2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 27

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Blame the (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, use the new phrase as the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Some example titles might include: “Blame the rain,” “Blame the loud-mouthed jerk in the row behind us,” “Blame the ref,” etc.

Here’s my attempt:

“Blame the food”

We’re heavier than we were
just a few days ago. Our
heads and bodies ache. We looked
with such anticipation
forward to this holiday
break. Now, we just want to get
back to where we were before.


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104 thoughts on “2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 27

  1. ideurmyer

    Age is to Blame

    Walking like a toy soldier,
    atiff knees and elbows straight,
    I bend slowly and noisily, or not at all.
    I eat more, sleep less,
    take longer to do mini tasks.
    Talk to myself, mutter to the tv.
    What is wrong with me?
    Blame it on the years.

  2. S.E.Ingraham

    The Woman to Blame

    By far my favourite business card
    Belongs to an artisan who designs
    Hand blown beaded jewellery that has
    To be fashioned while it’s white-hot

    Each piece is distinctive, no two are
    Anywhere near alike, making every one
    A true work of art – my two favourites
    Of those I own – “Amethyst Aurora”

    A carnelian pendant with bubbles suspended
    Within its solid centre, plus, a string of large
    Amber-brown beads each blown, then
    Hand-painted, a “Secret Garden” round my neck

    One of the best parts of the whole experience
    Is when someone compliments me on these
    Lovelies and asks me where I got them;
    I whip out the card, “The Woman to Blame”

    Naturally, women are enchanted, and men—
    Men nod as if having an “aha” moment – then
    Take a card; it’s best to know from the get-go
    Who will be responsible for the credit card charges

    She’s a clever gal this artist, is my thought
    The woman to blame indeed …

  3. AC Leming


    Blame the snow
    for hiding the rock within
    the snowball

    Natalie threw
    in second grade, fowling my
    taste for snowball

    fights forever.
    Childhood memories rear up
    at odd times.

    Sometimes they
    haunt you until you write them
    down, write them

    out on paper,
    white as snow
    before your lost innocence.


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