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November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 9

Categories: November PAD Chapbook Challenge, Personal Updates, Poetry Prompts.

My stepson’s fifth birthday extravaganza soldiers on today, which means my time is limited for the intro to the prompt. By 2pm, I need to have a cake baked, a meatloaf loafed, and chili simmered. I think I can do it.


For today’s prompt, I want you to write a dream poem–or dream-like poem. This may or may not work with certain themes, so remember: You don’t have to follow every prompt if it doesn’t jive with your theme. In the meantime, I think I just heard the stove beep that it’s at 350 degrees. Gotta run.


Here’s my attempt for the day:


“He comes”


He comes when the night is silent;
he comes as a wisp of fog;
he comes as a giant bat;
he comes when no one else is near;
he comes to my side;
he comes with his beautiful teeth;
he comes with his ancient eyes;
he comes to take me as his bride.


 

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About Robert Lee Brewer

Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

95 Responses to November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 9

  1. Amanda says:

    Close to the flame
    I read my book by candlelight
    Another passing storm has cut off electricity
    Oblivious to the rambunctious rain
    I’m jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire with Bilbo
    Playing Quidditch with Harry
    Fighting the White Witch alongside Aslan
    Completely caught up in worlds I can only see in my imagination

  2. Lynne says:

    Night Terrors

    Clouds rage
    across grey-black sky
    as the last dandelion
    that dares to dream
    surrenders.

    Brutal stones of hail
    pelt it into
    a near-nothing,
    limp yellow
    shadow of obscurity.

    Green patch of grass
    mourns the death
    of yellow fuzz,
    sensing the chaos that
    will turn its own humble
    realm to grey-black as
    foreboding as the once blue sky.

  3. Taylor Graham says:

    DREAMING THE OLD PLACE

    You’re in the old house, where everything was
    lost. The stairs are broken halfway up
    the bedroom loft where all night long you’d lie
    wrapped in sweaty sheets of dreams.
    You can’t find the light, the key, the vital
    document. Every door is stuck shut, each room
    filled with piles of bills unpaid, notes unsorted,
    drafts of poems, photos from fifty years ago
    stacked higher than your head, box-
    canyon walls – no, turnings of a maze
    that leads to a kitchen sinking
    into subfloor, cellar where the rats live.
    At any step the stacks could avalanche down
    and bury you. You wake up knowing
    they already have.

  4. Carol says:

    DREAM

    DON’T WE ALL SOMETIMES DREAM
    of flying? Of cutting loose
    from nonsense and zooming
    with a better self? A self that soars
    but somehow seldom acts…

  5. Kathy Kehrli says:

    IX. Ethereal Exigency

    “Why do they have him sitting up?”
    I posed the confused query
    Of my befuddled boyfriend
    As he rose mid sleep for a bathroom trip.
    “Is it because of his blood pressure?”
    I further quizzed.
    Like a beheaded chicken,
    He flopped around for an adequate response.
    Though dreamscape severed from it,
    The inquisition clung to the new reality
    My life had surreally espoused.
    Not receiving a satisfactory reply,
    My quasi-awake exasperation spewed,
    “Never mind.”
    As with the myriad medical exigencies before it
    I’d take care of it
    Myself.

  6. Penny Henderson says:

    day #9 dream or dreamlike

    In my new house,
    there’s a new place.
    It wasn’t there
    at the open house,
    or walk thro’.
    A corner turned
    leads to a nest of rooms–
    like opening a Russian doll.
    Behind each portal,
    another room,another door.
    I’m a little dizzy.
    How far can this go?
    Why can’t I wake up?
    Maybe I don’t want to.

  7. Tyger says:

    He Belongs Only to Me

    My husband served me papers yesterday
    Now I find it difficult to breathe
    We were supposed to follow the election together
    vote together
    enjoy the victory together
    hand in hand on the new sofa
    like lovers in each other’s hearts and minds
    We shared everything, even him
    But now, in an uncanny sense
    Obama belongs only to me

  8. Jolanta Laurinaitis says:

    A Fleeting Glance

    A flicker of lashes
    Corner of eye
    Flittering and skipping
    Skimming over ripples
    A wisp in the morning fog
    A bubble on the surface
    A flash or iridescent blue
    Feeling the breath
    Of her wings
    Curling in your fly away locks
    Turn your head
    But she’s gone
    Like the last lingering memories
    Of a lucid dream

  9. k weber says:

    a request was made for a translation for my poem on this day. here is the english translation…

    for those who do not know french

    it’s terrible,
    the earth

    with green
    and things

    you can
    not see

    each day
    the weather:

    gray or pink
    in the sky

    a little bit,
    a fire

    and hands
    in the baths

    of the rain

  10. Vanessa O'Dwyer says:

    oops – somehow I posted twice!
    >V<

  11. Monica Martin says:

    We are in the living room
    in our new home. Outside,
    the snow falls quickly,
    but does not stick.
    Everything is frozen
    inder the night sky.
    Inside, a fire blazes
    warmth and light. I’m
    knitting socks on the couch,
    fighting a purring Lola
    for possession of the yarn.
    You are seated at the
    coffe table, reading
    Scientific American.
    Bruno gnaws at his bone
    by your side. The clock
    chimes, eleven, and we
    all rise for bed.
    As you and I cuddle under
    the covers, Bruno mans
    his post in front of
    the door. Lola keeps watch
    from the window seat.

    And I wake up alone.

  12. Vanessa O'Dwyer says:

    My Dream

    My dream is to cross borders
    I do not care what way
    For the borders that we know and love
    Are the source of our decay.

    There are borders bound by country
    There are borders bound by faith
    There are borders that we pose ourselves
    Through ignorance and hate.

    My dream is to commingle
    And look to greater heights
    Creating happiness and harmony
    With the future in my sights

    There is future in our countries
    There is future in our faith
    These are futures that we pose ourselves
    So let us not delay!

    Vanessa O’Dwyer

  13. Vanessa O'Dwyer says:

    My Dream

    My dream is to cross borders
    I do not care what way
    For the borders that we know and love
    Are the source of our decay.

    There are borders bound by country
    There are borders bound by faith
    There are borders that we pose ourselves
    Through ignorance and hate.

    My dream is to commingle
    And look to greater heights
    Creating happiness and harmony
    With the future in my sights

    There is future in our countries
    There is future in our faith
    These are futures that we pose ourselves
    So let us not delay!

    Vanessa O’Dwyer

  14. Steve LaVoie says:

    I don’t know where this came from but I like it.

    Dreamtime Alarms

    A little suburb
    Twisting upon itself,

    As two white wolves
    Constantly follow me around,

    As I watch strange people
    In trechcoats and gas masks

    Burn all the televisions,
    Books, and radios in town,

    While giant hamsters
    Rampage through the downtown

    Area and then aliens in
    Clock shaped ships

    Finish of what is left.
    No doctor I have never had

    A dream like that..
    The only dreams I have

    are..BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

  15. Rodney C. Walmer says:

     Nightly Distractions

    He suddenly finds himself climbing a tree
    Though, he’s climbing horizontally
    something is amiss
    thinking he’s going to fall
    Into a black hole, a dark scary abyss
    Running, he’s looking for someone to call
    anyone, who can help him
    anyone at all
    Running down each and every city block
    He has to find a way out of that tree
    so, he runs ever so aimlessly
    looking for the right door up which to knock
    If he fall’s into that hole he’ll die
    this he knows, though he knows not why
    He can feel the end is near
    falling he begins to cry out of fear
    when he suddenly hears a clanging sound
    opening his eyes
    he looks around
    He breaths deep, then sighs
    oh, he’s in his bed
    that sound was just the dog shaking her head
    Yep it’s three, time for her to go out
    he thinks, this nightly wake up he do live without. . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer 11/11/08 Dream poem

  16. Sara McNulty says:

    Nancy and SaraV-Excellent!

  17. AnnNoE says:

    We
    awake
    with the hope -
    better life for
    us

  18. lynn rose says:

    My Special Place

    I feel the warrmth of th sun, the coolnesss of the breeze, the
    mist of occassional rain and a down pour every now and then.
    I also see the darkness of the clouds.
    The weather is not always the same in my special place, but
    the feeling of calmness is always present.
    Just glidding across the glimmering water and feeling the breeze on my face, the calmness overcomes me.
    I feel like I am the only person on earth at that moment and
    this place only has me.
    There is no other world outside when I am here.
    Its just me and my special place, just me and serenity. There is no other place like it and no other feeling, it is indescribable I am so glad I get to go there in body and sometimes in spirit, I wish I could go more often and sometimes I secretly wish I could stay. The end.

  19. Kateri Woody says:

    Haha Jared, I’m sorry if my poems are causing you problems… I love Joker a bit too much as you can see. I’m glad someone else is amused by my theme.

    Just think batty thoughts before sleep, and Joker will either dissipate from your mind’s eye… or take over. No clue. :P Sorry, again!

  20. Terri Vega says:

    Poem 9

    I dance with them
    in the garden; gentle waves
    swaying melody

    fantasy colored world of
    make believe wishes singing
    to princes and new born
    mothers

    Violets and Echinaceas waiting
    to cut in; the tall grass in harmony
    with the wind as sunlight
    melts its blossom rays
    down against my cheek

  21. Jane penland hoover says:

    Don – the line "rain held off in the fading light" – so delivers the message it seems to me here – so much longing and sweet sadness in this short piece.
    beautiful

  22. Don Swearingen says:

    The clouds rolled in last night
    But all we got was wind and cold.
    The rain held off in the fading light
    And we gathered as the day grew old.
    Our family is large now, larger than
    When you left by five. All boys
    Who come to my house, a clan
    Unto themselves, whose religion is noise.
    A new one is on her way, we’re
    Waiting for news from overseas
    About her. Between hope and fear
    The time seems to simply freeze
    As we wait for her debut.
    And I. I wait to come to you.

  23. Lori says:

    Careful Dreams

    never stopping always
    running on hoping
    someday slower days
    happen somewhere outside
    of this dream.

    helping people
    live
    or die
    or just get on their feet again

    reciting facts and
    figures in your head
    hoping one of them
    will wake you up.

  24. Heather says:

    Wow, so many great poems . . . true journey, up and down . . . deep stuff. Loved them all.

    I have to say my favorite today was SaraV, loved the fish dream.
    Iain’s cats were great.
    Kate’s "Dreamlike" put a smile on my face.
    Kate Berne Miller- I have that exact same dream about my two dogs drowning one taking in water, the other happy to stay under!!!! Me jumping in to save them . . . The exact one!! I wonder what that means?
    Judy- very touching
    Patti, I felt like I was in the car with you!

    Cheers everyone.
    Heather

  25. Linda says:

    Bruce,
    I love Off the Charts.

    Judy, your poem is sad and happy at the same time.

    Linda

  26. Nancy Posey says:

    While I’m away from home, I not only feel I have to check in with my family, but I keep looking here to see what my poet friends have written today. I’ll be checking back in later. Off to the Capitol!

  27. kate says:

    Great work everyone the last few days, sorry I haven’t had time to comment.
    My favourites yesterday – Victoria, S Scott Whitaker, Bruce, Sharon I.

    My faves today – Margaret, Heather, Nancy, Sharon.

  28. Mary K says:

    Nightmare

    I stand on the edge of a cliff,
    vultures of the past surround me,
    and grunt, flap their wings, hiss.
    l Iook into the abyss of future,
    know If I jump I am doomed,
    I cannot see the bottom.
    If I do nothing I will be prey
    to the vultures whose hot breath
    I feel on my neck. With their bald
    heads ready to feed, they sense death
    is near, present will soon be past.
    it is my choice how to die.
    I jump.

  29. kate says:

    Dreamlike

    Turning the corner
    on the home stretch
    a man on a bike playing harmonica
    non-handed down the hill.

    Look up
    I grin, rushing home now
    through the door, ‘come on kids
    come and see the rainbow.’

  30. Shann Palmer says:

    Change (for Kristallnacht)

    When glass is shattered
    its jagged music spreads
    concentric from the site.

    No sound is more compelling
    or absolute, and we become
    compromised, made vulnerable:
    eyes, bare feet, our belongings
    open to injury, violation.

    Once begun the act is done,
    to be never forgotten. New panes
    may look the same but are not.

    In dreams she hears the sound
    of breaking glass and stirs awake-
    How easily things get broken.

    (The line “How easily things get broken.” is from the Mass by Leonard
    Bernstein)

  31. Connie says:

    Ian, liked your Ringo one.
    Susan B-enjoyed All Aboard!
    Judy-Great, moving poem
    Rachel-loved Desperate
    Sara V-Unique!
    Earl-Liked inside the gates
    Bruce-Nice!

  32. Connie says:

    And now after some sleep…

    Synergy

    I am a little domino
    side-by-side
    with my brothers and sisters
    waiting for the Builder’s tip
    to move into action.
    I can’t do much alone but—Wow!
    Look what we can do together!

  33. Kate Berne Miller says:

    Animals Fill My Dreams

    Anxiety dreams like the time I tried to save my own dogs from drowning,
    diving down to the bottom of the pool, bringing the old one up to the surface,
    water gushing from her mouth, diving down again for the other dog only to find
    her trotting across the blue-tiled bottom, herding clownfish, not drowning at all.

    Sometimes my dreams are strangely humorous: just last night I was serenaded
    by a crustacean rock band. Often I’m shape-shifting, once escaping an abusive
    husband by turning into a goldfinch. I remember flying over red and gold hills
    as a hawk, then diving from tall, white cliffs with other ancient pterodactyls.

    Owls walk clumsily toward me across a carpet of autumn leaves. I open
    the door onto a clear cold winter night to find a cinnamon bear calling
    me out. I step into the snow and follow her into the forest, where a circle
    of young girls, half bear and half human, dance in a circle around me.

    Animals whisper secrets that vanish when I wake.

    Kate Berne Miller

    P.S. I may have figured out my theme! It seems to be developing into an exploration of boundaries/borders, the space between: tameness and wilderness, dusk and dawn, between animal and human, waking and dreaming, fact and myth, natural and artificial, white and not white, crazy and sane, yesterday and tomorrow. Or maybe I’m just trying to be broad enough to include everything!

  34. jared david says:

    Kateri- i need to stop reading your poems before i go to bed. i have a love-hate relationship with the joker. but i can’t keep away from them…i love your theme

    Rachel G, Bruce- great images

    Earl- one of my favorites today…hopefully knocks the thoughts of the joker out before i start dreaming

  35. Billy Angel says:

    What Have You Come To See?

    I woke up this morning
    a murderer. In a few seconds,
    I realize I’ve been dreaming.

    It’s like I’ve traveled to the other
    side of the earth and arrived
    the day I left.

    It never happened
    or the secret I’ve feared
    existed has kidnapped my life.

    Like Lazarus to kin
    and neighbors, I’m living as before,
    filled with death I can’t explain.

  36. Michelle H. says:

    Thank you Jane and Karen! I appreciate the comments!

    Susan B. – Your’s was my favorite today – great rhyming!

    K. Weber – would you please translate? – even if the rhythm is off in English I would like to know what it says.

    Good night all!

  37. Bruce Niedt says:

    Wow, Nancy. Your poetry never fails to impress me. A powerful closing to that one. My poem also starts with an unremembered dream:

    Off the Charts

    That dream I can’t quite remember,
    the one that was so vivid, but faded
    like an autumn flower as I woke
    and withered to a dry stalk
    when the everyday took over ,

    is like that song I can’t remember,
    the one I heard on the radio a week
    or two ago – I can hum a few bars
    of the refrain, and can recall that it had
    something to do with love, or lost love,
    and it had a great guitar solo.

    That song will come around again,
    eventually, on someone’s playlist,
    while the dream, that one-hit wonder,
    may never be on my charts again.

  38. Nancy Posey says:

    I’m posting late–touring D.C., writing on the run!

    Dreams

    “The dream of my life has risen to become fact. . . . I have been a witness to the magnificent. . . .”
    —from the last letter from Mordecai Anielewicz, Warsaw Ghetto
    Revolt Commander

    Just this morning I remember saying,
    “I had the weirdest dream last night,”
    but now for the life of me I can’t
    recall just what I dreamed. Most of my
    dreams are standard issue from the
    book of common dreams, school dreams,
    although I haven’t been a student now
    for years. I’m walking down the halls,
    suddenly aware that I’m undressed,
    or remembering a class in which I
    am enrolled but have been failing to
    attend. I have a few I call my own—
    trying to make a phone call as lights
    go out or number keys fall off,
    contact lenses so gigantic I fold them
    to put them in my eyes. But today,
    seventy years to the day after the
    night of broken glass, Kristallnacht,
    I walk the corridors of the memorial,
    so moved by photographs and movie
    reels I cannot stop my tears. What do
    I know of nightmares? What do I know
    of dreams?

    Nancy Posey

  39. Rachel says:

    Oh Earl, that is my desire too… the same poem as mine just written a different way. I so needed to hear that tonight. thank you

  40. Earl Parsons says:

    Day 9 for LL&L:

    Inside the Gates

    The dream I just woke from was perfect
    Streets of gold, crystal streams and pearl gates
    Happy people, all healthy and fit
    An air of joy that can’t be explained
    So real
    So perfect
    Yet so seemingly far away

    It was such a wonderful place
    That I regretted waking up
    And it was more beautiful
    Than any words can describe
    But, I’ll never forget it

    I wanted to go back
    So I went back to sleep
    But the dream was no more

    One of these days
    However
    It will be real
    And I’ll be
    Inside the gates
    Forever

  41. Ronda Eller says:

    Tale of Two Plazas

    Warriors give chase. We chuff,
    trample thick rainforest
    like Amazonian gazelles,
    race toward an ancient,
    overgrown plaza.

    I have to pee. I stand alone
    in the clearing. A giant
    porcelain toilet
    daunts me…
    mocks

    my burgeoning bladder.
    I don’t think this is real.
    I awaken.

    The cold floor says “hurry”
    as I rush into the hallway—
    another kind of plaza
    where crowds buzz by
    (pasty faced patrons
    that won’t be passed).

    This scene can’t be.
    I need to pee
    and open my eyes
    to a real ceiling.

    ~ Ronda Eller 2008

  42. Earl Parsons says:

    Day 9 for SS:

    Night Play

    Go ahead and
    Get some rest
    Close your eyes
    The night is best
    For remembering
    Things from the past
    In dreams I write
    And scenes I cast
    I’m in control
    Of what you see
    So go to sleep
    Forget about me

    Let’s drift on back
    To days gone by
    High school again
    Remember this guy
    The geek in green
    With pimpled face
    You never made it
    To second base

    How about this
    Graduation night
    You’re the star
    Everything’s all right
    Your freedom song
    So why the tears
    Those were happy times
    Do you miss those years

    Now, lookie here
    Your wedding day
    Remember the vows
    To Love and obey
    You’ve come so far
    You’re a family
    So dream on about
    Favorite memories

    I’m in control
    If you want joy
    I’ll take you back
    When you were a boy
    Let’s dream about now
    Or even tomorrow
    You want a happy one
    Or a bit of sorrow

    Some are so real
    Others confusing
    Some are scary
    And others amusing
    All come from me
    I set the stage
    So enjoy the book
    I’ll turn the page

  43. Heather says:

    Dream

    We met up
    Some time after her death
    Maybe a year or so
    Past the day I last saw
    Her corpse
    Lying in a coffin,
    Rented for the service,
    To be turned to ashes
    Immediately following
    Our nervous breakdowns
    And final goodbyes

    She looked better than I remembered,
    Was with someone
    I didn’t recognize
    Someone I should recognize
    Because we were best friends and I would certainly
    Know the company she was
    Keeping

    A year is a long time
    To keep paths clear
    Not talk,
    Not phone
    But no matter
    She was here,
    In three dimension,
    Neiman Marcus lips
    Perfectly red

    Surprised to see her,
    Confused by our encounter
    I ask her to explain
    Her absence,
    Her whereabouts,
    Her defensive attitude towards me
    And my questions

    She glanced towards
    Her new friend,
    Then back at me
    And said,
    “We were never friends.”

    Actually, I should have called it a nightmare . . . it really was a horrible dream.
    We were friends, the best of friends and I miss her so much. She was a good person. "Cheers" to my friend Claire.
    We will meet again :)

  44. Kateri Woody says:

    Caught in the misty haze
    of a pain induced dream
    his body twitches hard in response
    to nothing.

    He hears the voices whisper,
    low and smooth as whiskey swallows -
    heated tongues burn their messages
    into his psyche
    for future use.

    Invisible fingers choke sobs
    and snores from his unconscious form;
    lying prone and stiff in the trunk
    of a car he didn’t see coming.

    For all Joker knows,
    he’s always been in this dream land -
    this golden shroud bleeding
    into his reality and he doesn’t
    know yet, that he will never escape it.

  45. satia says:

    Oops, I posted this in yesterday’s thread. At least this time I got it right.

  46. satia says:

    Dreams

    Your body grooving against mine—this is how
    We met on a dance floor, dank with sweat and need.
    Your palm pressing into the small of my spine
    Where wet meets sweat, unsure if it is yours or mine
    And either is fine with me caught as I am in the net
    Of your heavy blue eyes and the movement of we.

    but in the cave
    of my subconscious
    the beast has my face,
    knocks me with ease to my knees
    the rocks and rubble of the ground
    scrape and I crawl my way
    to the light
    unable to stand or walk
    even when I reach
    the blue sky in your eyes

    Swinging and swaying to the music in my head
    Your arm alone holds me down, keeps me from flying
    Along with the bed. You say I whimper in my sleep.
    I say keep me safe until I wake up from this dream.

  47. Rachel says:

    neat Sara.. very cool as usual

  48. SaraV says:

    When Fish Dream

    Are they peaceful aquatic episodes?
    Bits of light floating in the dark
    gently waving dim greenery
    Tasty tidbits sinking past their nose
    In easy reach, borne on the current
    Schooling with their fishy friends
    Feeling safe and cool in their pool?
    Or are they nightmares of rapier beaks
    Slashing through the stillness
    Death narrowly missed
    Disembodied waterfowl feet with claws
    That rips fins off their fishy hides
    Of diving birds appearing from the murk
    Snatching them cleanly with a birdy smirk?
    Of tangled roots that bind and coil
    Of chemicals that burn, or oil
    That clogs their gills so they suffocate
    Of hooks, line and tasty,but fatal bait?
    Or are their dreams reality?
    Because while they sleep
    They still can see

  49. patti williams says:

    Linda – thank you! I saved the best for last …

  50. patti williams says:

    Connie – nothing at all wrong with haikus! I like ‘em!

  51. Connie says:

    The Netherlands dream
    Attend next Domino Day
    Need a miracle

    I told you I might have to resort to haikus. Busy weekend.

  52. Rachel says:

    like the poetry lain…
    especially ringo. i have those dreams about people too

  53. Rachel says:

    Desperate

    To my left
    in shifting shadows
    three accusers
    glared at me,
    Desperate to
    descend the gavel,
    choking out my
    right to be.

    I knew this had to
    be a dream,
    for I was told to
    make no sound,
    but close enough
    to feel His warmth,
    my One defender
    held my ground.

    His presence ‘whelmed me
    with His glow,
    A tangible, pervading
    …love…
    filling me beyond
    the night,
    a mercy message from
    above.

    Awake, the darkness
    marks the day
    and deep despairing
    hems me in,
    seeking desperately
    to ever,
    once more fall asleep
    in Him.

  54. Neal in Sleep, in Repose, in a Paused Drumbeat

    He’s broken; they have gone and he drinks
    until sleep marches, ferocity unrestrained.
    Laying his head on flat pillows reeks of loneliness
    and disintegration, reeks of Neal. He will fall
    in and out of consciousness, sleep simulating
    a tragedy of epic proportions. First id, and idealism
    of limbs splayed, of orgasms made, of fruitful
    multiplying and juices running rampant and plentiful,
    the cauldron in which Neal prophecies paradoxes
    of bittersweet sensations. His ego stands at the door
    foot tapping, misplaced, replaced, disgraced
    and begging for a subtle return, a slip under the dress
    a key in the hole, a drumbeat to signal a return
    until Neal’s father morphs in front of him, super
    and expectant, waiting, watching, willing Neal
    to succumb to a peppery dish, or smelling
    salts. He’s sounding the alarm, the pause
    between the shrieks like death until Neal
    hits a button, takes a breath, makes sound
    and sense and nonsense stop so he can breathe,
    so reality can seep into his streaming slumber.

  55. Judy Roney says:

    A Dream

    I dreamed he was looking down on me
    from heights unimaginable
    that he was laughing and cutting up
    with the others gathered round

    then he would become sad as
    he we made eye contact
    Please don’t be so sad Mom
    I’m so happy
    You won’t believe how beautiful
    it is here, the colors so vivid
    there isn’t even a name for them

    I can’t wait for you to get here
    to show you around
    I won’t be there any more
    not in the way I was before
    but know I am happier than
    I believed possible.

    My only sadness is when I look
    at you and Dad and Jeni
    when I see your eyes and heart
    if you only knew what was ahead
    you wouldn’t be so sad

    Know I will be with you
    that I love you so much
    but I have work to do here
    and you have more to do there
    its not your time yet
    but when it is
    I’ll be waiting
    I’ll show you around

    Now go and live
    see places and meet people
    I haven’t, because I’ll
    I’ll see it all through
    your eyes and hear through
    your ears. Go for it, Mom,
    I’ll live through you.

  56. Heather says:

    Thanks for the compliments!!! Haven’t had a chance to read all of them yet but will get to it promptly.
    Cheers-
    Heather

  57. k weber says:

    pour les gens qui ne savant pas le francais

    c’est terrible,
    cette terre

    avec le verte
    et les choses

    que vous ne pouvez
    pas voir

    chaque jour
    le temps:

    gris ou rose
    dans le ciel

    un peu
    de feu

    et les mains
    dans les bains

    de la pluie

  58. Linda H. says:

    Patti,
    I like the last of your 3 the best.
    Linda

  59. A.C. Leming says:

    Recurrent

    She tumbles through the rapids,
    fumbles with the paddle, the
    pressure tight in lungs which
    can’t glean oxygen from water.

    The flow traps her back
    against the overhanging rock,
    half submerged in the river she
    rode upon just a minute before.

    Her body bucks against the reflex
    to breathe. Carbon dioxide escapes
    alveoli sacs, buried under ribs
    which shudder against the current.

    Violently, she gasps, drawing
    liquid into lungs, a space not
    meant to contain it. She gasps
    again, jerks and opens her eyes.

    A dark bedroom, sweaty sheets
    wrapped around limbs, unable to move.

  60. Iris Deurmyer says:

    I am floating in a penetrating fog
    It carries me into the waves
    Leaving me stranded in the seaweeds
    I kick to untangle my legs
    Now floating on top of the waves
    The stars are so distant and shadowy
    The tide carries me away from shore
    Its arms cradle me and I feel safe
    Wondering what it is like to be submerged
    Perhaps I shall close my eyes and sink
    Sink into nothingness,only the wave
    Would miss me but not the shore
    No one knows I am here except the stars
    Wait, I hear someone calling my name
    I must awaken and begin a new day
    No chance for escape until midnight
    When I shall return to my dreams.
    Now reality beckons and I must face the dawn

  61. Iris Deurmyer says:

    I am floating in a penetrating fog
    It carries me into the waves
    Leaving me stranded in the seaweeds
    I kick to untangle my legs
    Now floating on top of the waves
    The stars are so distant and shadowy
    The tide carries me away from shore
    Its arms cradle me and I feel safe
    Wondering what it is like to be submerged
    Perhaps I shall close my eyes and sink
    Sink into nothingness,only the wave
    Would miss me but not the shore
    No one knows I am here except the stars
    Wait, I hear someone calling my name
    I must awaken and begin a new day
    No chance for escape until midnight
    When I shall return to my dreams.
    Now reality beckons and I must face the dawn

  62. patti williams says:

    Iain and Heather – you know I’m a fan!

    Rachel – good writing. I will probably dream about her tonight!

  63. Linda H. says:

    Jared, Judy,and Rachel….great work today.

    Linda

  64. Eleanor Jones says:

    For once my theme fits in with your prompt! =)

    9. Distorted Memories

    I was falling back, back,
    Back into Wonderland
    And all the elves were
    Staring at me.

    Do I belong here?
    Did I once, before it all
    Changed incompletely,
    ‘Cause something died?

    When I went falling back,
    Back into Wonderland,
    The trees were speaking
    In their segregated groups

    Of stereotypical firs and yews
    (And birds and Jews);
    Perching in their branches
    Were the honest promised lands.

    No, I did not ever I
    Wouldn’t belong here.
    Shouldn’t have fallen back,
    Back into Wonderland.

  65. patti williams says:

    It’s always the same.
    There’s a field of daisies,
    White and yellow, gently
    Blowing in the wind.
    I’m always four years old
    Wearing a little white dress,
    Skipping barefoot through
    The sunny warm springtime.
    Oh, there’s a hole in the earth,
    Rectangular and deep!

    I’m in the hole
    Looking at the sky
    As the dirt hits my face
    Each night,
    Burying me alive
    While I dream.

    (another)

    Sitting in the back seat of the car.
    Daddy driving, Momma the passenger.
    The car starts shaking, goes out of control.
    Momma is screaming
    Telling him he doesn’t know what he’s doing.
    The car hits a brick wall
    Keeps going.
    I can’t get out.
    My doors are locked shut.
    I am trapped
    With them
    Until the ride is over,
    Or at least, until I wake up
    To the morning.

    (last one then I’ll leave y’all alone)

    In my dreams
    After sleep painfully comes,
    I am well.
    The doctor never talks about
    The numbers
    The results
    The prognosis.
    In my dreams
    I run through the fields,
    Touch soft red rose petals,
    Feel the ocean breeze,
    Climb the highest mountain.
    When I dream
    The would CANCER
    Is mute,
    It has no voice at all.
    I only hear the quiet
    Orange, violet, blue, yellow,
    Majestic,
    Sunrise.

  66. Jane penland hoover says:

    Rachel – what a power house – the nightmare chills raging – and the repetition bleeding into the day – "the dark sounds of her sobs at bay –" – felt myself gasp right here.

    such good work here all day – can’t get to all – but there is tomorrow…
    and Robert full of birthday cake and meatloaf – wonder what he’ll be dreamiing…

  67. Jane penland hoover says:

    Judy – WOW to the energy and turns made as this phrase arrives in the poem "In my dreams.. you wake up and take charge.." – dreams and life and the inner twine of emotion is amazing here.

  68. Rachel Green says:

    I hear her when I go to sleep
    with Richard Bear held tight to keep
    the dark sounds of her sobs at bay –
    Please God make her go away.

    She comes to see me in my dreams
    with empty eyes and stifled screams
    I don’t know what she wants to say –
    Please God make her go away.

    She brings me bottles: poisoned wine
    and yellow mushrooms for to dine
    Her scent upon my pillow lay –
    Please God make her go away.

    She cries and scratches at the wall
    and tried to make the mortar fall
    I want to help her if I may –
    Please God make her go away.

  69. Thanks, Jane- I liked yours as well (I love wisteria).
    Peggy, Jared- great poems.
    Judy- so powerful. I went through the same loss with a friend not too long ago. My life changed forever the day she shot and killed herself.
    Susan- loved the Noah’s Ark dream- very creative.
    Keep up the great work EVERYONE!

    Laurie K.

  70. Jane penland hoover says:

    Peggy – felt I was there – a place both known and not known – both overhead and undertoes – the poem really gives us that "dream" world sense of time and oddly familiar (like this esp. "where I am usually lost and I am always late. ")

  71. Sara McNulty says:

    Quick note: Jared & Peggy – love the images.

    The poems are somewhat eerie and wonderful today.

  72. Jane penland hoover says:

    Karen – enjoyed the painting – I’m a Georgia girl and see this easily – my idea of a lovely vision too.

  73. Peggy Goetz says:

    In thinking about the nature of my night-time dreams, I think they are so often disjointed images and are often more about feelings than the images and sounds. But here is what I came up with today. I like Jane’s suggestion that there be a way to respond the individual poems but right now I am just happy to have the prompts relatively early in the day!

    1.
    Frustration, fear
    floating feelings
    looking for a hook
    I know something
    must change
    hoards of people
    in a vast space, hold
    of some kind of vessel
    milling in clusters
    I want them to do
    something but I don’t
    know what, tightness
    in my shoulders,
    under my collarbone,
    they have to do it
    but they are not, fear
    grips my bowels, my
    breath quickens, they must
    they must, if I knew I
    could guide them,
    but only if I knew.

    2.
    Places in my dreams
    are vast, without ceilings,
    without skies overhead,
    not like something else
    is up there, but as if nothing
    directly above the top of my
    head exists. It just isn’t.
    Like a blind person whose
    world only as far as she
    can feel as she brushes by

    3.
    I revisit this place every few months
    a strangely familiar landscape that
    I seem to know well but, where I am
    usually lost and I am always late.
    It’s a large place and I can see it like a
    land on the inner flaps of older books.
    Sometimes I am at the school, other times
    the retirement home, or in a hillside
    neighborhood, at homes by the sea,
    in the streets of the beach town, or
    the shopping center by the school,
    or near the marsh and the bay. I am
    rarely in the same place in any two
    dreams but I know the rest is there,
    that I am in the land of my dreams
    unchanging but different each time.

    Nov. 9, 2008

  74. jared david says:

    walking on rose petals

    the warm folds of my bed
    high overhead disappear into the sky
    as I land safely on the ground

    the earth is lush beneath my feet
    I cannot see, but the soft moss
    invites me further on

    the darkness is calming
    following the scent of roses
    through this wondrous oblivion

    butterflies flutter by
    caressing my face with their wings
    tickling the lashes of my eyes

    the secret unravels as
    I walk onto the petals of roses
    and drink from their soul

    but terror blows its icy breath
    on the back of my neck, my feet frozen
    wondering where the thorns are

  75. Sara McNulty says:

    Robert: Loved your poem today!

    Sky Sleeping

    Falling into a twilight zone
    of partial dream melding into
    the sounds of Jon Stewart, my
    husband chuckling, dog
    sleeping at my feet, I found
    my body floating through violet
    skies sporting stars of lavender.
    I reached out and captured their
    aroma and mused on the
    wonder of stars shooting scents
    to my senses, and I receiving them.

  76. Judy Roney says:

    Bob

    I think things are quiet and calm
    That you are settled and doing well
    Until I hear the news that you
    Have another DUI and will be going to jail–
    I feel the old stab in my heart
    The pain that is so familiar now
    And I don’t know what to say
    I don’t know when things changed
    When you became so bitter and expected things
    Expected the world to treat you well
    When you don’t treat yourself that way
    Suicide is a long and agonizing process for you–
    You don’t get it, you don’t understand
    You feel you are suffering so much
    I hope that it is true, that you are
    That you will hurt enough to stop
    I hope that the school, the jail,
    The community service, the parole,
    The pain you have caused yourself
    The hurt you have caused others
    Will sink in and things will change

    In my memories of you and me growing up–

    You were brave and had the answers 
    how to survive in an unjust world
    I followed you around like a puppy
    you were my hero, my protector
    You worked so hard, your back bent
    you didn’t expect much
    We helped each other to grow up
    From the corner of my eye I see you
    Back then in the days of our youth
    How strong you were, a real trail blazer
    We all looked up to you.

    In my dreams..

    you wake up and take charge
    of your life, you decide to stop
    smoking and hacking, drinking
    and suffering for it, hurting yourself
    and others. In my dreams you
    are capable and strong
    take on life challenges
    without any crutch, seek
    help and you grow old
    with your brothers, with me
    instead of dying at age fifty-nine
    and leaving us behind to
    wonder why and miss you..

    For Seconds

    In the middle of the night I wake up whole again
    my family is complete and my son’s
    just away at college or work. I can look forward
    to seeing my husband and daughter whose eyes
    are bright with laughter, they look the same
    as they did before he died, before the life we
    shared was ruptured by that bullet.
    In the middle of the night life is whole again
    for seconds.

  77. SusanB says:

    DAY 9 DREAM POEM

    ALL ABOARD!

    All creatures great and small
    Come board the great big ark
    We tried to get them up the plank
    It started to get dark

    The clouds were circling overhead
    Monkeys clamored along the deck
    The zebras clip-clopped up and in
    Old Noah was a wreck

    He said he couldn’t really see
    How we’d manage to beat the rain
    Lions, tigers and bears, oh my!
    Chasing gazelles all in a train

    As if that wasn’t bad enough
    The goats were butting a bull
    And the cow came along indignantly
    The ark was almost full

    The lizards were shedding skin everywhere
    The snakes not far behind
    The turtles trod in their own sweet time
    Where the heck was the end of the line

    Along came a spider who climbed up the sail
    His hungry little widow came too
    Feathers were littering starboard and port
    Molting doves just a part of the crew

    By the time the camels and pachys and deer
    Were packed in with bedding and grass
    It was coming down now a good one
    Where the heck was that horse’s ass

    In the distance silhouetted by lightening bolt
    His little horn thrust toward the sky
    And prancing around like a fool in the rain
    The unicorn I did spy

    Well we called him and he just ignored it
    Cavorting and sprinting about
    And muddy and splashing in puddles all wet
    Our shouter gave one last big shout

    Then we pulled in the gangplank
    The waters did rise
    As a deluge came down on our heads
    And we huddled together all soaking wet
    No dry ticking to make up the beds

    And I woke up next morning
    To a blazing bright sun
    I looked all around me to see
    My fluffy pink curtains, my books and my desk
    And who should be right beside me?

    Ukey the unicorn I’d won at the fair
    His soft fluffy pelt and white mane
    Were as dry as the day when I got him
    Must have known to come in out of the rain

  78. S Scott Whitaker says:

    Dream: reoccuring

    It is a place of smoke among the high blue sky
    as if a fire had been burning for some time

    He is atop a swingset.
    The swing is in motion.

    And without any notion he finds himself rising higher
    than the bar
    rising, and coming down on a sluice
    of waste, mud and darkness.

    He skids and slips, and rides as if on a lillypad,
    and discovers that he can barely stay afloat.

    Lucky for his lungs the dream wormholes
    and blends into the faithful image of his room
    scattered with toys.

  79. Iain D. Kemp says:

    A slight cahnge of tack with this one as everybody knows or can imagine what kind of dreams Ringo has…

    Dear Ringo

    I had a dream that you lived in
    peace and perfect harmony with all the members
    of my family and had become blissfully happy
    as a result of their warmth, kindness and generosity.
    I dreamt that you know longer charged family and friends
    for riding in your Cab even though that’s how you make a living.
    I dreamt that you would send me short notes of joy and
    sweetness, extolling my virtues as your best (and possibly only) friend.
    My dream included celebrating a return to glory for the Sacred Yankees and
    the demolition of Shea Stadium. I dreamt that you would become a mild
    mannered, considerate person of great reading and that everyone would come to recognise and love you as the greatest Yankees fan of all time.
    I am almost distraught facing the morning rush hour knowing
    that it was all just a dream.
    Oh yeah! I also dreamt that you would pick me up at seven.

    Yours in the hope that dreams come true

    Moosehead the Meek

  80. Iain D. Kemp says:

    Cats, Poetry and Death #12

    The Repository of all Knowledge

    The dank dark corridor leads on and on,
    dusty, cobwebbed and eerie; once painted
    white, now in the half-light from a distant broken
    window its peeling walls are creamy-gray.
    Arriving at its end I find a pair of huge doors that
    reach high above me and creak and groan as they
    slowly slide open. A Library. Every one of eight walls
    towers with books large and small, all smothered lightly
    in the dust of time and bound to each other and the room
    by the cunning spinning’s of unseen spiders.
    A large black & white cat, poised as through reading an open tome
    looks up and says “Ah! Good! You’re here… it’s this way…”
    The feline librarian (for it is he) leads the way to another set of doors
    hidden by their literary carapace and gently, silently pushes them open.

    Through the doors of the Library of all Poetry
    I am transported whilst rooted to the spot. My eyes blinded
    at first by the bright sun and blue skies, I step forward into the sunlight
    and see for the first time The Land of Cats & Poets.
    They are all here. Every where you care to look are Cats of all shapes and sizes,
    hues and shades colour and breed. They lay sleeping in sun or shade,
    they prowl craftily through the grass. They sit majestic proud as though listening.
    And it is true for Listening is what they do.
    On bench or bank, on grassy mound, some standing, others pacing;
    here in this magical place is every Poet that ever there was, reading from their works.
    I am hypnotised and confused, not knowing where to turn,
    to whom to speak (if speaking is allowed) ‘til I am greeted by another
    black and white puss who simply asks:
    “Read or listen?”
    At his words I find I am holding a large leather bound book titled
    “The Complete Works of Me”.
    Stuttering and stumbling I say that I will listen just a while. I stagger past Keats and Shelley, Wordsworth too and settle myself on a large boulder to listen for the first to the words as spoken by Stevie Smith. A wink and smile and I am told “You’ll get used to it, it takes a while”

    Iain

  81. Kudos, Paul, Heather, & Michelle! You made me experience the poems.

    Charles Francois Daubigny, French (1817-78)
    Moonrise, 1877

    Waiting for the Moon

    The sun sinks.
    A pinkening sky primps for the arrival.
    What birds are these?
    Cranes?
    Storks?
    Herons, such as we have to grace the South?

    The marsh, too,
    might be a mile from here or less,
    but I guess
    it’s in France.

    Perhaps
    in 1877
    Daubigny dreamed
    of a sleepy bracken
    hidden from the highway
    visited by blue herons
    and bold deer
    buzzed by dragonflies
    smiled on by the moon coming up
    over a rural town
    in North Georgia
    in the year 2008.
    And, thus, he painted his vision.

  82. Jane penland hoover says:

    Margaret – the poem lets us join in – this journey from and to – very nice – leaving a huge chill!

  83. Ellis Island

    He straggles along with the
    arriving immigrants, shuffles through
    the line of immigration officials
    who demanded he give them
    his former life in exchange
    for permission to enter the country.

    Eyes and nose chilled so that his eyelids
    crack ice as they sweep up
    and down, he crosses the channel
    to Manhattan, where he is
    assaulted by strange smells,
    foreign voices that call him by
    his new name, Freedman.

  84. Iain D. Kemp says:

    Spidey – Whether its new or old it works for me! Excellent1

    Paul – brilliant. Great images.

    Heather – another important Lesson superbly expressed.

    Back later with poetry I hope as this one is a bit tricky…

    Iain

  85. RJay Slais says:

    Night For Dreaming

    Sleep, usually unmoving
    as a deep rooted tree
    but last night, I had
    the most interesting dream.

    I divulged to you everything,
    the pulp churning inside,
    the leafy greens we wave,
    brown bark rough on the edges

    with the split proportions
    to let the raw trunk show through.
    Amazingly, you empathically understood!
    Imagine if I could,

    the color of your eye shade,
    the exact crimple of cheek skin
    bordering your lips,
    the white gleam of your smile,

    such a dangerous mouth;
    please me. Morning awake,
    we slowly debunk and unbind,
    our limbs crackle

    like a stepped on wood floor,
    you snatch a horn of ivory
    and wear the white tooth
    like a bone.

    Today is sunshine,
    no shadow to hide,
    the memory of shifty feet
    bemused as a fallen branch.

    So, I just take scissors in hand
    and run; tomorrow I’ll stare
    into the sun, soon eyes
    only able to see dreams.

  86. Spidey says:

    Robert, do previously written works count???? –spidey

    The Gravity Horse
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Bring forth
    my favorite melatonin cloak
    and serotonin bridle,
    for tonight I ride
    the Gravity Horse
    to the land of sheep a leaping.
    Prepare buckets of rose petals
    stained thalamus red
    to announce our arrival.
    Line streets with tapered candles
    a glowing a hero’s welcome,
    and altered coins of consciousness
    for tired brain-stem hooves
    to bed upon
    ‘neath this moon sliver
    of insomnia.

  87. Jane penland hoover says:

    Michelle – a fun dream for those of us not in it – nice rhyming – I still find that so hard. Enjoy reading and learning – thanks

    Laurie – the poem makes it easy to see and hear the scene – dreamy.

  88. Michelle H. says:

    “Dreaming of Snow”

    Snowdrifts ten feet high
    You could not see the sky;

    The front door was snowed shut
    I crawled out the window but
    I disappeared as I sunk, now what?

    I desperately begin to crawl
    My breath became very small;

    And then to my great surprise
    I licked my lips and tasted lies;

    This is not snow I think
    But whipped cream that I could drink
    I drank and licked and drank some more, and then in a blink
    That ‘snow’ began to shrink!

    And then I woke form some great snore
    To find that I felt sick and sore
    Alas there was no snow out my front door.

    I sit here now by the window lost in a daydream
    I am waiting for some snow to fall across my moonbeam.

  89. Jane penland hoover says:

    Paul – what a powerful poem – so many phrases grab and hold attention – one is this – "in the ambiguity between" so well said and heart wrenching.

  90. Someone to Rescue Her

    The sound of the ocean’s burly waves
    reverberated through her confused head,
    along with the horse’s methodical hoof beats;
    pounded out a joyous symphony, coming from ahead.

    Trotting along on sand white and pure,
    the wind running through his long hair;
    this handsome prince came to rescue, to give her love,
    and free her from all of life’s bothersome care.

    The beautiful girl, bruised and tattered, all hope gone,
    with her blond hair buried in her soft hands;
    had given up on this thing called love,
    until she saw her prince riding through the sands.

    The strong, muscular man came along and scooped her up,
    promising to love her from this day on;
    and they rode off in the orange and red sunset,
    on a white horse- her search for love now gone.

    Laurie K.

  91. Jane penland hoover says:

    Creeping Closer

    Pine seedlings creep closer
    as soon as the mowers make their pass.
    A long held ball of sadness,
    the gooey mess of rage,
    the fitful sleep – lying in – wishing sunlight wait.
    Two hundred and forty weeks
    writers come, bring typed pages to our house.

    Wisteria winds up and through
    the older, taller pines.
    How does one know the world
    will not return – go back to once before?
    Their hope, their snacks, and cans for him,
    collector of aluminum and smiles.
    “Write about something sad;”
    I move ahead of tears.
    Tuesday is my day.
    Because they come
    I am awake.

    I drive slower than the limit.
    Along the asphalt, forest draws the line,
    through green boughs of pine
    purple profusion drips,
    deer munching in deep shadow.
    How does one rage at mystery,
    the stretch from no to yes?

    That year wisteria bloomed
    against the slick-white brick,
    my man hemmed in,
    separated from himself
    his world, what waited.

    They write and read, respond,
    break bread, and laugh surprised,
    leaving nourished
    all more alive.

  92. Paul W.Hankins says:

    “Epiphany”

    In the middle of our November:
    that she would find her
    in a bed, in the dark,
    is the stuff of dreams
    for both the sleeper
    and the one who
    would awaken
    for sleep like this –
    there is only mourning.

    That we would be
    giving baths to our children
    when the call would come
    would be as symbolic
    as any baptism transcending
    from grandchild to orphanage
    by a voice that comes not from clouds,
    but from phone lines,
    so long distance that the words
    cut as they are delivered,
    static-filled fear that buzzes
    in her ear.

    In the middle of our November:
    I kept a vigil all night,
    waiting for, wanting for,
    searching for words,
    in the ambiguity the time between
    an accident and a tragedy,
    there is hope,
    and what can we say of this?

    And these are all the thoughts –
    in the middle of our November –
    that distract me from the rhetoric,
    and all I can hear are phantom voices
    of the familiar speaking strange words,
    but how appropriate:

    after all, this is why
    we call this a wake.

  93. Heather says:

    Lesson #9: Friends

    She used to leave notes on my car
    Her husband tried to kiss me

    She wanted to study phonetics together
    Her husband wanted to take me for a drive
    In his Porsche

    She wanted me to join her choir
    Her husband wanted me to help him build his deck,
    He kissed me

    She wanted to cook dinner for me
    Her husband wanted me to tuck him in
    At night

    She wanted me to cover for her affair
    With the tenor at church
    Her husband wanted to complain to me that she was never there

    She wanted me to understand why she pulled out her eyelashes and hair
    Her husband wanted me to join him
    In bed

    Lesson #9: Friends Aren’t Always Friends

  94. Jane penland hoover says:

    Robert,
    Enjoy and enjoy – wishing I could be present – love little ones parties!!! – even if I was the creator – long time back now.

    Just wondering if there is a way you could make this blog let us reply to each post right beneath the poem and then "add comment" for our new poems. So cumbersome scrolling up and down to find comments and make them.

  95. satia says:

    For those lamenting the typos of their posts, notice that our fearless leader has written jive instead of jibe.

    If he can do it, so can we!

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