But somehow I made it thru.

    And I was so rewarded
    With the world’s within your minds.
    You tickled me, thrilled me, teared me.
    Recollections of the month only reminds

    Me – how very much I will miss you all.

  315. Freyda Tartak


    Each time they leave
    A pout appears
    Screaming, no wait for me
    I’ve got a gift to give to you
    Don’t leave
    Not now
    Not yet
    Don’t go
    Why don’t you stay tonight
    I’ll miss you when you’re gone
    When they go she goes and plays
    Then licks her wounds
    Goes to sleep
    The door bell rings
    She runs and jumps
    They’re here
    Hooray, hooray

  316. Terri Quick

    Day 30 Farewell

    I can not believe it’s been 30 days
    Of writing a poem a day without to much delay
    First thing after dinner I check the prompt of the day
    Immediately my mind drifts away
    To find the words I want to say
    My mind goes into word play
    Sometimes I find it really hard
    many would think my hearts been scarred
    For the words I write are from the heart
    And it takes some time to tear the emotions apart
    I know I sound so very sad
    But really for all I’ve been through I’ve actually glad
    I’ve grown into such a wise woman
    I’ve learned for everything there is a reason
    These past 30 days I’ve had a blast
    I can’t believe it went so fast
    Goodbye to all of my writing brothers and sisters
    I’m honored to have shared this time with all of you writers.

  317. Doug Pugh

    The Sound of Musing

    so long, farewell
    auf wiedersehen, good night

    goodbyes are such a killer
    dreaded associations
    of cherubic singers, kiss curled
    clad in thigh slapping lederhosen

    so long, farewell
    auf wiedersehen, good night
    last words before
    Dad would turn off my light
    the voices of
    my demons in the night

    so long, farewell
    auf wiedersehen, good night
    they fuel my fires
    they fill me up with spite

    I find myself running
    through the spiel with a Glock
    in my mental hand
    maniac grin on my face

    so long, farewell
    auf wiedersehen, adieu
    I’m going to shoot
    you and you and you

    which is usually
    when Mom winds
    the window down

    ‘We’ll see you next week then.’

    ©DP April 09

  318. Wayne Mizerak


    Her departure brought forth mixed emotions.
    I felt the sorrow of leaving,
    filled with bereaving and grieving —
    enough to fill the oceans.

    I felt, too, the hope of times to come,
    of new beginnings and new friends —
    when my heart would make amends
    and feel less glum.

    Great joy is impossible to destroy,
    despite all which the world might employ.
    If what was lost had little value,
    my tears would be few.

  319. Sammy

    To see you lying there
    It stings to know that you are gone
    What is meant to be a peaceful point,
    leaves us, on earth, without words.
    You are safe now in the Father’s hands.
    There is no pain, no sadness, and no cruelty in a crippled
    body where you dwell.
    There is no mystery of what will be but only joy
    We miss you, please pray for us.

  320. Deb Brunell

    …to the Past

    I’m letting go of the animosity
    the awkward moments
    that still make me blush
    the pain of lost lovers
    but will keep their love
    no more dwelling on what can’t be changed
    “What if’s” can be fun whilst a game
    but don’t take them to heart
    they only bring sadness and shame
    forget not, the experiences
    and learn from their lessons
    things we’ve done effect us
    please don’t let it drive you insane
    so, learn from the bad
    treasure the good
    but never go back
    the Past is right where it should be.
    Behind us.

  321. Cathy C. Hall


    Every summer, crossing the bridge,
    leaving our vacationing behind,
    my daughter says, “Goodbye, Beach.”
    “Goodbye, Tybee Lighthouse.”
    “Goodbye, Favorite Hush Puppies.”

    It makes me smile, because I
    know we’ll be back next summer,
    the hot sand will stick in our suits,
    and we’ll stuff our bellies with fried lumps
    Of cornmeal and onions.

    So I’ll say, “Goodbye, Robert.”
    “Goodbye Poems.” “Goodbye
    Prompts that Stick in my Head.”
    And here I am smiling,
    typing my fond farewells.

  322. Virginia Shank


    Bucket by bucket we pour it out,
    this need to secede from each other.
    I douse your kisses in water and flood
    the hall so you have to use waders to say
    goodnight. You like to use ice water in thin
    stinging streams sprayed straight toward my eyes
    to keep me from looking too deeply. The greenies
    hate us, all this emotional water waste.
    We should catch the dew of our discontent
    on big blue tarps, then filter it down for the next
    round where we fling insults like ice cubes, aiming
    for the gaps in our clothes, trying to freeze
    sensitive skin. But then we get to having fun
    and it’s hard to say that’s it, it’s over, goodbye.
    So we end up sopping, holding hands, wet fools
    who can’t admit when it’s over.

  323. Maureen

    Day 30 Prompt: Farewell

    The Old Gum Tree

    Leaving the nursing home
    a sliver of moon is
    just visible above
    the sunset. The drive home
    seems longer than usual.

    As I pull into the
    driveway, I notice the
    old gum tree swaying
    through the stillness.

    And in the morning
    I step out to see
    the dog barking at
    the swinging gate.

    Farewell Grandfather.

    Maureen Sexton

    To Robert and all my fellow poets,
    Thank you for this wonderful opportunity. I have thoroughly enjoyed this challenge. I haven’t read every poem, unfortunately, but all those I have read have been terrific. ‘See’ you all again soon.
    Best wishes from Maureen


  324. Jacqueline Cardenas

    Just wanted to say that I have been in awe, amazement, and admiration of the poets that have posted here this month. You have inspired me, and I am thrilled to know there are so many truly talented people out there writing poetry today. I feel a real sense of loss that I will not have your poems to read each day. My days have been richer this month, and I hope that many of you will continue with the weekly prompts, because I have been changed by your poetry and by your showing up here each day with me.

  325. D M Dyson

    Putting a face on
    as the van pulled out the drive
    I knew I was waving away the past.
    They were to become ghosts
    that would linger around
    the rose tinted memories
    dancing around the previous
    alcohol drenched days.
    I knew I was waving away
    their lives being in mine
    and I finally saw a new light.
    And for the first time
    I could easily say goodbye.

  326. Judy Roney


    Farewell my beloved
    I’ll see you in a few weeks
    maybe as long as four.
    Know that the days I am away
    are full of longing for you,
    that poetry pure and free
    drips from my lips onto parchment
    where my tears have served as watermarks
    and my own pumping heart provides
    ink that flows to words like
    love, missing, always, wanting, and touching.
    My dreams are full of you , I hold you,
    kiss you deeply, love you completely.
    The flow of wanting is hard to staunch
    Even more than when you are before me.
    Our farewells are emotional precursors
    to the explosion of our hellos.

  327. Nikki Griffith

    This is dedicated to everyone, especially those who are inspired by the muses to the sounds of yesterday’s music.


    Playing into THE PRELUDE, each poet decided to join
    the PROCESSIONAL. Just like MARIA, we regret this pause
    as we cherish the sanctity of this supportive environment that challenged us to CLIMB EV’RY MOUNTAIN, with
    THE LONELY (Goatherd) prompt which birthed SOMETHING GOOD.

    Each day’s prompt was heard like a yodel from far and near and embraced like a MORNING HYMN. Through the month, bonds were formed. I went from black and white into Technicolor from April SIXTEEN GOING ON SEVENTEEN. I learned that writing with fellow poets was one of my MY FAVORITE THINGS,
    in addition to singing. (DO-RE-ME-FA-SO-LA-TI-DO!)

    As I personally form my own poetic SOUND OF MUSIC,
    I HAVE CONFIDENCE that from here, we will continue to
    grow together. So until the next OVERTURE,
    SO LONG, my friends, (ALLELUIA) FAIR very, very WELL.

    Inspired by one of MY FAVORITE THINGS, and THE SOUND OF MUSIC Soundtrack


  328. Vandy Shrader


    i’ve had enough.
    i’m done.
    can’t keep living
    this monotonous, monochrome life,
    gray on gray,
    where others see color.
    i’ve had enough.
    i’m done.

  329. LBC

    Bitter Goodbye

    There will come a day
    when the forces within me
    will align
    with the sun,
    the moon,
    and the stars,
    to set this caged bird
    free to fly.
    There will come a day
    when I will soar to great heights
    and the word farewell
    will taste sweet on my lips.
    But for now,
    my heart is anguished,
    and the word goodbye
    tastes bitter in my mouth.

  330. Robin D.

    Bahama Vacation

    Fond memories of a magical, blissful vacation

    Arriving on an island too gorgeous for words

    Relaxing, recuperating in a place resplendent

    Energy restoring my spirit and soul occurred

    Way too soon did I have to depart

    Every ounce of me wanted to stay

    Logic wouldn’t allow me a longer respite

    Love and fondness of the Bahamas fills my heart every day

  331. De Jackson

    Farewell to Prompt & Circumstance

    No more Poem A Day?
    What’s that you say?

    No more daily prompts?
    No more writing romps?

    No more ticking clock
    To make me tock?

    No more Tuesday two?
    No more haiku?

    Sestina no more?
    (Well, THAT I adore.)

    But no more shadorma?
    Just back to normal?

    No more poet stalking?
    No more rhyme rocking?

    No more typing my heart?
    Really, time to depart?

    No more daily diet of lovely word soup?
    No more ‘clicking’ with this little group?

    Aw, poop.

    This has been an amazing experience for me, writing every day and just being here among some of the most talented poets I’ve ever had the privilege to read. Thank you all for sharing yourselves this month, and thank you to everyone who has taken the time to encourage me. It means more than you will ever know. Robert, thank you for all of your hard work and leadership! I’ll be back every Wednesday, and again in November!

    With a fond farewell, de
    (real email address is de@wordplaybyde.com…couldn’t register under that one for some reason)

  332. Laurel Szymkowiak


    He descends on you in the afternoon
    with cleaving steps,
    shredding you into pieces.
    There’s so much blue in his song–
    wavering blue hovering over
    the goodbye—the other themes
    will come to you later. His coldness.
    The questions. The abandoning—
    he won’t call it that—
    but you will.

  333. Steve King

    In The Wind

    He stands on the valley floor
    staring into the evolving night,
    as the fiery red, orange, yellow
    patchwork balloon fades with the sun,
    unveiling a million, year old stars,
    each born on her arrival.

    They’d stood for hours, face-to-face,
    hands clasped, silent as souls
    memorizing the contours and curls
    that made her "She" and him "He";
    drowning in the engine’s roar
    that filled the patchwork bag.

    The balloon drifts silently away, forcing
    him down among the windswept grass,
    curls blowing in his eyes, and questions
    dilute his resolve to remain in the wind
    with no balloon to catch her.

  334. Kimberlee Thompson

    That Birthday

    I left the gift bag hanging
    from your front doorknob.
    Didn’t want to disturb you,
    you’d just had a baby.
    The pajamas were soft,
    forgiving in size and cut
    for the new mom.
    They buttoned down the front
    and bloomed with stars and moons.
    I thought they were just right,
    but your husband phoned in
    your thank you message
    and we never spoke again.
    Did you put the package away
    unworn, stars glowing
    dully in your drawer?

  335. Sharon Mooney

    Goodbye, Hello

    Goodbye to bare boughs on the trees.
    So long to ice skates, sleds and skis.
    Adieu to ash from our chimney.
    Farewell to winter’s freeze.

    Hello to tiny growing things.
    Greetings to roller skates and swings.
    Bonjour to all the birds that sing.
    Welcome to glorious spring!

  336. James Longley

    In This World

    How can we take so much time
    fretting at the forms we might enter
    when this present flesh unravels?
    How, in a world of lavender pushing
    up through concrete, of a lone crow
    speaking in bare branches. How
    in a world gnashing and swelling
    always, in a world of roving stars
    and winds that know us to the bone.
    How, when we meet so many faces:
    moon, iris, poplar. When we leave
    a mirrored room and feel certain,
    in our pulse and breath, we have left
    another one of us behind.

  337. Lynn McLure

    The Transient

    I leave places,
    homes carefully created,
    flowered with fabric, cushioned, painted
    to welcome temporary friends and
    create illusions of forever.
    My life is stage set and
    I a dream created character,
    hauling silver and Persian rugs
    from river’s edge to mountain top,
    always finding nice young men
    to do the heavy work
    and nice old men to pour the scotch.
    My guests admire my taste,
    I am an artist of domestic space,
    graciousness detached.
    My work complete, exhibited,
    I rearrange my ennui,
    my restlessness begins to search
    for some new place to be.

  338. Sandra J. Robinson

    A Farewell to Doubt

    At the approach of 60 years of living,
    it is time to bid a farewell to doubt.
    All month, doubt asked
    am I a poet or merely a word manipulator
    with a nice way of phrasing?
    Do I belong in the company of copyrights,stanzas
    beautiful,wrenching,funny, touching
    and complex poems from so many hearts?
    Or should I just trust and thank what flows through me.
    Doubt poses the question, April is over, now what?
    Do I go back in the poet’s closet or share 30 poems,
    revealing them to my world.

    A farewell and a thank you to all,
    as doubt slinks away,
    chased by poems on paper and a determination
    to accept and allow whatever comes,
    without judgment.

  339. S Whitaker esteph20@hotmail.com

    Farewell to the Onancock Carnival 19 months removed

    The carnival grounds are crunched and blasted,
    cement blocks sink into the earth
    and the jagged ends of the sawed off fence
    are mouths of rusty dinosaur insects
    laying in thick grass. And the shells of the old rides
    house birdshit, and butts, and cracked bottles,
    rusty nails. And for a small boy the ruins
    are a musk, as dangerous as a woman’s thigh.

    In winter, with the short light, the old field
    lumbers with ghosts. The boys swear it, when they meet
    to plot and lie about fucking
    something is always lurking beyond the unkempt hedgerows
    rounding the occasional homes.

    Beers will be nicked. The high December moon
    will find the dead girl, the one that went missing in July.
    The boys will find her
    as they wandered around stoned for the first time.
    Their names will appear in the paper.
    they will be heroes,
    but they will not return to the grounds,
    unless it is daytime, and the sun is high,
    and they are among many people.

  340. Nancy Hatch Woodward

    When We Lost Ourselves

    Single story, white cement block house
    990 square feet of living space.
    It was our first house – that moment you sign
    Your name on the dotted line and accept
    That you are an adult.
    Who could have know how much
    Life it would hold over the next
    Seven years, as we grew to four?

    Ellicott St. holds first steps, first tears,
    Questions I was never prepared for,
    You dressed as Princess Leigha,
    Clover necklaces, first steps, fears
    Of Reye’s syndrome, dancing on your
    Father’s feet, singing to Michael
    Jackson’s “Beat It.”

    The day we drove away, I had
    Never cried so hard. It felt as though
    I was leaving my third child behind.
    This house, which now seems so simple
    And impoverished, was filled with the
    The essence of all that we were and
    Would become.

    We’ve never gone back there.
    It is not possible to find
    what we left behind
    When we moved on.

  341. Lauri Land


    Gazing down the street
    I can’t believe you’re gone
    I bid farewell, my sweet

    Will you have enough to eat?
    You arose before the dawn
    Gazing down the street

    Choose a window-facing seat
    Did I just see you yawn?
    I bid farewell, my sweet

    Without you, I’m incomplete
    As I wait upon the lawn
    Gazing down the street

    I know I should retreat
    Will you talk or be withdrawn?
    I bid farewell, my sweet
    So fragile and petite
    My kindergarten swan
    Gazing down the street
    I bid farewell, my sweet

  342. Dianne Borsenik

    The End

    There never seems to be an end to it:
    Heaven, Hell, inside, outside, up, down–
    Every thought, every comment,
    Every proposition debated until I’ve
    Nearly lost my temper, and my mind.
    Didn’t anything change in all these years?
    My inner child is screaming to be heard;
    Your inner child is bullying the Yard.
    Opposition seems to be the order of the day.
    Nailed to an imaginary cross, I hang
    Limply, refusing to fight,
    Yielding to the pressure, to guilt, to the
    Fantasy that if I give in, it all might go away,
    Resisting the temptation to thrust the sword
    In my own side to finish it. This is the
    End, my friend. No more. Let’s
    Nurse the dream, nurture it to completion, to
    Death, and let it drift away, on its path to…

    (April 30, 2009) Dianne Borsenik

  343. Jennifer Terry

    "PAD Challenge Farewell"

    So long; Farewell
    It’s been a month- Oh my!
    We came, we’ve read’
    at times we might have cried.

    You’ve brought your talents
    and shared your writings true.
    The challenge may be over,
    but I wish the best for each of you!

    *Dedicated to the fine writers who have inspired, amused, and yes- even taught me to stay the course; THANK YOU!

  344. Kathleen De Witt

    Farewell, Farewell

    Frenzied mind plucking lost memories
    As I embraced the Poetry Challenge
    Robert set for me, thirty poems in as many days.
    Ever mindful of the illustrious company in
    Which I found myself; humbled by the beauty of
    Each poet’s vision, obscure or illuminated,
    Leading me into the recesses of my own soul.
    Labor of love in a dark labyrinth.

    Final challenge snorts its fire this day.
    Armed with pen and paper I stand
    Ready to confront my fears and
    Extract the last of my creativity to
    Write one final modest creation.
    End of challenge has led me to a deeper
    Love of poetry; its form and beauty
    Lie within my heart, embracing my memories of all of you.

  345. JC Walker

    ashes on a bookcase
    photos in a book
    a favorite rhyme
    and wintertime
    a suckerpunch left hook

    you were my fiercest critic
    you were my dearest friend
    manners of an esquire
    ya bit me like a vampire
    one day we’ll be together again

  346. Marissa Bell Toffoli

    Letting Go

    Someone laced ribbons of hope through the clouds like sunlight.

    Here I am at the edge of the world, laughing in the dusk.
    Each sound is calico and reverberates in the air.

    I will wait, look out in the fathoms for you.

    Both our bodies lived in this blaze of white sky,
    knotted strings of muscle and bone braided

    together to be stronger than they appear.

    The way a handshake can surprise. Here, teetering
    at the edge, laughter is an agreement. Someday

    I’ll be able to tell our whole story, when we’re no longer

    afraid of endings and our tears
    are leaves that disintegrate and disappear as they fall.

    -Marissa Bell Toffoli

  347. Julie Achterhoff

    farewell my youth
    gone are the days when
    gravity didn’t matter
    and I could’ve been thin
    goodbye to my memories
    that are lost
    somewhere in the mind
    but that’s the cost
    of losing everything
    I ever loved
    and everybody
    that made me move
    I’ll miss you oh youth
    maybe we’ll meet again one day
    but when that will be
    no one can say

  348. lauren clare buchanan

    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

    Farewell, Au Revoir, Auf Wierderzein, Goodbye
    A Bien Tot, Adios Amigos, Check Ya Later,

    We’ve Come To The End
    Where we say Farewell
    I’ll try in Rhyme
    To cover languages I know
    And others I have learnt
    Along my path, lost times
    O So Long Ago!

    Check Ya, See Ya’s Later Maaaayte, Dude I gotta go, Bye Y’all, I’m Bailin’
    You stayin’ or comin’ with?
    Later then? Alrite? I’m Off, I Gotsa Go!

    Ayoo, Hatana, Tata, Ciao Bellas, Adeiu, Farvel, I’ll See You Soon,
    We’ll do coffee or brunch?

    Ta Ta, Dag, Salukes, So long my friends, Until We Meet Again,
    Good Health, Salut, Bye Bye, Adio, Xaire, Aloha, Shalom
    Hasta La Vista Baby, Ya da Ma, Bom Bom

    Slan go foill, Arriverderci, Sayonara, Bai Bai,
    May you go in Peace, With the Good Lord’s Grace

    So many languages to choose from
    Yet I’ve only covered a few so far
    What strikes me most is how similar many of them are

    Though this competition has been torturous, my entire life has seemed taken hostage
    My brain, mind, soul, heart and body Fried,
    Like a Kentucky Chicken Piece hot oiled and greased.

    I have learnt so much,
    Been exposed to such amazing poetry and poets that have inspired and bedazzled me
    I’ve a long way to go, but yes, it’s been fun,
    To a Point …
    Yo .. anyone got a CybaGun?

    I will miss you all
    Robert the most
    Our Mentor
    Our Prompter
    The Man I affectionally call
    Our Poetry Boot Camp Leader

    At Least He likes My taste in Musique!

    So Fare Thee Well my fellow aspiring poets
    It has been my pleasure and honour to read your work
    I wish all of you luck
    In your future endeavours
    And let’s all

    November, we’ll see
    Life gets in the way

    My favorite farewells though
    How I say goodbye and thanks to my friends

    ‘hugglez n kizzlez’
    ‘fangz n nibblez’

    to us ALL,
    especially those of us who did fall behind .. and who pulled many an all nighter, to catch up, like myself ;)

    more coffee than blood runs through my veins, and the nicotine smoke
    well, writers must smoke!
    It’s distinguished you know!


    So farewell my friends, farewell this competition, farewell April
    Farewell My Mission


    ~ Lauren Clare Buchanan ~

    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  349. Michelle McEwen

    Wow, what fun I had this April. April is my least favorite month and this just made it so much better! Thanks Robert Lee Brewer. Also, thanks to Robert Lee Brewer for the sestina prompt– I really had fun with it.

    First off, I’d like to say "way to go" to Richard-Merlin Atwater!

    Also, thanks for your comment Walt Wojtanik– and I enjoyed reading all the poems you posted here! You’re the best.

    Thanks, too, to Missy (my sis) for your idea for today’s prompt. You already know how much I love your poems. Your sestina rocks!

    Nancy Posey, Lori D, J. Martin & J. Hugh MacDonald: I really enjoyed everything you posted this month! I looked forward to reading your poems.

    Good bye everyone, it’s been lovely!!!

  350. Patti Williams

    One more – and the the last from me for the month …

    “It’s goodbye to all my friends
    It’s time to go again
    Think on all the poetry
    And the pickin’ down the line.”
    Guy Clark

    We all wrote
    True to our selves,
    True to hearts,
    True to reality.
    We wrote what came
    And I say cheers to
    To the poets,
    To the words we bled.
    Now it’s time to
    Take our souls
    With us, back home,
    Repaired, edited and
    Time to face up to
    The music,
    Face up to what is
    Still there,

    Whatever is left after the
    Poetry is gone.

  351. Stephanie Thomas


    There are some things
    That seem to never go away,
    They stick with us forever
    No matter what we say.

    Some even say
    Good things never end,
    But we all know
    Not to end is a sin.

    Days come, days go
    Some just weather the storm,
    Years pass just as fast
    While we all try to get along.

    Moving on may not be easy
    Neither is letting go
    Good or bad it has to offer
    A smile formed very slow.

  352. Kathleen Cassen Mickelson


    Pack up the last of the kitchen pans,
    sweep the corners of our old room,
    give the dog one last pat before
    we put the final load in the truck.

    Listen to those traffic sounds,
    the kids at the playground across
    24th Street, the skateboard clipping
    down the sidewalk in front of McDonald’s.

    What will our next place sound like?
    We think we’ll never miss the cars
    at the drive-thru behind this house
    or the smell of Chinese food in the evening.

    With cautious excitement we say
    goodbye to 24th Street, farewell
    to noisy summer nights, searches
    for parking places, flashlights aimed

    at ghosts in the alley, cracked sidewalk
    cement, bicycles that whiz past
    the corner, art students from the museum
    This is familiar, this busy boulevard

    where we last unpacked our belongings
    and ourselves, where we learned
    to be just this: a family.
    Beautiful chaotic first home, we’ll always love you.

  353. Melissa Hogle


    For over
    A month I wrote
    Really random poetry; made an
    Effort to expand my abilities…
    Wrote new forms and
    Elaborated on my understanding of others.
    Lucky us for the experience,
    Let’s do it again soon!

  354. Victoria Lee Collings

    Just wanted to add this poem that I don’t believe was copied on day one. So just in case I am adding it here.
    Thanks to Robert and all who particpated. I had a great time!
    My best,
    Victoria Collings

    Starting Place
    From the pen in my author’s hand
    To paper, to computer, to an agent I Iand

    Looking up to faces that smile, many more frown
    Around and around I go, going to be a big thumbs down

    Back I go to my starting place
    With red ink all over my face

    Sentences moved, paragraphs added, characters disappear
    It’s a whole new re-do that’s for sure

    Back to the agent I am sent
    I remember this place I went

    A round table with the same faces
    Passed around to more smiles than frowns, I may be going places

    Numbers tossed around in this auction room
    Looks good for me, hopefully famous soon

    Nods are given
    Hands are shook
    Look at me I’m a new book

  355. De Jackson


    she looks back at her footprints
    sinking in sand
    a fading farewell
    to where she’s been.

    how long will the surf take
    to swallow them whole
    erase her history
    and free her soul?

  356. Brian A. Hartford

    A Loss Of Senses


    Brian A. Hartford

    I contemplate my loss of sight in the eventide,

    The sunset will be missed, much more than dawn.

    The colors of Fall in the mountains will be missed,

    But not as dearly as greens and pastels of Spring.

    I meditate my loss of sound in the loudness of the city,

    The sounds of Bach, Mozart, and Mancini will be missed.

    A song from a bird and laughter will be missed much more,
    But I think not as much as my Love’s sighs of delight.

    I imagine my loss of touch in the moments of daybreak,

    The warm of the sun will I miss, much more than the cold.

    The feel of her soft hair and soft skin will be a regret,

    But not as missed as the tingle of intercourse’ end.

    I invent my loss of taste in the solitude of the forest,

    The tastes of fast food burgers and pizza will be missed,

    Taste of spring water or a good chardonnay will be a loss,
    The bitterness of the lemon and the sweet apple much more.

    I ponder my loss of smell surrounded by the dense murk,
    The aroma of baked bread or sweet honeysuckle will I miss.

    A redolence of sea air is a loss-more than the rank smog.

    All missed, but the poignant fetor of lovemaking-most.

    A Loss Of Senses(Concluded)

    Pondering of these losses separately are most frightening,

    But the loss of one will intensify the others-it is said.

    To loose all is death in this plane of existence we know.

    Yet to have perceived these senses, they endure eternally.

  357. Victoria Lee Collings


    I say farewell from the heart
    Not sure I even want to part
    Writing short stories plus a book
    I gave this site a quick second look
    Glad I did as it’s been fun for me
    Everyone has such talent you see
    Too many poems to give a shout out to
    So many names Walt, Broyce, Ina and Sue
    Thanks to all who worked this site
    Robert Lee Brewster you’re alright
    All the poems were such a joy to read
    I bid you farewell and good luck indeed

  358. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    Lain D. Kemp: I loved your "A Farewell to Alms" Great poem. Reminds me of my childhood and youth: I was the son of a "Blind man" who never physically saw any of his 12 children in his 100 years of mortal life! My mother was an orphan! Together they raiseed us 12 children, and for a few years we lived in a tent in the back woods of Miane (no runing water, absolutely NONE of the amenities of life that we all take for granted in America). We lived on the charitable kindness of The Salvation Army, the Baptists, and the Mormons. Your POEM will always instill within me a REMEMBRANCE of my "ROOTS" and the humble sacrifice that my Mom and Dad made to raise us as "Christians" and patriotic citizens. Six of the 12 o fus kids served in the US Armed Forces. I was priveleged to have a 23 year career in inteligence.

    Anders Byland Thanks for the GREAT TOOL of compilation ease available to all poets, YOU saved us all a lot of agony and turne dit into ecstasy.

    Thanks Daniel for the reminder of "humility" Good poetic thought!

    Hannah & Marie Elena YOU each remain Twin Ms. Congenialty enshrined for "Eternity" as the April choice to diminish April showers for all LIving Poets

    Walt: "I like you" Be Happy! Forever

    Christine Bass: You have an excellent poem somewhere that i ‘m trying to find about "The Ninety and Nine, versus the one lost sheep—one of my favorites (Apologies for my "bawdry Chaucer inclusion which came out of the blue–having read much of Chaucer

    I like "the Mc Ewen girls"

    I like all of you.

    Best wishes to Mollie and Pearl—SMILR, Be happy! You’re LOVED!

    General Robert E. Lee (Brewer): Great strategic Battle as you prompted us into the "fray of life"

    KUDOS to all for sticking with it and Finishing

  359. Michelle McEwen

    1993 Yearbook: My Last Will

    I, Michelle “Twin” McEwen, leave the fun
    times at BHS with S.O.T.C. and DA FAMLEE:
    Maia, Nikki, ‘Nelle, ‘Toya, Jestina, Melissa, Le-
    slie, Aprell. I leave Summer `91 to the Lopez
    boy. I leave my cheerleading moves, especially
    my cartwheel & round-offs & herkie. To my
    Cousin Cookie: another year. To my younger
    sisters: much homework. To Radiah & Deanna:
    I leave the Barry Circle days & bike rides
    to A-1 gas station. To Leslie Shell: the big-fun
    we had at Rockwell Courts when I moved
    to Brookdale. To Kahil B: pay me! To Titus
    Lumpkin, I leave all the money I owe him. To
    the freshman: three more years. ‘Toya, I leave you
    Pershing Avenue, my weird baby name
    list, & Larry Johnson. To the step-show crew,
    I say, “You know we got it!” To Corey, I leave
    Michael Jordan. To Jestina, I leave Corey.
    To Nichol, I leave Todd & his boomin’ car
    & to my enemies: you can get the
    finger!!! Peace— class of `94, it’s your turn!

  360. Kathleen Claire


    The blue park
    climbing equipment
    sprinkler pool
    suspended bridges to stomp across
    sitting on Saber tooth tiger
    acorns in pockets on the trail
    moments from years ago
    loved and mourned still.

    Elementary school
    weekly spelling tests
    special school songfests
    soccer swimming basketball cub scouts
    summer day camp
    may be a math teacher or soccer player.

    Intermediate school
    4th grade sleepover in new building
    honors classes
    weekly math packets
    growing in sports scouts
    trumpet player likes the sound
    what’s next.

    Jr. High become middle school
    long, lean too big for classroom furniture
    school sports now
    soccer basketball
    broken collarbone
    wants German gets Spanish
    cutting grass in the neighborhood
    before school band class
    concerts played in the high school auditorium
    a look ahead.

    High school
    soccer year round
    no more trumpet basketball honors English scouts
    computer courses
    as many as possible
    lobbying for web page design job
    and gets it
    dragging feet on college
    great more studying
    finally choosing
    almost at the finish line.

    Farewell to parenting a young child
    the long goodbye was hardly noticed
    until we grew into parenting a young adult.

  361. Andrea Boltwood


    Her car was a sinking ship
    as she drove into the horizon.
    With those she left strung out
    behind her, she moved unsoundly.

    Map-reading was pointless,
    like tracing veins on a leaf.
    Her direction was pointless,
    like a spinning bottle.

    She turned, left shamefaced days
    in the dustbowl that churned them,
    went out for a place to whet
    softer fears, to find less faces.

    For a place where she
    could not miss fortune.
    Unfamiliar and chimerical,
    a sieve, freeing her of waste.

  362. Kathy Kehrli

    An Un-Acquired Taste

    Drawing me into the bathroom
    Before school,
    Mom moved up the day
    I knew lay imminent yet
    Chose to ignore
    Into non-existence.
    “Say goodbye to Inky before you go.
    If he jumps out the window again,
    I’m letting him go this time”—
    The ‘go’ wrapping tight around it
    A robe of eternity.
    The walls claustrophobically strangling me,
    As they likely did to my dying cat,
    I slipped my arms around his
    Skeletal body, once rich with ebony fur,
    And caressed his whiskered face
    Against my nose.
    In the teardrops that slid
    Down my cheeks,
    I tasted my first spoonfuls
    Of the cancer, mortality and grief
    On which I’d grow to consume
    A steady diet.

  363. Serena (Savvy Verse & Wit)


    Off in the distance
    You’re small.
    Almost an ant on my picnic blanket,
    the one with the pink butterflies.
    We used to take it to that park
    on the corner of Western Ave. and Main.
    I know it wasn’t much of a park,
    but the grass was soft,
    so green.

    You’re standing on asphalt,
    the blanket disintegrated in the dryer
    lint balls scraped away into the basket.
    It reminds me of our final days
    when the voices pitched high
    fists and fingers flew at the air between us.
    We made Swiss cheese of oxygen.

    There is no sunset on the horizon,
    more like high noon
    in the O.K. Corral, guns blazing.
    Only we never dropped
    to our knees in that kitchen
    Or here as the cab drives away.

  364. H. Marable aceable

    He’s not a good guy.

    He hates long goodbyes.
    He hates short goodbyes.
    He’s not a goodbye kind of guy.
    Long goodbyes prolong the
    inevitable break-up.
    Short goodbyes give him less chance
    to make-up,
    but still there’s time to wake-up.
    Best avoid the long or short goodbye,
    the pretense of being a good guy.
    He’d much rather hem and haw,
    shuck and jive, duck and dive.
    Leave them in a lurch,
    Think of himself first,
    not worry about feelings hurt.
    He’s not a good guy.

  365. Shauntice Rodriguez

    A final kiss and you turn from me
    My cheek burns still at the thought of it
    Smaller and smaller you grow in the distance
    You become a blur, an apparition, a memory
    Fading slowly into the night, only to return as a dream

  366. Tiffany Quick


    Goodbye to the person I loved,
    to the person that made me feel me,
    the one I didn’t hide from,
    but the one I ran to.

    Goodbye to the friends I always had,
    to the ones that took the time to take me out of my shell,
    to the ones that never gave up on me,
    the the ones that really cared.

    I wave goodbye to them,
    knowing that during the next few years,
    I will never see them again.
    Knowing that they will be there,
    but I will be here,
    and so I say my goodbyes,
    with a hug and a wave,
    I slowly leave,
    a tear rolling down my face.

  367. DJ Vorreyer

    On Faring Well
    after Anne Sexton

    To draw breath upon the shrill
    of the alarm each morning,
    To wake beneath the sturdy roof
    of your house each morning,
    To turn a handle for your tepid
    bath each morning,
    To place the key into a lock
    when you leave each morning.

    Anne said All this is God,
    but still, for her, it was not
    enough. She desired instead
    the firm punctuation of goodbye,
    the end stop, the finite version.

    I won’t paint a thank-you on
    my palm, Anne, but I will
    gladly say to each and every
    thing and face I love – for it is,
    after all, a blessing, a hope,
    a command – stay safe while
    I am away from you, speak
    your sorrow and your joy –
    in other words, fare well.

  368. Martin Anthony Dorn

    A DIEU

    An ode to the poets partaking,
    creating, poeming, A-Poem-A-Day.

    A thousand high the poets fly
    to stand up for their nation.
    Tween March and May so I dare say
    they offered pure imagination.

    Twentyfive thousand new poems
    were born out of fascination,
    to make one month a poetry month,
    a feast for the entire nation.

    Hundred thousands eager verses
    from versed poets’ dedication
    replying promptly to the prompts,
    eagerly awaiting publication.

    May their artful contributions
    create deserved appreciation.
    Farewell till we will meet again,
    at new challenges in creation.

    An ode to the poets partaking,
    You rock, creating A-Poem-A-Day!

    © April 2009 by Martin Anthony Dorn

    Many thanks to Robert, your contributions to poets and the enhancement of their art is stellar. May you be repaid a thousand times for all your efforts in this direction!

    Your challenge was fun and enriching in many ways.
    Keep rocking!


  369. Margot Suydam

    Farewell to Red

    You took me, when we were
    young, into your bare bone

    apartment, above the Communist
    bookstore on a ragged downtown

    street, not yet on the rebound.
    In your single bed, I found

    refuge from clattering children
    and banging dishpans. I melted

    into the crooked staircase,
    the tattered volumes of Marx,

    Hall, and Chairman Mao.
    A castle with one quiet room,

    you held guard under high
    ceilings, an ancient chandelier,

    and an antique bathtub,
    rusted at the root. Once

    you drove all night to rescue
    me from my mother’s knife-

    sharp words, that gripped
    the fabric of our heirloom couch.

    But your firm hand pressed
    close against an itching heart,

    and your silence swelled
    —became a bundle

    I soon put out on the curb,
    next to my red leather book.

  370. Steve


    The wharf quails a shaggy fist
    At the sea’s salt-searing whips,
    Which tear at the shores,
    Lick and lave the leewardings,
    As seashells fill up with blood,
    And the cormorants’ cry
    Pierces the leaden air,
    Cleaves a line and bites it deep
    So the edges burr–
    Engrave this knowledge–
    The heart’s flesh shines like copper,
    And song is torn by sea’s hands,
    Thrown into scaly spittle on the waves,
    But still discerned in discrete golden drops.

  371. Nakita Bickle


    You came with spring,
    As the sweet pollinated breezes
    Blew through the air
    You where there.

    An angel of a thought
    Among many minds,
    Like flowers softly
    Glimmering in the gentle waves
    Of life.

    That’s what you were for many.

    But you where doomed,
    At the very beginning of your life,
    Just like your brother only the age of two now.
    We do our best to soak in his sweet pollen
    And cherish it.
    Only God knows what he will be like.
    We pray for him every night.

    He might miss you,
    Perhaps if his sweetness dwindles
    In this foul world,
    When maybe you could have brought him hope.

    But your pollen fluttered to another kingdom
    Just as quickly as you came into our thought,
    We were forced to say farewell,

    Though we never met you.
    Though you were never born.

    -Nakita Bickle

  372. cinnabit

    Goodbye Apartment

    Thirty seven and a half boxes
    Packed and taped tightly shut
    My assorted belongings
    Sealed and hopefully
    Protected against the over zealous
    UPS shipping process
    My apartment looked empty
    Stripped of everything that made it mine
    It echoed…

    Determined to travel light
    Selling pictures, appliances
    I gave away everything that anchored me
    To this life
    I wanted few reminders
    In the final walk through
    I remembered everything
    About how I moved in
    Alone and feeling broken

    This tiny apartment
    Helped hold me together
    When nothing else was left
    I was sad to see it go
    But I had outgrown it
    And as I turned the key in
    The lock for the last time

    I couldn’t help the tears
    That wet my cheeks
    Relieved and thankful
    For having had a place to
    Call my own these past
    Two years while I retreated
    Into myself and work
    Moving through the
    Healing process
    I was finally ready to leave
    Apartment 13205

  373. Jessica Goodfellow

    Shifting Gears

    Farewell, alphabet,
    there you go,
    marching 26-deep
    into the sea.

    Farewell, scribbles,
    smears of ink
    writ in water
    which the body is, 86%.

    Farewell, April.
    In Japan it’s
    already May,
    18-hour time difference.

    Farewell, words,
    I forsake you
    for the love of numbers,
    which are endless,
    is also endless.

  374. David Blaine

    Impossible Poem

    It can’t be done
    the farewell poem

    each sorrowful so-long
    someone else’s smiling hello.

    Who can tell the difference
    between if and when anyway?

    Perhaps keeping the faith
    means never having to say —


  375. Anahbird


    Goodbye my love-
    whom I have loved
    with all my might.
    But constant denials,
    the never-ending no’s,
    eventually erode
    the heart’s path,
    forcing it to tread
    through wilderness
    and find a new road
    on which to stay.
    I will find my path
    and I bid you well.
    Perhaps someday
    our paths will
    meet again and
    goodbye will
    become hello.

  376. letter2V

    Rif Letter

    At the interview she
    told me it could happen.
    Still I had high hopes. Arrived
    to work early each day in
    professional attire. Never made
    excuses to skip night class. Gave
    my all to urban youth. Today formal
    letter was hand delivered with
    an apology. Sealed white envelope
    increased my heart rate. Opened it
    sooner than later. Swallowing
    hard did little for a lump in my throat.
    Positive thoughts crushed by a
    non-renewable status. Blame budget
    cuts and low enrollment. Only one
    month left as a first year teacher.
    A polite notice of my termination. It’s
    like being fired so I must prepare
    to leave with no chance of returning.
    Tenured colleagues all said, "It will be fine."
    Rain poured from my eyes. Doubt
    hovered above my head despite warm
    embrace. Time to revise my resume.

  377. Darla Rehorst

    Elegy for a Fish

    To Fernando we now say “so long”
    You were family, you truly belonged
    You made bubbles and swished
    You sweet little fish
    Help our maple tree grow big and strong

  378. Elizabeth Wilcox

    Hey everyone – just wanted to say it’s been great to share National Poetry Month with such a dedicated group of writers, and I’ve really enjoyed the (small portion!) of the poems I’ve been able to read. Thanks for a great month, Robert!


  379. Elizabeth Wilcox

    How To Escape

    There’s a way to go
    behind the houses
    that I can tell you
    if you’ll listen.

    You can take it
    when you want to go
    alone, or when you
    need a break from

    eyes. There’s shade
    there, and lots of grass,
    and a path left by others
    who knew what you

    know: underwater,
    everyone feels

  380. Carrie Johns

    Farewell, dear life
    I wish you well
    But there’s some things
    That have put me through hell.
    Broke and bewildered,
    Dirty and unkempt,
    Society’s standards
    I hold in contempt.
    I know that I’m nothing
    For that’s what I’m told
    And my dinners and beds
    Have long since grown cold
    Farewell, dear life
    I’ll miss you some day
    But what, when, and where
    I cannot say.

  381. Carolyn


    A bout the time you make a
    B ee-line for the door, your once
    C harasmatic-like ways gone to
    D ust, you realize that all your
    E fforts in self-glories and justifications
    F lail in the wind of your
    G ifted excuses and alibis that
    H allowed your tongue and
    I nstigated your ongoing
    J ostling of
    K eeping all your
    L ies and
    M anipulations in proper order
    N one of which went without notice
    O r observation, your
    P leading and begging
    Q uiver in the moment that
    R ests now on your
    S houlders as you
    T ry once again to fake
    U nderstanding of the
    V olatility of this relationship
    W hen all that is required is the
    X eric atmosphere of
    Y our being
    Z ealously follows you out that door.

  382. Padgett Posey

    I’ve enjoyed reading through all the postings each day, and I’d like to give final shout-outs to some of the people whose work I made it a point to search out each day:

    Paris Elizabeth Sea
    Keith S. Wilson
    Melissa "Missy" McEwen
    Julie Mahfood
    DJ Vorreyer
    Iain D. Kemp
    Brian Spears
    David Blaine
    Del Caine
    lizz huerta

    I’ll be looking for your books!

    Thanks to Anders for the excellent Dintur gadget ("concocted in his spare time"–loved this!)

    and thanks to Robert (& Tammy & the family)for taking the time and creating a space where we could all feel heard this month.

    Happy Writing!

  383. Amanda Kelley


    Not a chance!
    You can’t get rid of
    me that easy.
    I’ll be with you
    all the way.
    Through the thick
    and the thin.
    I wonder if you will
    be there for me too?

  384. Sara Furch

    (This is supposed to be centered–visually, it’s like a symmetrical hourglass; the blog format wouldn’t let me do this, though.)


    Try to have good dreams, goodnight, my sweetie
    Here, wrap this around you, rest your head
    Do want the TV off? There, all comfy?
    One more pillow on the bed?
    Let me get that for you
    I love you, too

    Oh, I’m not sleepy
    I’ll check on you later
    Give that glass back to me
    Last drop? Hahaha, time to discover
    You can’t move, enjoy what you’ve been fed
    I hate you, bastard, soon the poison will see you dead!

  385. Kristy Worden

    Farewell to April

    Farewell to all whose words I read
    Goodbye my fellow poets
    Upon your thoughts, my muse has fed
    I hope my poems show it

    Perhaps we’ll meet again this fall
    And here by hook or crook
    Each one the inspiration find
    to write a whole chapbook

    (Thanks Robert for all the hard work, thanks all you inspirational, creative people, nice to meet you…Kristy)

  386. Nicole R Murphy

    I don’t want to say goodbye;
    But it really is time to go.
    I don’t want to leave;
    But we have to start for home.
    I am having a fabulous time;
    But it’s time to got to bed.
    I’m having a good chat with Maggie;
    But you’ll see her tomorrow.
    Look, just one more drink;
    You won’t stop at just one.
    I promise that I will;
    You always say that.
    The party’s just getting started;
    And I’m finished.
    Just ten more minutes;
    I’m leaving now.
    All right. Just let me say goodbye to everyone;
    No more than ten minutes.
    I don’t want to say goodbye
    But the hubbie says it’s time to go.

  387. Tom Stevens

    a thousand farewells

    the old wooden boat
    wind and water creaking
    was at first considered
    a hallucination
    as it had been
    for many empty years
    on the haunted shore

    he said
    her loved her
    he meant it
    but he convinced himself that
    he must sail
    to find his fortune

    she rolled her eyes
    cringing at the cliché
    but she knew
    she could not argue
    once his mind was set

    birds screamed
    echoing across
    endless water
    standing in the sand
    as she watched his boat

    and the only words
    that left her lips
    on the haunted shore
    were a thousand farewells

    passing weeks
    at first seemed cursed
    a thousand hours
    she spent
    serving a thousand ways
    she hurt

    but soon
    the change came
    instead of crying
    she set to work
    using stones
    and other means
    from this
    she created
    and it became

    while creating beauty
    she found clarity
    that made miles of hurt
    less painful
    to navigate

    as time passed
    with healing hands
    people began to
    travel to her creations
    she became wealthy
    without trying
    with gold
    and other riches

    some fools reckoned
    she could be
    taken advantage of
    but instead
    they often fled
    with scars resembling
    intense regret
    at their own
    if they escaped
    at all

    and there were
    handsome suitors
    for her every mood
    passing parades
    but instead she
    busied herself
    creating one work of beauty
    after another
    to keep the pain
    mostly at bay
    as more buyers
    arrived daily
    as if sent
    by forces that
    she did not understand

    the old wooden boat
    was not a hallucination
    five years gone
    yet she was there
    waiting as if
    she knew

    as he stepped onshore
    clothes ragged
    bones weary
    soul joyous
    reason for living
    despite years of doubt
    the heavy case
    full of riches
    weighed heavy
    in his hand

    he raised the case
    as his mouth readied
    a speech for her ears
    rehearsed a thousand times
    but instead
    she raised a
    smiling finger to lips
    and it was then
    they were reunited
    arms entwined
    for now
    and the future
    flesh and soul
    as one
    and she heard him
    that he would
    say farewell

  388. Shirley Alexander

    Goodbye, My Love

    Clear eyes offer reflections of water,
    though we both know we are shore bound
    and settled into pockets of native soil.

    Choices have been laid bare,
    no longer open for so many days
    and years to follow.

    I have no choices to offer,
    to myself or anyone else.

    My life is formed; responsibilities
    and severing born to light without warning.
    Acceptance sometimes rewards,
    and I know I must stay.

    Whatever our truths reveal,
    that urgent image of you, as I first saw,
    remains a constant in my life.

    I know it will never be enough
    to calm the stormy ocean of my dreams.

  389. Pearl


    You made a grand
    entrance into
    the wide-open
    places and empty
    pockets of my heart.
    Together and inseperably
    we rested
    on what was,
    defying was wasn’t
    and gambling on
    what could be.
    We trusted and shared
    secret places within;
    the burning laughter
    melting our dry,
    ice-cold spirits.
    with panicky screams of
    fear have
    you fled?
    Bumping me over
    and over again
    with sore,
    icy words.
    Like angry, honking geese,
    you have migrated
    from me;
    silently crawling
    away, past
    the sagging sun.

  390. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    (Hope this counts! I’m more the one being farewelled than doing the farewelling.)


    Fare thee well! and if for ever,
    Still for ever, fare thee well
    – Byron

    “Go well,” my friend Maureen always says
    instead of goodbye – like a blessing,

    the true meaning of “farewell”. I never feel
    finality in leaving her, I feel her care for me

    and its foreverness. Her words go forward with me,
    a mantle of protection. As I travel forth from her

    I am warmed; her loving wishes accompany me
    in benediction, and not for that moment only:

    Love is my companion, attending all my journeys,
    all my dailiness … until we meet again!

  391. Sara McNulty


    Fat frog on palm frond
    Green on green, he croaks a tune
    Fared well `til snake bit.

    Hope you all had a wonderful month. Until Wednesday then…

  392. Lisa G. Beaudoin

    The First Farewell

    All weekend long you held me close, loved
    me tight, and rocked me to sleep every night
    after reading me just one more favorite bedtime

    story. We played jacks and chased balls, watched
    that funny man splashing around in the rain on the t.v.
    while you sang along, and we laughed like Sunday would

    never arrive. But, Sunday came, as it always does,
    and you had to leave once more. All the joy, all
    the laughter that we had shared fled, vanquished

    by the sorrow and the fear that maybe, this time,
    you would forget to come back, and I would be all
    alone. As your old blue VW rumbled down the drive,

    then turned into the street, I followed you flailing
    my arms and waving my hands while tears bathed
    my face. My arms and legs pumped harder than

    they ever had, but three was too young to race a car.
    As the vehicle carrying you away from me reached
    the corner, nearly out of sight, I yelled as loud as I could,

    “I love you, Mommy. Don’t forget to come back next week.”

  393. Mario

    To scanning the Web site for a new prompt
    To spending a few hours thinking about it
    To waiting for inspiration to strike
    To staring at the screen as I wait.

    To wondering what story to tell
    To searching for the proper words
    To checking for spelling errors
    To finally deciding to hit "send."

    To reading the other comments and poems
    To marveling at the talent on the screen
    To worrying about how to compete
    To all those who have met this challenge.

    To thinking about the certificate
    To hoping to make the e-book
    To trying for the perfect poem
    To pretending to be a poet.

    To the sestina forever!
    To Two-For-Tuesdays
    To poems of longing and love lost
    To a month’s labor.

  394. TaunaLen

    farewell to the
    twenty-nine odd
    voice mail messages
    the mountain of bills
    growing on the
    counter alongside
    dishes from some
    teenage apparition
    evidence of their
    nocturnal raiding
    in back of the fridge

    farewell to the
    alarm droning every
    morning in that
    obnoxious tone
    the snooze bar
    teasing, eight more
    minutes of respite
    before the buzz
    interrupts, demands
    wakefulness now
    mandatory attention

    farewell to the
    dandelions, crabgrass
    creeping, climbing
    backyard jungle
    the syncopation
    drip, drip, dripping
    from the leaky
    bathroom faucet
    the protestation of
    the squeaky hinge
    on the cabinet door

    farewell as I cruise
    wind buffeting my face
    tires singing out
    against the highway
    shimmering heat
    rising between
    me and the sunset
    freedom beckons
    bid stress goodbye
    greet the horizon
    and chase the road

  395. Liam Mullen

    Farewell to thee…

    Farewell to thee,
    Poets, One and all…
    Farewell to thee,
    All you gallant knights!
    Your poems are a beacon,
    On a dark sea, even Atwater
    has brightened the Lee, and
    as they say from the banks of the
    River Lee, or the banks of any river in
    Eire: Slainte – Your health Agus
    Slan leat – Goodbye!

  396. Natalie Lorenzo-Carpentieri


    My last name never held any special meaning to me
    as names do not define a person.
    I think of what I held on to for years,
    saddled with a false hope of a family reuniting
    and realize that the woman who raised me
    is all I ever needed.
    And so, I will take her name in a short time
    and bid goodbye to the last tie that man
    who’s last name is Lorenzo had
    to a shy, quiet girl living in California now.

  397. Shirley Alexander




    Ode to Friday, May 1st

    Here’s to Friday, I won’t have to write
    another poem unless I want to.
    This will all be over on Thursday night,
    and Robert will have his job to do.

    Here’s to Friday, when the judging starts,
    and the poets sit back to wait.
    I don’t envy the editors for their parts
    in deciding our published fate.

    Here’s to Friday, and the medals we win
    for making sure each day is completed.
    Oh goodness, wouldn’t it be a sin
    if something were accidentally deleted?!
    (oh my!)

    Here’s to Friday, when we come back
    the prompts will be so much fewer.
    Grab a cold one, and hit the sack.
    This Bud’s on Robert Brewer.
    (just kidding, R)

    Here’s to Friday, I hope you all had fun
    following the prompts and the guides.
    I’ll see you all when April is done,
    next month on Poetic Asides.

  398. Odessa Simon

    And so it ends–
    This whirlwind this
    Rainfall in the desert this
    On and off romance.

    What am I saying?
    I’m going to bleeding
    MISS you
    Don’t know what I’ll do
    WITHOUT you
    Feel like I’m just
    DYING a little inside.

    I hope we make it
    Through this hiatus.


  399. Margaret Gates

    Day 30 Farewell

    Just what did it cost me when God took control,
    Took charge of my future, my life?
    What price did I pay for salvation of soul,
    Release from my heartache and strife?

    Farewell to my hopelessness, gone my despair,
    My home, which was wretched’s, now grand.
    Not one thing worth keeping is lost, I declare,
    Since Je-sus took over command.

  400. Akua Lezli Hope

    Farewell to Prompts

    Farewell to you, sweet daily chore!
    This month has gone fast, inspiring a corps
    of poets to create, examine, and explore
    places they’ve never been before,
    how words well worked, may leap and soar.

    Though pens have bled, there was no gore.
    Some opened hearts, some picked at sores,
    some constructed myths, others opened doors
    to new insights, old spells and retold folklore,
    served their stories by connecting their stores
    of what is, to can be and has gone before.

    While writing is hard, it has allure:
    finding glamour in grammar, building rapport
    with its tasty twists, wistful whys and wrenching what-fors,
    or revealing the ache of wayward amour,
    rummaging through broken, overstuffed drawers,
    soul’s dusty attics, steamer trunks, and uncovering more:
    retrieving small stones left on forgotten shores
    recollecting perfumes, bits of song, unsettled scores,
    not always exciting, yet never ever a bore
    to discover one’s source, unveil one’s true core.

  401. Akua Lezli Hope

    Farewell to Prompts

    Farewell to you, sweet daily chore!
    This month has gone fast, inspiring a corps
    of poets to create, examine, and explore
    places they’ve never been before,
    how words well worked, may leap and soar.

    Though pens have bled, there was no gore.
    Some opened hearts, some picked at sores,
    some constructed myths, others opened doors
    to new insights, old spells and retold folklore,
    served their stories by connecting their stores
    of what is, to can be and has gone before.

    While writing is hard, it has allure:
    finding glamour in grammar, building rapport
    with its tasty twists, wistful whys and wrenching what-fors,
    or revealing the ache of wayward amour,
    rummaging through broken, overstuffed drawers,
    soul’s dusty attics, steamer trunks, and uncovering more:
    retrieving small stones left on forgotten shores
    recollecting perfumes, bits of song, unsettled scores,
    not always exciting, yet never ever a bore
    to discover one’s source, unveil one’s true core.

  402. Gretchen Gersh Whitman

    PAD- April 2009
    Prompt: Farewell

    April Lament

    When I am gone
    I don’t want a marker
    of mute cold stone.
    When April fades
    I don’t want you
    to grieve over
    the dry closed face
    of daffodil or tight
    forsythia, wrinkled
    like crepe paper.

    Think of me when
    scrawny deer molt,
    crushing twigs down the hill,
    when white magnolia shout, wild
    purple pansy and gold dandelion
    crowd the yard like gossips, when
    lawnmowers jar silence.

    I will plant a tree in May
    so you can say
    there she is etched
    in gnarled bark,
    never quiet,
    slight leaves rustle, noisy
    roots stretch and argue
    in damp dark forbidden places,
    in chatty coffee shops and
    farmers’ markets,
    in dusty bookshelves,
    in greasy homeless subways,
    in sleazy black leather peep shows,
    in the rumbling graves of Arlington,
    Normandy, Cambodia, Iraq,
    thirsting to tell all,
    anxious for Zeus’s thunder
    and discourse with
    fat clammy worms.

    © Gretchen Gersh Whitman April 2009

  403. Kimberly H.


    I threw my luggage on a boat and sent it out to sea
    I bid it farewell forever
    Then I pressed the button and watched it explode
    Every bad memory was blown to pieces
    But the joke was on me
    Because the ghosts of the memories
    Somehow made their way back to shore
    And followed me home
    And sat on my shoulders once again
    As if I had never said farewell.

  404. Jeanetta Chrystie

    Spring Cleaning (by Jeanetta Chrystie)

    We don’t clean “Spring.”
    We clean closets
    and shelves
    too long stuffed
    with memories:
    Pretty dresses
    and fun jeans
    that used to fit better
    in another lifetime
    when we were young.
    Shoe boxes of
    and old letters
    from an earlier love—
    kept because it felt
    or exciting;
    to reread them
    and remember.

    are a dangerous thing.
    Neither people
    or times
    can win
    against rosy-colored

    Perhaps “spring cleaning”
    means to renew
    our spring of spirit,
    bidding a fond farewell
    to jeans
    and flings of youth;
    so we can
    the now
    with our whole heart.

  405. Nanette M. Buchanan

    No more Good-Bye’s

    As I waved my hand, my emotion’s stirred,
    The memories of the visit, the conversations, page after page, word after word, I understood it was time to depart.

    As I parted my lips to say farewell,
    The thoughts and challenges, the laughter and peace
    As I wrote each poem with mental release

    With each stroke of the key, a smile came upon my face
    I remembered the first post, in this square box, a poem, I thought there would never be enough space
    Before I say farewell or goodbye,
    I want to express my thanks, with each poem you helped me to fly

    To another level, each challenge brought me to a new height
    My goal was to finish, but now that it’s over there’s another to look forward, November’s challenge brings new light
    So my good bye is a warm embrace and blessings to all,
    And the words, stay well, stay strong and stable do not fall,
    See you later friends, fellow poets and most of all
    Robert thank you for the inspiration, and giving me a boost the challenge has made me feel ten feet tall

  406. Sactokaren


    I used to let relationships happen to me.
    I blindly followed my partner’s lead.
    I relinquished my choice, my needs,
    My wants, my desires, my life.

    Stepping away to a new path,
    But something pulls me back.
    Resistance to the direction
    I know I must take.

    It is time and I am ready.
    With some regret I move on.
    Regret stems from leaving the familiar.
    But regret fades, replaced by anticipation.

    New actions replace old habits.
    Thought goes into every action taken.
    Actions produce results; good and bad.
    Repeat actions that spawn desired results.

    The prior path is a part of my past.
    I bid it adieu – a fond farewell.
    I will not fall victim to my past mistakes.
    This is a new relationship; my new life.

  407. Marian Veverka

    First love, farewell

    Follow the path the moon has made
    Rippling across the water
    No farther shore will rise to meet
    The traveler on his last journey
    Travel on, the stars have scattered
    Small islands where they fall
    On summer nights, too hot to sleep
    Your slumber in the cool and deep
    Goes on forever.

    Once we stood here, you and I
    Climbed the rocks to watch the
    Rockets bursting in the sky
    A holiday summer, every day
    Was made for lovers , all the
    World opened to receive
    Our slightest wish – we would
    Be parted never.

    First loves – the memory never fades
    You danced at my wedding but
    Not with me. I had the better
    Bargain though. One winter filled
    With ice and snow, you traveled on
    The ice to fish, fog rolled in, and
    You were lost, another tragic tale
    To tell, another woman mourns
    Your memory forever.

  408. F.L. Topliff


    That dock in late April-
    you never looked so fair,
    sun kissing your face
    as I would forever,
    could you stay.

    In the space of one,
    a lover’s final hold-
    our forever moment,
    until the ship’s horn blew:
    Always, always, always-

    Farewell and away.
    We moved apart so slowly.
    One last kiss, one last turn,
    one last smile, so fair,
    always so.

    Hand out past the deck rail-
    a final kiss on the wind.
    The seagulls cried,
    and so did I.

  409. Christy Brewster

    Day 30 Farewell


    Endings can be so bittersweet
    And this one is much the same
    Each days’ prompt, like a birthday treat
    A surprise made for my brain

    I cannot stop, I fear I’m hooked
    This has become a ritual
    Each day I’ll add to my book
    It has become habitual

    So, thank you all for awakening
    My old love for poetry
    Be assured, I will be writing
    You haven’t heard the last from me!

    Hopefully, I’ll get better!! ; D

  410. Melissa "Missy" McEwen

    I Know You

    When the train leaves,
    you won’t wait and wave
    goodbye until it is no longer in view.
    You’ll be halfway home
    by the time the train pulls
    out of the station.

    Goodbye all. Walt thanks. I enjoyed your poems too; it was like reading a chapbook of wonderful poems. Walt, I looked forward to "ctrl+f"ing your name everyday and reading what you wrote.

    Robert Lee Brewer, it’s been fun! I never thought I could write a poem a day! Whew, I did it! Thanks Robert Lee Brewer for the challenge!

  411. Heather Taylor

    The End of Childhood

    They sparkled, gold rain through fingers,
    chains snaking across our palms, settling
    around chubby necks, rings swimming on
    stunted digets as mum napped an afternoon
    away. In the top drawer, a box rattled,
    a delicate jingle, our excitement only forgotten
    upon opening, a Pandora’s box of milk white
    baby teeth breaking tooth fairy beliefs in a moment.

  412. Laura Kayne


    The time came at last
    To say goodbye,
    To new friends, adventures taken
    And sights seen,
    To return to normal life –
    Work and home awaited.

    An escape for just a few weeks,
    Travel in a faroff land,
    Over all too quick
    And just the farewell left to do.

    Time had seemed to stand still
    On this iylidic trip,
    Another life, another world,
    Far removed from all we’d known.

    Bright colours, burning sun,
    Buildings reaching to the sky,
    Everything bigger and bolder,
    Everything over-real.
    Home would be small, grey and cold,
    A distant and strange land now,
    Further out of reach
    Than the tallest skyscraper.
    But we had to return,
    Knowing it had to end,
    And all that was left
    Was to say a final farewell.

  413. Susan LeFort

    Farwell to my first flat
    Just one room self contained
    Own bath so the ad said
    You lacked potential
    I saw that from the first
    Yet you grew on me
    I etched each wall
    Every nuance into my memory
    The smell of the curry from the flat above
    The would be rock star next door
    The pot reeking from the hallway
    The crazy neighbours,
    The late night police calls
    The working girls on the corner
    I will be moving up while moving out
    But I am going to miss this place

  414. Judy

    Day 30: Farewell

    Sad songs
    tell of mournful
    to love,
    to life,
    to freedom,
    to dreams.
    I sing farewell
    to all the things
    that have imprisoned me
    in a lifetime of conformity.
    Farewell to
    conventions that stifle,
    relationships that smother,
    resentments that smolder,
    regulations that shutter common sense,
    all the joyless, politically-correct
    bindings of a joyless existence.
    With arms open wide
    I say, farewell forever and
    welcome a new day of
    loving and living and
    the freedom to dream!

  415. Daniel Ari


    how things seem to end,
    the notes finally growing so quiet
    as to lose the last rogue thread of our attention.

    Nothing’s gone, just settled out,
    like sounds dropping into the sea
    as though the sea itself weren’t sound.

    Nothing’s done, just evaporated
    like rarified gas into the ore-threads of space–
    as though the vacuum didn’t hum a bit.

    Eventually, all our celebrations wander down to the shore
    to sit and daydream and fall into a white sleep.
    Yet until we end, we never

    Love to all…


  416. Phil Boiarski

    One Night Friends

    A poet in a café, who taught me
    Vallejo by reciting his poems intensely,
    a few hands held, kisses kissed, misses,
    an army of see-you-soon acquaintances
    never to be seen again, a host of faces
    in magical places I can’t possibly
    squeeze in the next grand tour,
    a legion of dead, from schoolmates
    to women who held me as a baby,
    especially those I never got to say
    goodbye to, who needed good God
    to be with them and should
    have had my blessing as
    we parted ways.
    Forgive me.

  417. Carol Berger

    I was drifting off to sleep last night when it popped into my mind that Robert would probably prompt us to write a farewell poem today. No, I have not done PAD before. It just seemed logical. And there it was this morning!I thought about getting up and writing a farewell poem, but decided I needed the sleep first!

    Thanks to Writer’s Digest and Robert for sponsoring this and to all the poets who contributed. It’s been fun being part of this.

    Here is my farewell poem:

    “The Unspeakable”

    We both knew it was goodbye
    without having to say it.
    There was something in your eyes,
    your tone of voice, your insisting
    on giving me my Christmas present early,
    although I said to wait until after
    you got out of the hospital.

    It was just supposed to be a routine surgery.
    “Don’t call the hospital,” you said –
    you’d call me as soon as you felt up to it,
    in just a few days. Then, when you
    came home, I was going to help you out
    with groceries, housework, and errands,
    whatever else you needed.

    I tried to reassure you that everything
    would be fine, but I could see that
    you didn’t really believe me, and even
    as I spoke, I didn’t believe myself.
    We didn’t have to say what we both
    were afraid was going to happen.
    Troubled, I took the gift and left.

    I waited, hoping for your call,
    but it didn’t come. I thought of
    calling the hospital, but didn’t,
    because you’d said not to. Instead,
    I rationalized that perhaps you had
    forgotten to call, been too busy,
    didn’t have my number with you.

    A week went by, ten days, two weeks.
    Then, just a few days before Christmas
    I finally heard noises upstairs in
    your apartment and decided to call
    and see if you were home, ready to
    give you a bad time about not having called.
    Your son answered the phone.

    I asked how you were doing.
    Nothing could have prepared me for
    the quick response that merely stated,
    “You didn’t know? He died a week ago.”
    Two heart attacks after surgery,
    he explained: the first one survived,
    the second one, not. Sorry no one had called.

    I hung up the phone and began to sob.
    The last time I had cried was when
    you had been comforting me
    over a badly broken heart.
    “He’s not worth it,” you’d said.
    Ah, but you were, and writing this,
    I want to cry again, for the loss
    of my neighbor, my best friend,
    the finest man I’d ever known.
    We never said goodbye the way
    I would have wanted to, though I know
    we both knew when we parted
    that afternoon that it would be forever.
    We just couldn’t speak the unspeakable.

  418. lorna cahall

    Psychocat Gone Missing

    Hissing to cat hell, I believe.
    Thief, sneaking through the kitchen,
    Terrorizing domestic cats,
    Ripping up kittens for pleasure,
    Screeching unseen, around a corner,

    "I’m the biggest, baddest cat there is."

    Ha! Something bigger gottya,
    Glad to see you go.

  419. Peg Duthie

    Nay, I Have Done, You Get No More Of Me

    [pace Drayton]

    Why yes, I have been spanked by the doors of rooms
    I tried to depart from in a queenly huff:
    it happens if you live long enough,
    just as ancient dust outstays the newest brooms.

  420. Sue Bixler

    My dear friend Lee
    said come write poetry with me
    She thought I would enjoy this site
    And she was right.

    Its been a blast
    the month has past so fast
    I’m sorry to say
    this is the last day

    It has been a delight
    to sit each day and write
    Then post the poem written by me
    for all to see

    What fun I’ve had
    reading poems both happy and sad
    Some touched my heart
    In one I even was a part

    Thank you all for letting me
    read and enjoy your wonderful poetry
    Robert Lee Brewer Thank you
    For all that you do!

  421. Dann Norton

    Fare thee well
    It doesn’t seem fair
    We should get this far
    Then end so quick;
    It seems only yesterday
    Life was a fair; freaks and animals.
    We have no fairy godmothers
    but everyone must pay his or her
    Fare when it’s time to sail.
    Smooth sailing on fair seas;
    Fare thee well.

  422. Christine Swint

    Until We Meet Again

    Oh, goodbye to the shadow under my bed.
    the one I named Agnes in the early days.

    Sounding her name made her flesh –

    See her button eyes, her arms and legs
    stitched to a cotton-filled torso.
    Naming her takes away her power to swallow
    me and the mattress where I lay.

    Adiós to the shadow of her arm
    I mistake for a blackbird flying
    through my window,
    darkness and light rippling
    between the blinds, a shudder
    as it lands behind my breast bone.

    Sayonara to the talons
    Agnes pinched on my branching thoughts.
    She will no longer clip
    the wings of my evenings with her sharp hum,
    no longer burn my mornings
    with her scorched cackle.

    My petite reason for living,
    scourge of my days, I believed
    I needed her to breathe,
    though she was only ashes in my lungs.

    I gave her the sunshine on my long dark hair,
    she left me with wiry strands of grey, a souvenir.

    Bon voyage Agnes. Here’s some cash
    for the road. Turn left at a red dwarf,
    go straight until you find the next black hole.

  423. Nancy Weber

    The End – Day 30

    Today it’s Day 30 and coming to a close
    seems we just began writing poetry and prose
    we’ve found a special bond
    these strangers and I
    submitting daily writings
    and today with heavy sigh.

    Fun and hard, this month has been
    to write a poem each day
    words that have some meaning
    a worthy thought to say.

    This challenge has been for me
    a wonderful use of time
    even though I tend to write
    everything in rhyme.

    Today we sadly say good-bye
    to strangers and to friend
    and bid farewell to our PAD Challenge
    as April comes to end.

  424. Tracy Valstad

    Time to Say Goodbye

    In these wasted years I can no longer hide
    Time has moved so slowly can’t you see
    It’s time I say goodbye to thee.
    I’ve been here for the battles pushed to one side,
    But the battle lines are growing and ripping me apart inside
    I must leave for my “self” is at stake. This is no longer a fight I can make.

    My memories fall in streams of tears,
    Of two close sisters and happy family cheers.
    Now those streams hold all my fears.
    I truly love you deep inside, but you cause all the pain I cry
    So, I must say good bye to you now
    Perhaps one day your love I’ll allow.

  425. N.E. Taylor

    Farewell to My Picture Show

    I wish I could
    send picture postcards
    to my brain
    pictures of what
    I want especially
    to remember before
    it is too late

    I’d build a
    a secret vault
    for all of them
    deep and safe
    the smell of
    dark chocolate
    the only key

    I used to know the names
    of everyone in
    my 2nd grade class
    now all I recall
    is the girl who
    cried the day
    JFK died

    All of algebra
    some time ago
    I have fewer
    birthday cakes
    8th grade is gone
    and many parts of Africa

    I have a diary
    and poetry but
    sometimes these
    are colorized or
    cut judiciously
    the handwriting
    becomes an unknown script

    my picture show
    each new moment
    will have to do

  426. EKSwitaj

    Leave Takes

    I didn’t breathe goodbye
    until you were so small
    that if I could have seen you
    you would have looked

    like cherry blooms
    from under eldest trees
    and after you grew larger
    than red American cherries
    than apples
    than melons
    than trucks & SUVs
    in my mind
    I could only see you
    for a time
    like Mt. Rainier, like Fuji

    –I’ve said all this in love & hate
    flying varied seasons, continents

    and only now to you
    in trust we’ll see
    each other human-sized
    to touch again

  427. Tracy Valstad

    Time to Say Goodbye

    In these wasted years I can no longer hide
    Time has moved so slowly can’t you see
    It’s time I say goodbye to thee.
    I’ve been here for the battles pushed to one side,
    But the battle lines are growing and ripping me apart inside
    I must leave for my “self” is at stake. This is no longer a fight I can make.

    My memories fall in streams of tears,
    Of two close sisters and happy family cheers.
    Now those streams hold all my fears.
    I truly love you deep inside, but you cause all the pain I cry
    So, I must say good bye to you now
    Perhaps one day your love I’ll allow.

  428. Cheryl Pearson

    On Loss

    It always seemed like a gentle word, ‘woe’:
    soft as the call of an owl, the low wail
    of a tom-cat at night. But this sorrow
    is constant and ungentle – the cold stone
    with your name inscribed is more yielding. “Bear
    up”, say the mourners, powdery and long-

    faced. They pat hands. We remember the long
    lozenge of her coffin slid ground-ward. Woe
    is the nagging permanence of loss, “bear
    up” cannot stand when faced with it. Some wail,
    some primly dab their eyes, some harden, stone-
    faced, solid with grief. We sit in sorrow

    like a clutch of crows, black and small, sorrow
    the thin line we clot and caw on. The long
    hours slope off like holes (or dug plots: stone
    rows referencing once-loved bones). This is woe
    firsthand – first family death, first grief – and wail
    like ghosts or banshees, weep like willows, bear

    we must the irrevocable loss; bear
    we must the doors closed against us. Sorrow
    smells of earth and lilies, sounds like the wail
    of the dolorous organ. How we long
    to see you next to us, face tight with woe
    over someone else’s sad demise! Stone-

    stiff as the granite hosts on your head-stone
    crying their somber angel-tears, we bear
    up as advised, starched in our best black woe-
    appropriate clothing, stoic, sorrow
    clenched tight behind dry eyes. Trestles stretch long
    and loaded with food: hipslung toddlers wail

    for cake, but we do not touch. Their shrill wails
    deter us, and our stomachs lined with stone,
    lined with sadness. Grandma: remember long
    ago how you brought us a blue teddy bear,
    taller than us? Blackpool rock, books? Sorrow
    is your latest gift, boxed, glittering woe.

    And woe is hard to open – cue the wails
    of sorrow as the paper parts – but stone
    girls bear it: as dogged as the day is long.

  429. NancyBreen


    Every day holds a goodbye to something,
    moments float by and burst like bubbles
    with a glimpse of iridescence hanging on the air.
    Even spring brings unfolding farewells
    as the white pear blooms turn green
    and the fuzzy goslings become lanky overnight.

    Memories can be like Victorian memorial cards,
    with spectral images, dates engraved in gold,
    recording everything that’s passed.
    But who wants a funeral every day?
    We turn our faces to the future
    and insist we’re moving forward,
    not leaving behind.

  430. Linda Balboni

    Subject: Farewell

    "Blackened Green"

    You slither and slide your way to my heart
    while twisting and turning my insides out,
    your pelt of armor sheds only in part
    such slippery skin, your casing self doubt,
    exposing small bits of civility
    consuming my soul, you swallow me up
    all whole, I submit from debility,
    fully exhausted emptied dry, life’s cup,
    the final act of gluttonous stuffing,
    your stomach protruding with slime, so thick,
    before digesting see that I’m bluffing,
    you cannot hold me, release me and I hope you get sick!

  431. Sheila Deeth


    I thought it would be hard to say goodbye.
    I framed the words and dripped them
    With my tears and closed my eyes.

    But you
    You kept your eyes wide open then.
    And looking round no more
    You still saw further.

    It really wasn’t hard to say goodbye.
    What hurt was knowing
    That you wouldn’t be here for hello.

  432. Penny


    It’s so hard to say goodbye.
    It tears me apart,
    to sit here and watch you walk away.
    I want to hold you and make you stay.

    I can’t handle this hurt,
    I wish you wouldn’t go.
    Watching as you get into your car,
    hurts me so deeply.

    Please don’t leave.
    Please turn around,
    come back into my waiting arms.
    It’s so hard to say goodbye!

  433. Barbara A. Ostrander

    Farwell My Friend:

    Farwell my friend
    I won’t be far away.
    We will meet again
    Some day.

    Our hearts have enter-
    Twined like the weaving
    Of a vine.

    We have shared sorrows
    And pain,our joy

    I will leave with
    A sigh,but ours is not
    to say goodbye.

  434. Laura Ciorlieri

    spelled wrong

    Farewell to not Likeing Flowers

    Farewell to not likeing flowers,
    for now I do.
    I love red roses, and pink ones too.
    Use to hate the perfume smell.
    Now I like it really well.
    Now I think it’s romantic,
    because I am an older chic.

  435. Cynthia Reeg

    “Bittersweet Goodbye”

    Blond-haired boy,
    hugs for the asking.
    “I love you, Mommy.”
    Brown-haired boy,
    the question-master.
    Why? Why, Mommy?”
    Now I reach up
    for the hugs.
    “I love you, Dan.”
    Now I am
    the questioning one.
    Why, Matt? Please,
    explain it to me.”
    My little boys,
    no more.

  436. Deb Stone

    Mother’s Last Dance

    You make it easy to suffer the loss
    of importance in the world
    show films of our true selves
    as you dangle just out of reach.

    When others come running, touched
    faces disconsolate, the ice burst
    settled in your skin,
    I become the burnished sun
    you rest against. Their breath

    writes slow notes
    in your periphery. They stand
    bedside, hoping
    to apprehend the music you are
    dreaming; they cannot stand
    you living in previous time.

    You remain in the now
    this very moment, close
    to death: Its softness.
    Its gentle gift good night.

  437. Laura Ciorlieri

    Farewell to not Likeing Flowers

    Farewell to no likeing flowers,
    for now I do.
    I love red roses, and pink ones too.
    Use to hate the perfume smell.
    Now I like it real well.
    Now I think it’s romantic,
    because I am an older chic.

  438. Arrvada

    Farewell to a Fowl

    Beneath a tree
    I found thee
    Beneath a bush
    With flowers abloom
    There I found you
    In the gloom

    The light from your eyes
    Cold and dull you lay,
    Yet dressed in splendor
    Your coat did shine

    I buried you
    Beneath the roses, my friend.

    My you go
    Where the wind does blow
    And sorrow is unknown

    Go my friend

  439. mjdills

    Special thanks to Richard Merlin-Atwater for his lllleeennnggttthhhyyyyyyy poem mentioning everyone! Amazing!

    And Anders Bylund for creating the link so we can all check on our postings.
    Muchas gracias, guys!

    And congratulations to all the great poets!

    Jodi Dills

  440. Sam Nielson

    Leaving the Canyon

    In the high, wide, alpine
    Meadow where weather
    Systems rage in minutes,
    The time-lapse of
    Rushing clouds
    In a view as long
    Or short as they allow
    I sit, a grass blade.

    Just off the top,
    I’m caught in the barrenness
    Like a bit of fluff carried
    Into the wind, a gathering of
    Flotsam caught against rocky
    Outcrops somewhat
    Secure from the brunt.

    Into the treeline I go,
    Where the dark pines and spruce
    With their pleasant monotony
    Of fingers rise up to
    Filter and slow the storm,
    To only hear the wind fury.

    Down into the copses, ravines
    And gullies, I can simply lift
    My feet and fall, too easily,
    Quickly, in elevation.
    The daylight seems exhausted
    From the fray. I make my eyes
    Adjust, widen, and watch.

    The fullness of quiet noise,
    In my ears, my brain reeks
    In real anticipation of something,
    A squirrel, a bee,
    A deer, a cougar and teeth,
    Like the next big quake in
    California, still overdue.

    A silhouette of leafless tree
    Against the too bright sky,
    A couple of crows
    Watch warily,
    Guardians of the gate
    Just to make sure.

    I turn to the west
    To the yellow spots
    In darkness, a valley.


  441. Christine Brandel


    She keeps saying goodbye to him.
    She’s said it a forty times. She believes
    she means it, then he tells her another lie
    and she finds herself as hurt as the time before.
    Every pebble in her heart, every scar on her skin,
    every lock of her hair, a time she said goodbye
    to the one she never leaves.

    *Thank you everyone for an enjoyable month!*

  442. Laura Ciorlieri

    Farewell to not likeing flowers

    Farewell to not likeing flowers,
    for now I do.
    I love red roses, and pink ones too.
    Use to hate the perfume smell. Now
    I like it really well.
    Now I think its romantic,
    because I am an older chic.

  443. Toni

    The Change

    The trees are bare
    Skies a gloomy grey.
    Reds, golds and browns
    Mix together in death and beauty.
    Soon the snow will begin and
    I will say farewell to autumn.


    The Time Came

    You and I had it within our grasp
    We saw it come to life at our fingertips
    Watched it fall apart at our feet.
    There was laughter and tears,
    Spoken dreams and hidden fears.
    You hurt me in ways
    I never knew I could hurt.
    You told me you loved me
    Your eyes told me you lied.
    Before putting myself through hell
    I decided to tell you farewell.

  444. Madeline Strong Diehl

    To my brother sister poets:
    I just went back through the posts for the month
    to make sure I was still there, and realized
    how stupid I was all this time
    to miss you.

    I missed the whole point,
    which was to meet you.
    Most days, I didn’t have time to read other posts
    (450-some, and now, for some of the early days, there are
    over a thousand!). And also, I deliberately tried
    not to. Whenever I’m writing a play or a story,
    I avoid reading other people’s writing to try to prevent
    their words from influencing mine in some way I can’t know.

    But that means I missed the whole point.
    Friendship. Community. Solidarity in this crazy pursuit
    of shepherding words through gates too narrow to let them

    Thank you so much for sharing your most intimate
    memories, struggles, hopes, dreams. Now that I have read them;
    I will never forget.

    And most importantly, in using "control-F"
    to find myself, I found you–the other Madeline.
    We have so much in common–I will write it to you.
    And I noticed you are missing Day 3.
    Hurry–it’s not too late!

    May we all continue with brave hearts.
    It is words, spoken and written with passion, only words
    that have ever changed the world.

    Godspeed, and blessings,

  445. Sandra Evans

    Wish Me Good Luck

    Lilacs just budding
    green with a red dash
    of cardinal body and song
    that begins each morning
    before you can see
    any of it
    one more Spring weekend
    with a pillow over your head
    and the blanket bunched
    at the foot board.
    One more morning
    in your own sweet bed.

    Sandra Evans April 30, 2009

  446. Linda M. Rhinehart Neas


    Like the Israelites marching
    out of Egypt so long ago,
    they flood out into the quad
    full of knowledge and hormones
    ready to face the world head on –
    the latest cohort of learned
    leaving the hallowed halls of
    academia for the great beyond.

  447. Andrea Margaret Elizabeth Porter

    I have enjoyed this challenge of writing a poem on a daily basis immensely as usually I write my poems put them away for weeks and then look at them again and then throw most of them away and then try and upgrade the ones I save and then put those away again for a few weeks and go through the same process again, sometimes several times. I know Elizabeth Bishop spent years writing The Moose before she would let it out into the public arena so I have always felt one should aspire to that careful an considered way of working on a poem. However this challenge has made me abandon that method for a month and I have tried to ensure I didn’t spend longer than an hour on any poem. The result , who knows but the concentrated energy involved in doing this certainly gees up the old brain cells. Many thanks to the other poets who have posted throughout the month for their work which I have enjoyed reading. I too have posted a poem a day and have checked that each poem appeared so hopefully I can now go and lie down in a darkened room with a glass of wine and recover from the challenge.
    Best wishes to all.

  448. Ruth Y. Nott


    Say it isn’t so! Why do all the ones you love always have to go – all the gentle souls
    who leave footprints on your heart, who you always want to hold so safe and close?
    Life will always snatch away the ones who mean the most. Some cruel twist of fate will pluck them from our side before we even know that it’s too late to say “I love you,”
    or to whisper “I’m so glad that we were friends.” There’s nothing left to do, nowhere else to go, for the deed is done and there’s no turning back.

    Tomorrow, without you – the moon without a glow.

  449. Bill Bowling


    Strange the way the mind wanders.
    As I was sorting and folding
    Away all those things
    That you had collected in your life,
    Wondering what am I
    To do with this,
    Each thing containing within it
    The eternal story
    Of its own purpose
    Lost now to my connection–
    I can only know
    That it meant something to you–
    I kept focusing
    On the image
    Of cool water flowing
    Over polished stones
    In the creekbed;
    As a kid, I used to dip
    My hands into the water
    To reach the stones
    That caught my eye.
    I saved these in a little
    Box with other treasures.

    I can presume that
    The water represents acceptance.
    I stop what I am doing
    And walk outside, and am
    Almost blinded
    By the glaring sunlight.

    In my pocket I carry a reminder
    Of my grief, one smooth stone.

  450. Carol Ward


    I faced my mortality
    with no prospect of
    a future.

    I sought the answer
    to the question
    no one asks.

    I tried to escape
    my destiny
    in dreams.

    I ran from the truth
    until exhaustion
    claimed me.

    I let fate embrace me
    it’s my time
    to die.

    I just want to say I enjoyed taking part in this challenge. I revived my love of poetry and got my creative juices flowing. Thanks Robert!

  451. Sabine Metzger-Groom

    Now the time has come
    To discover the world
    Take your first little steps
    Fill your lungs with fresh air
    Open your eyes and look around.
    There is so much
    To see, smell, hear, taste and touch.
    Fare well, little girl, on your journey in life.
    Now the time has come
    To welcome you into this world.

  452. Rachel Green

    Cat’s Eyes and Petrols

    We journeyed together for many a year
    you helped me stay upright when I had a beer
    it wasn’t till later I learned about ‘buts’
    when the doctor examined me – said I was nuts.

    They poked and they proday and sent me away
    to a nice padded room where they said I could stay.
    They gave me some crayons and finger paint too
    and a bucket in case I required the loo.

    A month or two later the gave me a card
    which said ‘Rachel is crazy don’t treat her too hard”
    I said my goodbyes to her lost sanity
    and hello to a shoebox that smelled of old wee.

    Doped up on pills that the doctor gave out
    I went home to me bed and my dogs and my doubt
    I gave up my jod and just as you know it,
    surrendered instead to the life of a poet.

  453. Terri French

    15,246 Kisses

    Cecil Smythe
    always gave his wife Roberta
    a coffee-breathed peck on
    her plump pink cheek
    before catching the tram to his 9 to 5.

    It was customary–
    Cecil would sooner leave the house
    without his trousers
    than without giving Roberta
    her morning smooch.

    The kissing ritual went on
    for years and years,
    Roberta’s cheek going slack with age
    and Cecil’s lips papery and parched;
    But–Thank God–he still had a job to go to
    and a lovely wife to plant one on.

    The morning after Cecil retired
    he sauntered down the stairs
    and into the kitchen where
    Roberta was scrambling eggs;
    He kissed her upturned cheek
    and sat at the table looking forlorn.

    "What now?" he said to his wife Roberta
    who handed him freshly squeezed juice
    And this is what Roberta said:

    "I’ve had 42 years of cheek kisses
    before you’ve gone out the door;
    42 kisses to your Mrs.
    from the man that she adores;

    You have never been remiss
    And never one have I dismissed
    But, now, my sweet, I tell you this
    that we have time for more!"

    Then Cecil Smythe smiled.

  454. Ralph J Fitcher

     Another Year, Another Tear

    Another year has passed
    along with the poem a day
    So much writing amassed
    So many with so much to say

    Robert won’t leave us high and dry
    He’ll give us a prompt each week
    After we all say goodbye
    Robert will give us the challenge we seek

    In another year
    Many of us will return
    Other’s I fear
    Will leave with little concern

    The friends we’ve made
    the community we’ve created
    The plans we’ve laid
    will continue unabated

    We will only slow down a bit
    Instead of one a day
    We will have a week to submit
    The words we have to say

    So, with a sadness in my heart
    I say farewell to one and all
    though, we may not truly part
    May might slow our writing to a crawl
    But Only,
    Until next April when we’ll answer Robert’s call . . .

    Ralph J. Fitcher,4/30/09 Farewell

  455. Debbie Pea


    I cannot say goodbye
    even though we both know
    she is leaving soon.

    As my stomach knots with dread,
    I hug her gently, feeling her bones
    under wilting skin and muscles.

    The next time I see her
    is two days later in the basement
    of the funeral home.

    I feel like I am watching from a distance.
    Someone else is standing in my place.
    Someone else’s mom is lying there.

    I remember back to childhood days:
    Mom napping while my brother and I sneak
    through the room on a mischievous mission.

    She hears us in her sleep and,
    with her eyes closed, she warns us.
    We wonder how she can do that.

    Why can’t she hear me now?
    I want to say goodbye.
    I need to say goodbye.

  456. C. A. Rose

    Farewell to Pollen

    Fare thee well
    pollen. Be gone
    sneezing, scratchy
    throat, itching eyes.

    Rains, wash away
    yellow powder
    clinging to cars,
    not pollinating any

    flowers except this
    dusty old rose who
    loves spring but
    hates pollen’s sting.

  457. Theresa Williams

    We are the ones who say
    goodbye to all that,
    the latest stomach aches
    from eating too many sweets,
    blood on our calves
    from walking through briars in the field,
    the lonely echoes and dead sparks
    inside these bodies we live in.
    Goodbye to all that.
    We are so alive and so afriad.

  458. Taylor Graham


    It took ten years
    for me to write it, turning
    death to metaphor, to see you
    leaping stone to stone
    as river rushed between us –
    stone to stone to star,
    dissolving into Milky Way.

    Four more years. I’ve walked
    the riverbank by sliver-moon
    and snowmelt, thinking I’d
    said goodbye. What has thinking
    to do with it? One star’s
    still dancing. It’s
    still you.

  459. jane penland hoover


    We lingered holding hands
    watched the big rig
    make its move
    toward our new home
    distant from this time and sisters,
    the sheltered cove and pasture,
    where cows chewed their repeats
    unaware of our goodbyes
    to all of them
    the lone great blue
    beavers in their den
    fat turtles lounging on the log
    thin-neck geese resting
    in the waters
    rubbing rhythmic at the shore
    once ours.

    Holding yet,
    a moment more
    we two release
    our hold
    at last
    and go.

  460. Julie Hayes


    There are so many ways to say farewell:
    Farewell, so long, adieu
    Au Revoir, adios, goodbye
    Cheerio, aloha, ma’a’salama
    Well, you get my meaning.

    Farewell is not forever, but for now
    We will meet again, I am sure
    So until that time arrives for us
    I will simply say, “’Til then…”