2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 12

And just like that, we’re already on to our second “Two for Tuesday” prompt of the challenge. I know this is a prompt that some poets have been craving, while others probably not so much. Regardless, I did this one on Tuesday to provide some options:

  1. Write a form poem. This could be a sonnet, pantoum, lune, or even something as sinister as a–dare I say it–sestina. If you need a list of poetic forms and there rules, click here.
  2. Write an anti-form poem. Just as there are poets who love playing with forms, there are poets who think they are the worst thing ever. That’s fine. Express (in either free verse or a prose poem) your feelings on writing in traditional forms.

Just make sure you poem!

Here is my attempt:

“Shadorma”

He dances
on a table near
a window
and points out
the way leaves dance on the trees
and cats on the ground.

*****

Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

Tweet about the April PAD Challenge on Twitter with the #aprpad hashtag.

*****

   

Are you familiar with Moleskine?
For years, I have personally used Moleskine notebooks to write my poetry (in addition to those black marble composition notebooks). They come in different sizes, colors, and page types. If you’re like me and need to compose your first drafts on paper, then Moleskine may be perfect for you. Plus, for a limited time, you can get an additional 10% off your Moleskine order with this code: WDMOLE10 (just enter the code during checkout).

Here are a few of my faves (though there are others in WD bookstore):

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0 thoughts on “2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 12

  1. Dennis Wright

    Part One – The Form

    A Bop

    I look nothing like William Blake.
    He was rotund and I am kinda chunky.
    He painted his pictures in colors
    mine are mostly monochromatic musings.
    "The poet is prophet!" William cried.
    I think I saw Jesus before I almost died.

    There’s no fame or fortune in poetry.
    Pack your knap sack with a loaf of bread.
    There’s no fame or fortune in poetry.
    Use your pencil to write what’s in your head.

    This is a real big problem you see.
    I gotta be Blake to make big money,
    yesiree, the big money in big poetry,
    that big money I’m gonna get is for me.
    But something tells me I gotta be me.
    I heard a song of that name by Sammy D.
    and I want write jazz and all that you see.
    How can I be both Blake and Sammy D?

    There’s no fame or fortune in poetry.
    Pack your knap sack with a loaf of bread.
    There’s no fame or fortune in poetry.
    Use your pencil to write what’s in your head.

    My family rowed down the Volga long ago.
    I wasn’t there, but I could learn how to row.
    And no, no, no-no, no,
    I didn’t see Jesus, I just told you so.
    And I’d rather hide as William or Sam,
    than to tell you who I really am.

    There’s no fame or fortune in poetry.
    Pack your knap sack with a loaf of bread.
    There’s no fame or fortune in poetry.
    Use your pencil to write what’s in your head.

    Part Two – The anti-form

    It seems like nonsense to me
    when i put on more clothing
    only to take it off once again.

    I’m too chunky for burlesque.

  2. Diane

    a cascade:

    A Day to Say Goodbye

    I came to see my friend today.
    My cherished friend of many years.
    But she can’t linger any more.
    It is a day to say goodbye.

    I read her name outside the door,
    but only see a stranger in.
    Large eyes gaze from a shrunken face.
    I came to see my friend today.

    "Hello," came her familiar voice–
    a shadow of her quiet smile.
    she reaches out to clasp my hand.
    My cherished friend of many years.

    I sit beside what’s left of her.
    Her head rests on my shoulder.
    A sigh of weariness escapes,
    but she can’t linger any more.

    Later, as I watch her sleep,
    a gentle touch tells her I’m near–
    one last way to show I love her.
    It is a day to say goodbye.

  3. Rose Anna Hines

    CAT IN A FIBONACCI MIRROR

    My
    cat
    kali
    kalico
    loves to drink coffee
    out of my mug on the table

    She dips her paw into the mug
    licks her paw slowly
    many times
    coffee
    high
    cat

  4. K Kerns

    12 April 2 for Tuesday – Form and Free Form Poem

    [first line only: the word ‘poems’ is one syllable

    Poetry in a Box

    Form poems ain’t my normal forte
    I’d rather watch a horse eat hay
    Meter and rhyme I sure can do
    It reads like I’m a child of two

    But free form poems sets me free
    To write and express and say how it is
    No lines in boxes or hoops to jump
    Just my pen and paper and the old gray matter

    Trees sway sweeter and cats meow better
    The lights are brighter and the dark is deeper
    The earth and moon and sky above
    Is rounder, bigger and bluest of all
    But if I have to I can put a poem in a box ~

  5. G. Smith

    HERE AND NOW/THEN AND THERE
    (A found poem – anti-form – divided into a Kouta – form)
    (c) 2011 – G. Smith
    ———————————

    A middle aged woman stands
    Behind the counter,
    Slicing tomatoes, dreaming
    Of earlier days.

  6. Mike Bayles

    Relativism

    Cool in spring, the day
    in winter, would be warm,
    stirring wishes for summer.

    A cold front never stays,
    much like a passing storm
    cooling a spring day.

    Taking my wishes asunder,
    the wind that blows around me,
    in winter, would be warm.

    Every thought turns
    to warm breezes and another season,
    stirring wishes for summer.

    A Cascade Poem

  7. ChapLynn

    Raising a Generation (The Bop)

    Kids want to know where babies come from.
    Some even take the time to ask sweating,
    nervous parents who search for an appropriate response.
    But they say nothing. They pass on the task.
    So, the child goes away curious, talking to friends.
    Then, the struggle begins.

    Unanswered questions can force children to raise children

    Some child will tell your child that sex is okay.
    They will tell her to do it so that he won’t go away.
    They will make her feel free to explore.
    She won’t talk to you anymore.
    By the time you get up the nerve to speak.
    She will be in her second trimester.
    You’ll beat yourself up wondering
    How an answered question could have protected her.

    Unanswered questions can force children to raise children

    You are contemplating how your response affected her,
    And wondering who encouraged her to do what is done.
    Did she do it out of curiosity, stupidity or fun?
    It doesn’t really matter now. The baby is on the way.
    I would have answered her questions myself,
    If I could have only seen this day

    Unanswered questions can force children to raise children

  8. Jay Sizemore

    An Elegy for Innocence

    When I was six I knew that Santa Claus existed,
    and that Christmas, I saw his silhouette
    perched on my grandmother’s roof, heard
    bells jingle as reindeer shuffled their anxious
    hooves against the frozen black shingles.

    I knew that God watched my every move,
    knew my every thought, twisted my heart
    like a blood-soaked rag every time
    I felt tempted to do wrong. Every dream
    imagined, every wish cast towards the stars,
    every truth spoken, was formed from purest
    yearning and unblemished perception.

    A body in a casket was a person asleep
    who wouldn’t wake up, a reason for people
    to cry, a reason to whisper and place flowers
    over foreign names. Don’t step on graves.

    The End were words for bedtime stories,
    and words taking a lifetime to learn how to fear.

  9. Scott Mesrobian

    In A Room By The Lake (a sonnet)

    She gleamed as if her heart had been renewed
    I looked into her eyes, so blue, so bright
    There in the light that came from the mood
    In all the world one never knew such light.

    The room looked out o’er a shimmering lake
    As the sun set behind thin clouds of rose
    Her hair, fine and dark, encircled her face
    And my thoughts wandered to where no one knows.

    Words that were spoken in silence shall be
    Between two people on a timeless path
    When the world around them vanished then we
    Who walk this earth immersed in heaven’s bath.

    Our souls are tied with a thin unseen line
    And to each other are wed to be thine.

  10. Arrvada

    Tradition vs Freedom
    By
    Arrvada

    The freedom of the written word
    So often constrained
    By class and social standing
    By what is expected of me
    Makes me seek out words of my own
    To shape and mold however I choose
    Yet even if it makes me seem
    Like a hypocrite to choose the frame
    I like to write from time to time
    In the traditional form of
    Limerick, haiku and sonnet
    The words are still mine,
    They are simply held loosely
    By the pacing of tradition and of
    Those poets long ago
    Who led the way for me to speak, to write
    To say and to be free to say it.

  11. Jolanta Laurinaitis

    Cascade

    Breathe the trepidation in
    Exhale the golden string of the universe
    Lotus blooms in your moon light

    Cascade down the moss
    Virgin drops shake loose
    Breath the trepidation in.

    Rising up from the ash
    Shaking free the broken earth
    Exhale the golden string of the universe

    Swirling clouds painted
    Smeared across a canvas sky
    Lotus Blooms in your moon light

    (and obviously in a cascade form!)

  12. Dheepikaa

    Janet,
    Thanks for that wonderful note. I intended both of them to be ‘Lune’ though the first is Kelly’s lune and the second is Collom’s lune according to Robert’s lune post. 🙂 Chai is a favorite drink in India, I am glad you enjoyed the drink and the poems.

  13. Sarah Joyce Bryant

    Formless

    These words flow onto the page
    in their own special way and my mind
    is weakened by the idea of shaping,
    paring, and fleshing them out into your
    structure, into what you think is right
    when I’d much rather let them be themselves.

  14. Doug

    the boxer

    there
    is
    little
    that shapes
    my thought these days
    muse-less i dangle tit-bits of
    self, grasp feebly to understand
    the whys, the why nots
    wisdom is
    distant,
    time
    gone

    i
    am
    just a
    pallid form
    shadow boxing verbs
    ringed in my own conjugation

    ©DPugh April MMXI

  15. Salvatore Buttaci

    EGO LUNE

    If only sunlight
    Could outshine
    One’s blinding ego

    Show us how foolish
    We appear
    In our brash boastings

    Burn conceit away
    To ashes
    From which we arise

    Like the phoenix did
    Leave behind
    Feathers we fluttered

    In our peacock walks
    Down life’s road
    And be at last wise

    #

  16. Rebekah Ford

    Forms: Checkmate

    Poems in established forms
    continually elude me:
    the Sonnet, the Ode,
    the Pantoum and Villanelle,
    along with all the rest.
    Faced with them, my words fall
    like a checkmated King in Chess.

  17. Mariel Dumas

    Black Telephone (A Pantoum)

    I call you from a black telephone
    From New Orleans to New York
    Hands on knees that aren’t my own
    Thick skin; peeling eggs off the yolk

    From New Orleans to New York
    A red river runs South
    Thick skin; peeling eggs off the yolk
    The water runs deep to the heart of a freezing mouth

    A red river runs South
    Singing me to stay
    The water runs deep to the heart of a freezing mouth
    And a scared and skinny deer caught in the fray

    Singing me to stay
    In the North where it’s cold
    And a scared and skinny deer caught in the fray
    But the path has gotten old

    In the North where it’s cold
    The snow has a steady existence waiting for the sun
    But the path has gotten old
    And a wet heart weighs one and a ton

    The snow has a steady existence waiting for the sun
    And pretty birds fall dead from trees knowing you’re gone
    And a wet heart weighs one and a ton
    It’s you that needs to sail on

    The steady mast has lost its glow
    Hands on knees that aren’t my own
    In time perhaps you’ll know
    I call you from a black telephone.

  18. G. Smith

    HERE AND NOW/THEN AND THERE
    (A found poem – anti-form – divided into a Kouta – form)
    (c) 2011 – G. Smith
    ————
    A middle aged woman stands
    Behind the counter,
    Slicing tomatoes, dreaming
    Of earlier days.

  19. Barbara Ehrentreu

    Walt, how awful for your daughter. I hope she can get some kind of counseling, because you never know how she is feeling now. Your trilonnet, a form with which I am not familiar, chronicled this awful event in a way that emphasized the horror and yet it was very tender to this poor young boy. Your daughter went through a traumatic event and though you had no words for her your poem expresses everything. Did you show it to her? My thoughts are with you and your family. This can’t be easy for anyone.

  20. mallora

    The Ninja and the Princess… a rough first try, for you Robert, because it sounded like a dare…

    The ninja and the princess
    in the yard, hard at play.
    Racquets, nets, arrows, ball
    scar the bright, grassy green.
    The ninja fiercely wills enemy sticks to break
    In the dead heat of the sun.

    Sister calls to mom’s son
    “Help me play princess!”
    Ninja mindfully breaks
    And, with ball, joins her in play.
    Wise for 5, and not so green
    As to let her start to bawl.

    They start to play
    In the heat of the sun
    On the bright, grassy green
    The ninja and the princess.
    And “Princess’ they’ll play,
    with ball, without break.

    They play princess-ball without break
    Until princess gets hit by the ball
    Smash-stopping their play.
    Scared now, his father’s son
    Runs to the princess
    Lying, crying on the grassy green.

    Together they lie on the green
    Wondering if the break
    Was the ball or the princess.
    Hoping it was the ball.
    Lying in the sun
    Ninja and Princess do not want to play.

    So they do not play.
    Lying on the grassy green
    In the hot, sunny sun
    They pick flowers and break
    off the petals, leaving a ball
    Of flower seeds fit for a princess.

    Ninja and princess play
    Flower ball, grassy green
    Small break in the sun

    🙂

  21. Taylor Graham

    Form: Gwawdodyns

    STEEPLECHASE

    Dapple-gray gelding16 hands high
    gathering for his leap – clipped hooves fly,
    touch down. Canter, extend, pick up time.
    Flick of ears. Shadows climb, seconds die.

    Young girl on her bossy sorrel mare –
    blur of crimson coat and auburn hair,
    everything bright too quick to measure
    what is treasure to a trick of air.

    That lanky gent on an old bobbed roan
    keeps his seat steady as flesh to bone.
    Around they come again, then they’re gone
    like blue dawn over the ancient stone.

  22. Earl Parsons

    S.E. – My first try at a pantoum. Never even knew it existed until I clicked on it to find out what it was. Extremely difficult style, I must say. One really has to think ahead for the most part, and then think back to the beginning in order to write the end. Glad you liked it. Same to yours.

    Guess I’m not too old to learn new tricks.

  23. Carole Katsantoness

    Two for Tues./on-form
    Glass beads and poetry
    make sense of a new
    dance. Shape movement,
    melodies tranquil
    at last. Snatched
    lightening bug words
    wriggle through a pen.
    Reflections
    shimmer–new novas
    circle in my hand,
    seeds of cottonwood
    subtly descend, create
    florescent bursts of
    double meters and
    passions blend.
    Muses waft, tempt
    a piqued-forgiving ear,
    artistry blossoms, sparks
    rhythm once again.

  24. Mike Bayles

    Sunlight upon Water

    sunlight upon water
    stipples reflections of light
    shines early morning
    warm breezes call
    day beginning
    spring
    beginning day
    calls breezes, warms
    morning’s early shine
    light of reflections stipples
    water upon sunlight

    (Palindrome)

  25. Penny Henderson

    PSALMS (sonnet)

    The songs King David sang will never die,
    although composed in such unlikely spots.
    So few were penned where tranquil waters lie–
    more likely upon fleeing some despot.

    Where in that cave did he stow pens and scrolls?
    Stuffed in his belt beside Goliath’s sword
    were there perhaps some rough papyrus rolls
    with scratched out, edited,immortal words?

    Or did he store then safely in his head
    awaiting that grand day he had a scribe,
    knowing them safe from red blots when he bled,
    or looting by some rag-tag conquered tribe?

    They’re not scribbles of some warrior’s raving.
    All agree today they needed saving.

  26. Carol

    Feed Me!

    a wake-up paw touches my face
    the cat is craving morning meal
    yowling he begins to pace
    a wake-up paw touches my face
    his bowl is empty not a trace
    of last night’s dinner. His appeal?
    a wake-up paw touches my face
    the cat is craving morning meal

    Carol A. Stephen
    April 13, 2011

  27. Margot Suydam

    May Day

    Flowers will bloom, bulge the empyrean
    blue, as if they are pallid youths in denim
    stitching spiraling green veins up the side
    just to display both their legs, stem the tide
    of war-time rack and ruin. Still calls
    for help are unheard amidst the slippery
    din of piratic planks and gunner walls,
    all power lifted, a spent battery.
    But still we scrub our faces clean, awake
    blossoms that are nothing more than hope
    parade with banners tucked at armpits gate.
    The chance spring gloves stay white with soap
    a breath we always hold, what remains at stake
    is promise of may or may not: We wait.

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