April PAD Challenge: Day 6

As mentioned in the previous post, today’s prompt involves recording all the details of your day and generating a poem from that material. To make the poem interesting, you probably do NOT want to just list out everything from the beginning of the day to the end. But then again, you could prove me wrong on that–list poems can be very effective and engaging when done right.

As far as myself, here’s what I came up with today on my way up from Tennessee to Ohio:

“We woke up and fell asleep”

“Sleep pretty darling–do not cry–and I will sing a lullaby.”
                                    -the Beatles “Golden Slumbers”

We are born every morning
with or without the ones we love.
She smiles and tells me the world
can wait before we walk the dog.
Then, we dress and go to church.
Faith is surrender, says the pastor.
We are all raised from the dead.
She hands me her pen when I can’t
find mine. We sing a few hymns.
Then, we eat lunch. Surrender is
lying on my back and listening
to her write; surrender is driving
north as she heads south mouthing
I love you.


I hope everyone had a great weekend. And I’m proud of everyone who’s made it this far in the challenge. We’re now 20% of the way there!


You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

139 thoughts on “April PAD Challenge: Day 6

  1. S.E. Ingraham

    Day 6 prompt – details from a day

    Whatcha Doin?

    The compulsion is upon me
    I have to write it out
    It makes me feel subversive
    It makes me want to shout

    I cannot put the pen down
    I can’t control my mind
    My ink seems automatic
    Who know what thoughts I’ll find?

    The weather’s been described
    The TV news reviewed
    I wonder what I’ll write down next
    Start detailing my mood?

    My mood? Who know what that is?
    Mercurial to say the least
    So dark it’s black, now light again
    No way to tame this beast

    Now someone comes to look here
    To peek upon my page
    It makes me feel so foolish
    But it also feeds my rage

    Don’t ask me, “Whatcha doin’?”
    And glow all innocence
    I can’t think up an answer
    And don’t care to make sense.


  2. Linda Hofke

    Sorry, playing catch up. Java Joe should be for the song prompt. Day 6 poem is here:

    Cleaning Day

    Wake up early, make the beds,
    Brush my teeth, cleanse my face,
    Eat breakfast, start to clean the place.

    Load the towels into the washer,
    Scrub the tub and scour the sink,
    Toilet disinfectant kills the stink.

    Wipe the tiles until they shine,
    Fill the bucket, grab the mop,
    Rid the floor of any slop.

    Unload the towels, load the dryer,
    Move on to the living room.
    First I dust, then vacuum.

    Clutter on the coffee table
    Is no longer there.
    Fluff the pillows on the couch and chair.

    Take the warm towels out now,
    Fold them, put ’em on the shelf,
    Then I cook lunch for myself.

    Finish eating, look around
    And know what I must do.
    I’ll have to clean the kitchen, too.

    First the stove and then the counters,
    Sink, cabinets, and floors.
    As I finish my husband’s at the door.

    He seems to be amazed
    That there’s not dirt to find.
    But soon he’ll discover…

    I have a dirty mind.

  3. Linda Hofke

    Java Joe

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

  4. LindaTK

    Here it is, May 6th! I finally got all of my poems in…all of them! However, I messed up Day 6 by a mile. I slipped into auto-pilot, as is often the case when I write; poetry or prose. I was happy with it and sent it. Hours later, as I am dropping off the cliff to the sleep state, it hit me! OMG! I was supposed to do ONE Day and it went from one to four or five. I need to fix it so I can live with the feeling that as far as I know, I met the prompt requirements. If this goes unfixed, it will gnaw at me. So, even if this never gets read by human eyes, I will rest in the knowledge that I gave it my best shot…

    Day 6
    day’s events

    Daze Events

    The morning is as always
    Coffee, graham cracker
    Let the dog out
    Clean the kitty litter
    Clean the rat’s home
    Check the email
    Today the morning included
    the demise of
    a sick kitty
    Gentle Joseph
    Having walked in circles
    Crawling into spots
    that were too tight
    He who never meowed
    He was afraid
    I held him tight
    He settled in
    I gave him Reiki
    He relaxed
    I called the vet
    He saw him
    It’s an infection, or he’s going blind, or it’s a brain tumor
    don’t really know
    They kept him for observation
    and a strong course of antibiotics
    He got sick and threw it up
    Three days
    Lots of tests
    Brain tumor
    “If he were mine, Linda, I’d let him go.”
    Today I let him go
    My heart broke
    Did you hear it?
    The rest of the day
    and night
    mean nothing
    I can’t recall
    the events
    I am in a daze

  5. LindaTK

    Day 6
    day’s events

    Daze Events

    The morning is as always
    Coffee, graham cracker
    Let the dog out
    Clean the kitty litter
    Clean the rat’s home
    Check the email
    Today the morning included
    a sick kitty
    Gentle Joseph
    Walking in circles
    Crawling into spots
    that are too tight
    He who never meows
    He is afraid
    I hold him tight
    He settles in
    I give him Reiki
    He relaxes
    It’s lunch time
    Peanut butter and jelly sandwich
    My favorite
    Check my email
    Try to write
    Can’t focus
    Still going in circles
    In a Daze
    I call the vet
    They will see him
    It’s an infection, or he’s going blind, or it’s a brain tumor
    They keep him for observation
    and a strong course of antibiotics
    He gets sick and throws it up
    Three days later
    Lots of tests
    Brain tumor
    “If he were mine, Linda, I’d let him go.”
    I let him go
    My heart broke
    Did you hear it?
    I am in a daze
    and the rest of the day
    means nothing

  6. Laurie Kolp

    A Mother’s Day

    My day begins bright and early,
    with a cup of coffee, hot and creamy.
    Kids get up, must be fed
    and dressed, ready for school.

    School is where my kids are
    and sometimes I substitute, too.
    On other days, I write and clean,
    shop for food, fold clothes and cook.

    In the afternoon, when the kids get out,
    homework must be done.
    Then its off to dance,
    sports and scouts,
    and tutoring one on one.

    Dinner, I must prepare,
    then help with baths,
    read books and watch TV.
    My life as a mom is busy,
    but there is nothing I’d rather be.

  7. Lin Neiswender


    Got up, pillow head
    Threw back covers from the bed
    Fed the dogs, potty time
    Read some email, poetry rhyme
    Take a nap, feed pups again
    More email, where will it end
    Dress for a meeting, meet at café
    Dragging computer, bad rainy day
    Critique her story, zombies abound
    She reads my article, revisions are found
    More café coffee, brownies as lunch,
    Thunder in distance, time is a crunch
    Head for the home front, play with the dogs
    Open computer, write up a blog
    Feed critters dinner, sandwich for me
    Start up some laundry, now some time free
    Play with collages, digitally
    Make them look pretty, electronically
    No messy glue sticks, no snips of paper
    Just a few mouse clicks, then I just savor
    Potty for dogs now, take a long bath
    Bedtime for Lin, tomorrow I get up
    Do it again

  8. mjdills

    Details of a Day

    Oatmeal for breakfast.
    Mom says,“We won’t need to eat now until dinner.”
    And I think, “Well yeah. You, maybe.”
    Sheets flap in my face,
    Wooden clothespins, clutching my shirt sleeves.
    Dog gets underfoot.
    Lazy on the sofa with my red pencil, yellow highlighter.
    Willie Nelson sings about a “red headed stranger.”
    Nice bass.
    Mom knits, finishes a dishcloth for Emily
    And needs a darning needle.
    Have none in this house. Sorry. Don’t darn.
    Peel a banana. Raid the larder.
    Shower. Dress. Makeup.
    Start the car and turn on the A/C, pleeease.
    Find your hat.
    Where’s the camera?
    Pack the car.
    Drive through the barrio,
    Kids jumping rope, kicking ball, chasing dog.
    Mmmm….chicken stand open, smoky smell in the air. Mmmm….
    Pass the bus, dodge the pothole, navigate the traffic bump.
    Ah, the beach.
    The sand.
    Cuba Libres,
    Cervezas fría.
    Coco runs down up and down the sand.
    Back and forth, back and forth.
    Fish in the ocean.
    Fish on the table.
    Oohs and aahs, lovely gifts.
    Party’s over.
    Coco on Daddy’s shoulder.
    School tomorrow.
    Drive home.
    Lock the gate.

  9. Bonnie MacAllister


    It’s late.
    We’re framing asteroids
    Of oil pastel, spray, and varnish.

    He assembles the kit,
    Holds a slightly rotted board
    Upon his lap as a base.
    Once it was a joist or a bedframe.

    There’s a tiny plastic piece
    That fills the neutral place.
    When you hammer it,
    It turns to pigment.

    The adhesive, milky and waterproof,
    Dries in curds on canvas.
    Fingers stuck with pins,
    Crept into by loss.

    His tumour felt like a planetary accretion,
    Attracting more matter like a magnet,
    Now opposites repel, carbon unformed
    Denser disks, replete with debris.

  10. Karen Masteller

    Church was the fifth thing I did today…
    after devotions, writing, eating my cholesterol-busting oat-
    meal, and running.

    Church was hard to take today…
    after prayer, uplifting praise songs, and friendly greetings
    from other worshipers.

    Church welcomed a guest pastor today…
    after having done his research, he shared survey results.

    Church, as viewed by the demographic group of 18-30 year olds…
    after taking notes on the results, I am re-evaluating.

    Am I really hypocritical, insincere, contemptuous of those who
    are different, boring, old-fashioned, out of touch with
    reality, unconcerned about social justice, prideful, and
    quick to find fault with others?

    I don’t have an answer.

  11. Vivienne Mackie

    #6 Events of the day
    Up early and walk briskly to class,
    To my band of eager students.
    What a pleasure.
    On the way back I linger,
    To savor the soft air,
    The sunshine, the bird song.
    spring was so late this year,
    So this is a pleasure.
    More students at home
    Keep me on my toes.
    My spouse is home for lunch
    —aren’t we lucky he also works so close?
    Then a long amble to return our weekend movies
    One so inspirational—
    "Monsieur Ibrahim".
    Life is hard for some, but often
    There is a way out.
    Hi to a neighbor
    Then decisions about supper.
    Not too late, not too fancy
    Cos this is a week night.
    But always fresh and cooked from scratch.
    we try to keep healthy.

  12. Lorien Vidal

    Cat Must Be Silenced

    Can’t ever keep track of how many times I hit the snooze-bar
    Solitary rituals of preparation,
    Times however many skipped breakfasts
    Add the screeching cat
    And his sweet kiss "g’bye"
    Makes like a vitamin shot in this tired commuter

  13. Diana

    Every day
    At the appointed hour
    I get up first
    And take a shower

    Then I wake my daughter
    We both get dressed
    I’m rushing her
    She gets stressed

    I drop her at school
    And I’m off to work
    Pushing my pencil
    I’m an office clerk

    Then home again
    It’s my turn to fix dinner
    Pick something quick
    And pray it’s a winner

    So we’re winding down
    The day comes to an end
    Cause when we awake
    We’ll do it all again

  14. Monica Martin

    (For Richie Darling. Yeah, I know. It’s his fault. He’s the one who turned me into a sap.)

    The alarm goes off
    And I hit snooze.
    You roll over
    And cuddle up to me.
    I kiss your cheek
    And you smile,
    Making my heart soar.

    A couple more snoozes
    Before we get up.
    We get on the road
    And I take you to school.
    Whispers of kisses
    And Words of love.
    All is my ideal morning.

  15. Connie Meng


    "This bvilding," says the tablet,
    is "a memorial to the men
    and women of this covnty
    who served in the Great War."
    /Before there was a greater war/,
    I think, sitting on a wood-framed
    loveseat in the front hallway
    of the American Legion, waiting
    for my sister to emerge
    from her dance class upstairs.

    I imagine the dark wood halls
    in a busier, more stately past,
    filled with young soldiers
    returned from the battlefield,
    occasionally jot words
    whose sounds I like
    into my notebook for safekeeping
    and future use: /pompadour/,
    /brocade/, /argyle/, /genuflection/.

    The gray-haired gentlemen
    who must pass me to exit
    bid me good-night
    with such kind courtesy
    in their voices, I sit up
    straighter and laugh more
    gaily than the occasion warrants,
    still in my workout clothes,
    hair falling out of my ponytail.


    I used /these slashes/ for italics since HTML isn’t allowed in these comments.

  16. Nikki

    Watching Time

    Morning anticipation
    Break routine
    Expected calls
    Everything proceeds
    Too slow

    All day restlessness
    Try to distract
    Research and writing
    Anything to not think of whom I lack
    Time is crawling

    So I sit waiting
    As time approaches near
    It’s time now
    Time to see you, my dear

    Behind a camera
    But I can still see your face
    We talk briefly
    You make my heart race
    Now I want time to stop

    It’s time to go
    It ends too soon
    I walk away sadly
    Into night, beneath the moon
    Wishing time to turn back

  17. K. K. Todorovich

    Day #6

    Behold a man clothed in Rags…a great Burden on his back…John Bunyan

    St. Mary of Egypt//

    make him a her/
    The rags seductive skirts/
    pilgrim stays though she is unaware/
    approaching the icon of the Theotokos/
    when the invisible gate shuts/
    her out into literal desert/
    the Sinai, alone, no men/
    paying for favors, just her praying/
    now her finery reduces to rags/
    she speaks with desert birds/
    as I scatter grain for those same/
    in this New Mexico desert/
    praising the day given me/
    offering penance of my own/
    penance unmatched by hers/
    though I’ve already received/
    submersion in Holy Water/
    only to witness my burden return/
    grow while hers lifts/
    just before her scrawny death/
    the pilgrim priest returns/
    to fill her last request/

  18. Tad Richards

    Posting late – been traveling and been sick, but mostly been keeping up.


    – — -.. .- -.– .. ..-. — ..- -. -..
    .-. — .- -.. -.- .. .-.. .-.. .- .–. — … … ..- —
    … -.- .. -. -. . -.. –. ..- – – . -..
    –.- ..- .. -.-. -.- .-.. -.– … . .- .-. . -.. — …- . .-. .-
    -.-. .-.. .- -. -.. . … – .. -. . ..-. .. .-. .

    -.- .. -.-. -.- . -.. -.. .. .-. – — …- . .-. – …. .
    .- … …. . … — — …- . -..
    .- –.- ..- .- .-. – . .-. — ..-. .- — .. .-.. .
    -… . ..-. — .-. . . .- – .. -. –. .. –
    .. -. .- … ..- — .- -.-. –. .-. — …- .

    …- — — .. – . -..
    -… ..- – …. . .-.. -.. .. – .-.. — -. –. . -. — ..- –. ….
    – — .-. . — . — -… . .-.
    -.- . . .–. …. ..- -. –. . .-. .- – .-
    -.-. .-.. — … . .-. . — — …- .

    – …. . .-. . … – — ..-. – …. . -.. .- -.– ..
    … …. .. …- . .-. . -.. .– .. – …. -.-. — .-.. -..
    .. — .- … – ..- .-. -… .- – . -..
    – — -.- . . .–. — -.–
    -… — -.. -.– .. -. …. .- .-. — — -. -.–

    that’s my report
    all anyone needs
    I should reach the border
    with new papers

  19. Gail Sandonato

    I woke hearing your voice and I smiled,
    Rolling over on the feather bed,
    I pulled the pillow back under my head,
    Hid my hand from the cat, and thought about you.
    Drowsy with contentment,
    I sank into my blanket cocoon.

    Rising at last, I run to get my old dog outside,
    Stopping at the sound of birds singing.
    They are nesting now and have no fear of us.
    Another rebirth, I saw the first crocus bloom
    I thought of you and smiled

  20. Nathan Everett


    Slept in, but seven o’clock still came too early.
    Coffee and comics punctuated with a breeze through the five-star Sudoku.
    Then to work.
    I am one with the computer.
    I will turn this marketing blather to meaningful English.
    There is no verb form of advantage.
    Nor of incentive.
    In English we don’t capitalize every noun.

    Let’s take a break and have some fun at Home Depot!
    We need to get the house ready to sell!
    Decking at $1.39 a linear foot. Maybe I should do a stone patio instead.
    Why are we making our house a better place to live in order to sell it
    when we didn’t do it to live in it?
    Little tiff.

    Back to work while the darling wife sleeps off the rigors of "Designing to Sell."
    Why is every sentence an entire paragraph long?
    Can’t I put a period in here someplace?

    "Life is a Cabaret old chum. Come to the Cabaret!"
    Speed shop or we won’t have food for breakfast.
    Back to work while family gracefully retires to bed.
    Did I already edit this chapter?
    It sounds exactly like chapter fourteen.
    How long is this document? Thirty-six chapters?

    Too tired to work, too wound up to sleep.
    1983 action/sexploitation movie.
    All these ex-Playboy bunnies are as old as I am now!
    Barely an eye-open for the grim look of determination
    on a naked spy killing her lover.
    Too sad to stay awake.
    One o’clock and I crawl — cold and tired — into bed.
    Two o’clock before I close my eyes.

  21. Maria Jacketti

    Working Out

    I read essays online
    with a lavender clay mask drying on,
    my lips slathered in a balm of
    the labor of bees and lemons
    and herbs tweaked, symphonic,
    eat your heart out, Estee Lauder:
    here in my nightgown, in the living room,
    listening to the conspiracy channel,
    with truffles and green tea by my side,
    I am happy as a sunflower
    living through my computer,
    making a living, diva-nerd, a library mule.

    Maria Jacketti

  22. priya

    Today was just a regular day–
    I woke up feeling nothing much,
    Hobbled through classes on a crutch
    When all I wanted to do was play
    Around a little, have some fun.
    But instead, got an essay done
    (Didn’t say what I wanted to say);
    Had more work than I wanted to
    But that’s never been something new.
    At least I had a moment away
    To help me keep on movin on
    (Sweet moment it was, till it was gone).
    Then forward to sleep, in bed I lay
    while my day misted slowly to gray.

  23. A.C. Leming

    Sorry, I had to travel out of town for a test and was out of computer contact for a couple of days…better late than never, eh?

    Sunday Afternoon

    Even after the bitter
    words of morning, he
    canceled his plans
    and drove back to me,
    just so I could leave
    him. Again. He put
    away shotguns and shells
    then opened the hood to
    see what made the "check
    engine light" ignite
    before I made it to the
    end of our road. Me busy
    transferring bags and
    books from one vehicle
    to another, then dumping
    dog paraphernalia back
    inside. A brief kiss,
    a serious look, and "I’m
    sorry to ruin you day."
    "It happens. Drive safe.
    Call me when you get there."

  24. Jay Sizemore

    The day’s events

    I’m running late,
    always running late,
    my sleep schedule precludes
    that I wake up
    ten minutes before
    time to leave,
    my alarm clock singing
    an alt-country crescendo.

    I never remember my dreams,
    if they are black and white
    or in color,
    but my hair’s still wet
    when I lock my front door,
    drive through the construction
    zone that blocks the entrance
    to this complex
    like yellow and orange steel
    dinosaurs guarding piles
    of dirt and rock.

    Everything is a music video
    coming through my windshield,
    moving to the soundtrack
    of my car stereo
    in a strange but oblivious
    synchronization of sounds
    and motions, every person
    a character in someone else’s novel
    writing their own story,
    to the tone and mood
    of whatever I happen
    to be listening to at the time,
    all extras in my own movie
    in the minutes between
    my trips to and from work.

    These are the dreams I remember,
    the daydreams.

    Hours slip by like liquid
    pouring through the cracks
    in the dam of mortality,
    walking in circles
    on a polished tile floor,
    watching the interplay
    of strangers and thieves,
    the subtle dance
    of eyes and hands moving
    in a language of their own,
    digging tunnels
    to the truth.

    After work, I wait til midnight
    for the release of oil and blood
    and genius in a plastic disc,
    I talk to an obscene troll
    of a man,
    he says he’ll give
    a quarter
    if she’ll take her pants off.

    I need a drink.

  25. tim

    the pink one is too big
    she smiles anyway
    making the best of it as she always does
    time to look at the shoes
    deliberately she scans for what she likes
    too young she is forced to worry of the cost
    she finds her pair
    black with a pink stripe
    the salesman is little help
    knows nothing of the fitting
    her confidence convinces me
    to the balls again
    pink still too big daddy?
    yes but only for a few more years
    too precious few
    pink shingaurds too big and too small
    she settles with a smile
    something i fear she does too often
    and i have precious short minutes with which i can change that
    before daddy is phone call not a holler down the hall away

  26. JL Smither

    Back in DC

    I woke up alone again with a bloody
    nose on a fold-out couch
    to the sounds of NASCAR.
    After I showered, we drove
    to see the cherry blossoms in bloom.
    We parked near the Capitol
    and walked the length of the Mall,
    my Mall (I hadn’t been gone so long)
    with my museums and my trees
    and my sculptures and grass and life.
    In the sunshine, we wandered
    around the Tidal Basin, snapping
    pictures with the other tourists.
    Sometimes, we’d catch a whiff
    of the flowers on the breeze
    and sniff like dogs to find it again.
    We walked back through the city,
    down Penn,
    and I found my buildings
    there, warm but still imposing.
    That night, we barbequed hot dogs
    and hamburgers in Alexandria,
    and I hugged all my old friends
    and tried my best
    to welcome
    their new ones.

  27. Lyn

    Adrenalin Rush
    Anticipation makes me wake before the alarm
    For a thirty mile bike ride along Cherry Creek
    With respect to responsibility,
    I prepare the night’s meal in the slow cooker
    Helmet, sunscreen, sunglasses and a huge bottle of water
    Ready to ride,
    Wind from the southeast and a long gradual uphill
    Causes burning muscles and rapid breathing
    Break time at the halfway point
    Sitting on a bench in front of a tiny waterfall
    Figuring out a word puzzle
    Return trip, wind at my back
    Speeding along on the concrete
    My plan to spend the remaining part of the afternoon
    Reading an updated version of the Kama Sutra
    Early bed time, tired muscles
    My honey offers me a massage
    And all I can think of is the lotus position
    To stretch my legs

  28. Susan M. Bell

    I wake up before him, quickly switching
    off the alarm. I make him breakfast, thankful
    for the microwave oven at 4am. Getting him
    up, ironing his clothes, pushing him out
    the door; each day begins pretty much the

    same. I try to do some housework, usually
    surrendering to the TV at some point. I write
    poetry, prose, emails. Having dinner ready
    when he gets home from work, so he can
    quickly eat, grab his books, and head to
    class. A typical Monday since I lost my job

  29. Euphrates

    (Sigh – mate’s been sick so a bit behind, but better late than never, yes?)



    Empty space where my mate should be
    Radiates a cold that slowly seeps into my consciousness
    Until the ache of missing his warmth
    Compels me out of the bed to seek him out
    With his ready smile and kisses,
    Chuckling at being the first one up.
    We sit together, back to side
    As we reach out to distant chosen family
    Leaning over to touch, to caress, to kiss,
    A constant dance of reassurance that yes,
    This is Home and yes,
    You are really still here, and yes
    I love you more today than yesterday.
    Brief interruptions for food
    And adventures with exes, children and sunny over-run playgrounds
    With a trip to the suburban mall thrown in
    Contrasting color to the fabric of the day
    But here is where it starts and ends

  30. Sara Diane Doyle

    Antique Hope

    Found the cabinet on craigslist—
    white, antique, perfect—
    at least according to the photo.
    Sent an email to inquire,
    dash to the gym, home again,
    now clean, check on my find.
    It would fit, just barely, so I reply—
    I’ll take it, just need transport—
    I would do the happy dance
    but I’m late for work.
    Hours spent on my feet
    while I sell to mallrats.
    Rush to the ball game,
    catch the last inning, the win!
    Grab a bite to eat then home
    to see about a ride for my cabinet.
    No, they can’t help, and wait,
    another wants it—a couple—
    and they have transport
    and cash. Oh well,
    it was mine for the day,
    but it wasn’t meant to be forever.

  31. M. Schied

    April Meander

    O brilliant day for a walk!
    Pitter-patter above breaks my slumber
    Wardrobe – ugh
    Any old thing will do,
    Meandering to the community hub not all-consuming
    Greeted smiling faces, swapped sordid stories
    (Woe if the boss finds out)
    I’m their prize patron, yet again
    Went for a quick snip, alas, the door is closed!
    No matter, rapid steps on my way
    to blue shores and sandy waves
    Breath-taking horizon fills my view,
    plus a brief history lesson
    THUNK-unk, THUNK-unk
    Less crashing than a rudimentary drum lesson
    Strolled to the outskirts (discovered a potential new abode)
    hidden in the back, gem of discovery
    The robin convention is in town
    Russet bellies puffed and saffron beaks pecking
    Worms fear the invasion
    Stop to admire the regal, sunshine, misty crocus
    Poking timid heads into a world new-warm
    Laze, advantageous youth
    Into the slumber-ready even
    One day, at peace

  32. Yoli

    What I Did Today

    This day
    happens to be Sunday
    Doesn’t matter anyway
    I work almost everyday
    except Monday
    So I did what I do each day
    through Sunday
    I worked today
    but for me this day
    is like a Friday
    so since I’m off the next day
    I guess I like Sunday.

  33. KP

    Alarm rings,
    But the birdies still sing.
    The shower runs,
    Oh, this is getting fun.
    Getting ready,
    Nice and steady.
    Breakfast is quick,
    The commute makes me sick.
    I walk to the door,
    My feet already sore.
    Inbox full,
    but surprise, a project that is kind of cool.
    Lunch at the park,
    A genius spark.
    The day’s getting better,
    Until I get a letter.
    “Dear Author,
    This wouldn’t fit well into our line of books.
    Keep trying.”
    And if I said this didn’t bother me
    I’d be lying!
    But the sun is setting,
    No more fretting,
    Tomorrow’s another day,
    And I bet it will be perfect in every way!

  34. Janice Neaveill

    Aug. 6th

    Wakeup. Wakeup. He’s poking
    me, and saying it’s noon, and I spent
    all the sleeping hours pushing
    his face to my chest, or throwing him

    from one side of the bed
    into the other and besides the museum
    closes at four and that only gives us–

    Shower. Dress and redress into the cuter thing.

    Eat. The wax figures don’t look
    anywhere with their eyes, and their dress
    is out of a BBC historical special. Try climbing
    into the cockpit that real fighters
    use to train them for the real thing.
    The simulated seat with the simulated eject
    button. A video and pizza with no pork
    because it’s unclean. What about tofu made to taste
    like pork? Morningstar Brand is just like the real
    stuff. "It tastes unclean,"
    he says, but I say, you’ve never tried it.
    He says, "Yeah, but I have faith."

  35. Elizabeth Keggi

    4 A.M. I flick on the light in the bathroom
    instead of relying on the nightlight
    so I can see what I look like, eye to eye.
    She’s grave, I think.

    I awake to the quiet, humbled voice
    of an Iraqi military leader who had
    just been released from being a hostage.
    The poverty, he says, I had no idea.
    I realize now what we need isn’t “security”
    but jobs, supplies, food, schools. Time to fight
    for peace, he said, and economic security.
    I can hear the struggle in his heart.
    He’s open, I think.

    I am moved. My life has changed just a
    fraction, enough to rattle the puzzle pieces
    I keep trying to assemble, trying to see,
    What do I look like?

    The day flies by.
    Turning out the light early
    and rolling over to my side
    I think of the pain in the Iraqi’s voice,
    how his life has changed forever.
    Now he can begin to do some real
    good, I think to myself.

    So foolish to be gazing at oneself
    in mirrors.

    Elizabeth Keggi

  36. Darla Smith

    The Happenings Of My Day

    I woke up this morning,
    wondering what I could do.
    Did I want to go shopping,
    or just stay home with you?

    I fixed us a nice lunch,
    then we watched some TV.
    We sat outside later on,
    beneath a tall oak tree.

    After we finished supper,
    I grabbed my book and read.
    It was nearly midnight,
    before I finally went to bed.

  37. Jennifer Smith

    The electric siren alarms me. 7:00 a.m. I do not resist. I make it stop.

    The loft bed first – tickles, snuggles and coaxing. Bathrobe and a lift to the floor is offered. Then, under the wispy canopy, a back scratching invites consciousness: it’s time to get up. Reluctantly, with shuffles and yawns, we all proceed. Educational tv warms up the logical minds while they wait for breakfast usuals.

    And then business as usual: off they go.
    Quiet now. Time for thinking, but I’m not remembering.

    Today there’s an extra job to do. I get the phone call. Driving from this borough to that one is easy. Chatting with the 80 year old patient is delightful. He has pleasant news to report.

    I get back home in time to get myself half way ready for the other work before I pick up children, feed them, supervise homework, and take them to the appointment. Status gets evaluated and progress is made. We go back home.

    Now, I don’t have much time before my night work and feel suddenly in desperate need of sleep: the place where I can plan my lessons and feel somewhat rejuvenated, prepared for them and their expectations and excuses and, sadly, the horrible stories they have to tell.

    It seems that the local shootings have personal connections to two of my students and a third student has a friend who was shot a year ago, but only just succumbed to death last week. I know a man was found shot to death on Thursday last week; he was found on the street by a jogger. And has there been another one? Another local shooting . . . My mind is full of The Declaration of Independence and Martin Luther King’s dream right now; ask me about ethos, logos, and pathos; I don’t know what to do about the guys you went to high school with; I don’t know what to do.

    I go home and kiss warm sleepy cheeks good night. I take off my war paint and prepare to sleep, but I have trouble. I do not resist, but I cannot make it stop.

  38. Justin M. Howe

    Dreading work, I awake
    eyelids feeling like lead sheets
    Superman could not penetrate

    How much longer can I
    sacrifice my creativity
    to a graveyard shift without reward?

    Kiss the family goodbye
    everything feels sepia
    like I won’t be returning

    Work proceeds apace
    nothing new
    nothing exciting

    Boss still disappointed
    wants even more hours,
    but he’s leaving early

    How much longer can I
    sacrifice my creativity
    in order to be a cog?

    Exhausted, arrive home
    family out of focus,
    going to the doctor

    prescriptions in hand,
    we’ll all be ok
    if I can just get some sleep…

    How long can I
    sacrifice my creativity
    before I’m intolerable?

    Try to write a
    worthy poem
    not today, brain still fuzzy

    Not only am I in a job I hate
    Not only do I make my family wait
    But I myself I cannot tolerate

    How much longer can I
    sacrifice my creativity…

    When can I again
    be me?

    -Justin M. Howe

  39. Kevin

    Red Bike Ramblings

    It was red,
    As red as the firetrucks I rode it behind in every Memorial Day parade,
    And it had an orange radio/headlight that I had gotten
    At Link’s Christmas party.
    Its spangled red banana seat would shimmer,
    Catching enough sunlight that my mother always knew
    When I had left it outside.
    It was my first tool of freedom,
    My first possession that wasn’t a hand-me-down.
    Oh, for the days when the amount of air in those bike tires
    Was life’s greatest concern.


This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.