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):

You might also like:

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0 thoughts on “2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 12

  1. Genevieve Fitzgerald

    Sea Sprite Pantoum

    Yes there are sea sprites
    At the Hotel Mackinac
    Squinting brings them into sight
    Doubt puts them back

    At the Grand Hotel Mackinac
    Misty sea dancers’ outing
    Distrust and they’ll be pushed back
    To the line between murk and doubting

    Mistiness brings the dancers out:
    In aqua glow they make promises,
    Toe the line between fog and doubt,
    Stomp their reel, blow stage kisses

    Through the mist they’ll make promises
    Squinting brings them to sight
    Puddle stomping their stage kisses
    Trust past mist into sprite

  2. Linda M. Rhinehart Neas

    Writing Exercise

    Writing
    by prompt
    can be somewhat helpful
    but, at other times it causes great distress
    to try creating poems
    off the
    cuff

    (Fibonacci poem)

    Dear Robert

    How can I impress upon you
    any better than I did just the other day
    when I wrote about my dislike
    for poems that rhyme and take form?
        Surely, I was clear.
         My life sings when I am able
    to place words in
            helter
    skelter form that has
    no rhyme, yet some reason.
          Call me a free spirit, if you will
    but my poetic passion
    lies
    comfortably within the arms
    of free style.

    (Better late than never…had a crazy day yesterday!)

  3. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    FORM/ANTI-form POEM: Haiku

    Haikus like popcorn
    hot buttery syllables
    mmmmm, need big bucket!

    Haikus are like Spring
    plant, water, and then sunshine
    stand back and watch sprout!

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    NOT-SO-FORM POEM: Prose

    The Prose Man
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    This pony does not do round pens, corrals, paddocks, or stalls. This pony knows only mountains, and valleys, and open range. This pony finds pastures of sonnets and sestinas a little too lush for poetic grazing, so sticks to the badlands of free verse and chaparral. So if it’s meter or cadence you’re wanting to saddle up to, then better keep me away from wire, vinyl, and enclosures of wood, for I otherwise crash them, jump them, eat them, push them over for breakfast. I am a mustang of spanish royalty and cannot be bought, tamed, or bullied. I choose my own path, my own elegy. Touch me with a rondeau rope and I’ll show you how hard hooves can be. Come at me with ghazal blindfolds and I’ll teach you how lethal teeth are. Show up with a kyrielle brush, and I’ll flatten these ears and help you write an epitaph, mister. Think again that you’ll ever get close enough to lay a hand on this blue roan’s hide. My mane lies wild and tangled, and I rather like it that way.

    So buzz off, prose man, and let me be.

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  4. Taylor Graham

    Rondelet

    IMPULSE OF THE DAY

    The morning sings
    electric blue. "Come throw the switch,"
    the morning sings.
    These rooted trees are growing wings.
    So let the spider have her niche –
    throw broom and dust-cloth in a ditch.
    The morning sings!

  5. Mike Bayles

    The Dancer before Me

    I could not hold her for long,
    the dancer before me.
    She turned and spun away
    with an angel’s grace.

    The dancer before me,
    in her movements, she found joy.
    She moved to the beat of the song
    and took the melody to heart.

    In her movements, she found joy
    with the measures allowed.
    While true to the melody,
    this elusive beauty remained free.

    With the measures allowed,
    she gave herself to dance and song.
    In dance she found a greater joy
    in a dervish of merriment.

  6. bolton carley

    Pool Weirdo Pantoum

    He’s the old guy

    I know you know him

    He’s like 35

    Maybe his name is Jim?

    I know you know him

    His shorts have the monkey butt.

    Or maybe his name is Tim?

    But he’s got that giant beer gut.

    His shorts have the monkey butt

    And the tail wraps around front,

    But he’s got that giant beer gut

    So it doesn’t look like you’d want.

    Yeah, that tail wraps around front

    And you can’t help but stare.

    So it doesn’t look like you’d want

    To get in his way when dared.

    But you can’t help but stare

    When he drops in a free fall.

    Don’t get in his way when dared,

    Cuz he’s gonna yell “Cannonball!”

  7. Julie Hayes

    Where are the words?

    I don’t know what to write
    Today
    The words don’t seem to come.
    So this will just be short and
    Sweet
    To write a few words for you.

    (written on April 13, 2011 for Day 12 prompt)

  8. Nancy Posey

    This one may be a little corny, but after teaching sonnet form this week and reading both Wordsworth’s "Nuns Fret Not" and Millay’s "I Put Chaos Into Fourteen Lines," I ran into a woman at a poetry reading who admitted she’d looked me up on Facebook and thought I looked long and happily married. Thus–

    Sonnet

    “In truth the prison, unto which we doom
    ourselves, no prison is. . . .”—

    “Nuns Fret Not At their Convents Walls”—William Wordsworth

    Though we don’t live like hermits or like nuns,
    and though we so often tend to fly, to roam
    far from the quiet comfort of our home,
    not caught in spider webs the other spun,
    just like contented weavers at their loom,
    we find each other at each close of day,
    not ever running out of things to say,
    not overcome by bitterness or gloom.
    Some may see marriage as a stifling cell,
    a prison, whose confinement leaves them cold.
    We, on the other hand, would be so bold
    as to consider separation hell.
    If you, indeed, my prisoner must be,
    I’ll gladly let you guard my lock and key.

  9. Joseph Beckman

    2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 12
    Posted by Robert

    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:
    Write a form poem.
    Shadorma is a Spanish 6-line syllabic poem of 3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable lines respectively. Simple as that.

    .
    Evolution
    .
    .
    It is time,
    Make things become new.
    Moving on.
    To the stars.
    A new place far less travelled.
    A place to be true.
    .
    No more time,
    Patience no virtue.
    Chrysalis
    Exploding.
    New day dawns, New sun rises.
    Morning of new life.
    .
    © April 12, 2011 by Joseph Beckman

  10. S.E.Ingraham

    I hope I’m not duplicate-posting; I tried posting this last night but don’t see it here and am actually happier posting today as I finally came up with something for day one so maybe am going to be able to get going on getting caught up (thought it a bit auspicious that I was the 300th poet on Day 1! Another bumper crop year on the PA’s Street, I see … how odd that both Earl and I would attempt a pantoum – I quite like yours Earl)

    A pantoum try…

    On Dreaming the Lake and You

    Again last night I dreamed you and the lake
    And your eyes shone the day happy for me
    The way they could and I felt nothing was fake
    Even clouds gathering dark did not cause worry

    And your eyes shone the day happy for me
    Twin azure chips like stars come falling down
    Even clouds gathering dark did not cause worry
    Both of us smiling, neither one needing to frown

    Twin azure chips like stars come falling down
    Just looking into them I see the lake again
    Both of us smiling, neither one needing to frown
    I know I can dream you I alive, I just wonder when

    Just looking into them, I see the lake again
    Just looking into your eyes I knew I might drown
    I know I can dream you alive, I just wonder when
    Dreaming can be dangerous, dreaming can take you down

    Just looking into your eyes I knew I might drown
    The way they could, and I felt nothing was fake
    Dreaming can be dangerous, dreaming can take you down
    Again last night I dreamed you and the lake

    A non-form poem

    I Dreamed the Lake

    Last night I dreamed the lake
    It was the colour of ashes
    And the wind was whipping
    Little whitecaps

    Into our bay; weather
    Change for sure
    Remember how
    That was always
    A sign?

    In my dream
    You are sitting
    Cross-legged
    On the end of dock
    Watching the storm
    Roll in

    You don’t move
    Even when
    Lightening starts
    Striking, sluicing
    Through the water

    A dream for certain
    You were always
    Terrified
    Of lightening
    And thunder
    When you
    Breathed

  11. Earl Parsons

    All Said and Done
    An attempt at a pantoum

    One of these days our time will be up
    When we take our last breath of earth’s air
    Will we check out of here with an empty cup
    Or will there be nothing….will we care

    When we take our last breath of earth’s air
    Will there be a light at the end of the tunnel
    Or will there be nothing….will we care
    Is there really a Heaven or a place called Hell

    Will there be a light at the end of the tunnel
    Is that tunnel thing just another big lie
    Is there really a Heaven or a place called Hell
    Or is everything over once we die

    Is that tunnel thing just another big lie
    Many witnesses have said that it’s true
    Or is everything over once we die
    This part of our journey will be through

    Many witnesses have said that it’s true
    One of these days our time will be up
    This part of our journey will be through
    Will we check out of here with an empty cup

  12. Babs Loyd

    Day 12’s semi-formless poem.
    Poem a Day, # 12
    Right-Brained Friend
    In my car I led her to a street
    where she made a feared left turn,
    protected by the light,
    and she seemed okay with that
    as she headed back home.

    I was led to pray for her safe arrival.
    She admitted that she scrambled my house number,
    forgot her cell phone and borrowed two
    from strangers she met in a park to call me while still lost.
    Also, she sheepishly said, she had no map in her car.

    She’s a cute hoot, creative in every way,
    who’s accomplished much despite her proclivity
    for being lost.

  13. Yoly

    (Sevenling)

    Refulgent

    A slice of rust brands the radio flyer,
    hinges of a gate,
    and cups made of tin.

    The pluvial period ends.
    Here comes a resplendent morning
    on the tips of cerulean harbingers.

    The new conservatory is a full-throated song.

  14. Wendy

    Here’s my non- form poem. 🙂

    This Is What Poetry Looks Like

    The angle isn’t quite right
    As the villanelle takes flight.
    The prose can be driven
    And the sestina can be unforgiving.

    The simplicity of a haiku
    And the difficulty of the tanka too.
    The meanness of the insult
    And the opening of the list vault.

    There is rhyme, but not a form
    The triolet is out of my norm.
    I can find the found
    God this stuff can get me turned around!

    Not to mention the unmentionable
    The insult poem can become unstable
    I’m gonna return to the safety of free
    That’s my favorite form of poetry 

  15. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Didn ‘t get to read many yesterday….WOW what a bounty of riches….. To mention just a few….

    De Jackson…. You brought a smile to my first first thing… I agree…there ‘s math " hiding in there". ,….just delicious irony in a fine poem womderful as usual. 🙂

    Nancy P. Still smiling at that loving hair swirling in the drain

    And now for something completely different…Walt’s beautiful love poem tom his Sestina Faire… almost R rated….lush and lovely…..

    Joseph … Your first Landscape … Gorgeous

    Paula W. Your tribute to dad….. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh….. Perfect as that mentioned ice cream smooth and pure and so authentic …. Through smiling tears … Thank you for sharing a bit of that love that lives on as long as he is remembered….and how you’ve " remembered" him here!

    I am completely awash in form, imagery, passion and play on the teeming street of PA yesterday! Can only as always bemoan not being able to mention each poem and to throw my gratitude onto the street for being part of this wonderful place that has become so real….

    Congratulations on yesterdays, welcome all those who are stopping by and staying on. The Street and again Happy Poeming today!

  16. Walt Wojtanik

    NO CRY FOR HELP
    (Trilonnet)

    A boy, the age of seventeen,
    still standing on the cusp of dreams,
    wandered lonely in his despair.

    A handsome lad; athletic, lean,
    not bound to someone else’s schemes.
    Eyes, a bright blue; brown shaggy hair,

    kept to himself, no one had seen,
    Troy coming apart at the seams.
    On the surface, without a care.

    Who would have guessed that this bright teen,
    would end his own life amidst screams,
    his final breath with no on there.

    A bullet blast, and now he’s gone,
    A promising life had gone wrong.

    "Troy", a boy in my youngest daughter Andrea’s English class
    ended his life yesterday afternoon. He sat in front of her in class
    and although they weren’t good friends, had sided with her in a discussion yesterday morning; aside from a shy hello when they passed, verbal exchanges weren’t a part of their routine.
    Now, my bright seventeen year old daughter doesn’t understand
    why life is "so fucked up". Me, a man of words, had few answers.

    not saying much else.

  17. MiskMask

    I hope no ones minds but I’d like to revise one of my pieces.

    The F-Words

    Forlorn is my free will
    Forefend methods and formulae
    Forfeit my breath to skills studied
    Forge these shackles to my imagination and
    Forage through a myre of muddied minds

  18. Chimnese

    Within The Strenght Of Dreams
    (Pantoum)

    Within the strength of dreams
    searching for answers
    Deep within the streams
    taking my strenght

    Searching for answers
    Within the strenght of dreams
    taking my strenght
    I find the courage to take control

    Within the strenght of dreams
    Searching for answers
    I find the courage to take control
    You’re head falling to the ground.

    The sword in my hand as i strike
    I am immortal, sharping my sword
    Your head falling to the ground,
    nothing can keep the dark passages hidden.

    I am immortal, sharping my sword
    Instead your timely dead was begotten
    Nothing can keep the dark passages hidden.
    I find the courage to take control.

    Instead your timely dead was begotten
    Taking my strenght
    I find the courage to take control
    Within the stenght of dreams.

  19. MiskMask

    There are too many to mention here today but here are a few that caught my imagination: Melissa (Robin), Walt (Good Poem Bad Poem), De (Exhale), RJ (Pro-Forma), Nancy’s tanka, Michelle Hed, Catherin’s Sijo (I want to look into this form; very nice), RJ (Storm Clouds is one of my favs today), Joe’s Ode, Joseph’s Madison Square (brilliant and mesmerising), Marian’s Harvest, John Pupo’s Trip, Paula’s Dad (a lovely tribute), Rob’s (Monotetra), Karen’s Hot Macaroni (Yum!), Zeb – love your tribute to a poetic poodle in Brizzle, M Wood’s coffee and cookies, Linda’s Stash Your Soul Away, Janet’s Ballerina, Pearl! Wow!, Tilly’s Nostalgia, Buddha’s blitz poem, Kim’s haiku (I think you’ll enjoy keeping a blog!), Sue’s bumblebee, Sara’s Fibonacci, Marie Elena, Benjamin Thomas’s Don’t Resist the Calm.

  20. Tracy Davidson

    Am posting this one separately as it’s a bit more serious, and personal.

    Triolet

    "There’s nothing more we can do,"
    the worst words you’ll ever hear,
    guaranteed to leave you feeling blue.
    "There’s nothing more we can do,"
    and so the tumour grew and grew,
    until the day we faced our biggest fear.
    "There’s nothing more we can do,"
    the worst words you’ll ever hear.

  21. Tracy Davidson

    Epitaph

    Here lies Tracy, a wannabe poet
    She wrote rubbish, and don’t we all know it!

    Fibonacci

    My
    dog
    is not
    as young as
    he once was and I
    dread the day that we will lose him.

    Hay(na)ku

    Serendipity
    is my
    second favourite word

    Hay(na)ku (reverse)

    My favourite word
    undoubtedly is
    chocolate

    Lune (Kelly)

    I lie and dream of
    Daniel Craig
    in those snug blue trunks

    Monotetra

    He seemed like a nice kind of chap
    though he favoured hard gangsta rap
    did all his clothes shopping in Gap
    and smelt like crap, and smelt like crap.

    Shadorma

    He came home
    after a night out
    to find that
    his girlfriend
    had cut up all his trousers
    and set fire to them.

    Tanka

    he whistled
    and the bitch came back
    at a gallop
    hoping
    for more alimony

    Limerick

    Last night I dreamt of George Clooney
    Who kept dropping his trousers to moon me
    Alas when I woke
    In my bed was a bloke
    Who looked twenty times rougher than Rooney

    (that’s Wayne, not Mickey. If you guys in the US don’t know who Wayne Rooney is, count yourself fortunate!)

    As you’ve probably guessed there wasn’t a lot on the telly last night. Will stop now.

  22. MiskMask

    Thank you for the mention, Kim!

    The F-Words

    Forlorn is my free will
    Forefend methods and formulae
    Forfeit my breath to studied skill
    Forge these shackles to my imagination
    Formulised verbal castration

    p.s. I so don’t know what poetic form this is, perhaps it’s just bad form. 🙂

  23. Barbara Ehrentreu

    Here is a formless one:

    Wind

    I wanted to write a form poem
    About the wind, but the form
    stifled my words as if a noose
    were around my fingers
    Keeping them from tripping across
    the keys creating them
    And I realized with a deep felt sigh
    My muse does not like being locked
    In a form of any kind
    But like breasts after a long day
    must swing free to expand its
    essence

    The wind’s howl wraps around
    the bricked space and ricochets
    toward the lonely expanse of water
    Back and forth like a ghostly game of
    ping pong the wind screams its eerie song
    Whoooooo, whooooooo, whooooo
    And I imagine abandoned ships run aground
    with the trapped souls of the unfortunate
    victims yelling for release
    bringing goose bumps all over my body
    Forcing me to hide beneath covers and stop
    up my ears to keep out the crazed sound of the wind.

  24. Barbara Ehrentreu

    First of all, welcome to Eve who had the bravery to post to this awesome group. I am looking forward to reading your poems. I breezed through all of these incredible versions of the different forms and I give you credit Pearl for trying so many. You are really a wonder and also Walt for your continual experimenting. I liked your concrete.

    Also: Janet for your beautiful sestina about the ballet dancer.
    de for your flowing words

    Hi to Tanja Cilia, a fellow MuseItUp author. Great to see you here. I see we both wrote a sonnet, but I like yours better!

    So many more to shout out to, but I don’t have the energy now to reread and comment. I will try to read more in the coming days. I just enjoy strolling down PA street and meeting all of the new awesome poets who are posting here.

    Here is mine:

    Love’s Journey Sonnet

    Love’s journey takes you down a long road
    Upon which you stumble and fall
    Unsure of the length and the size of your load
    All you can do is is stand in thrall

    Wrapped in your lover’s arms
    You don’t move beyond to the after
    You’re sure he will block all harms
    And you drown out your fears with laughter

    Time wounds all heels
    As love pares away
    Your life has been a series of reels
    As day follows day follows day

    Though you wished for magic
    Most of it was just tragic

  25. de jackson

    Well, I lied. No time for Fibbin’ today. Poetic irony?

    THANK YOU: Domino, Connie L. Peters, Benjamin Thomas, and Marie. Sorry if I missed anybody, and especially sorry I missed all the amazing poetry today. NO time to read, which saddens me to no end. Crazy, crazy day.

  26. Tanja Cilia

    Silly Sonnet

    When eyes are closed and sleep descends so sweet,
    The demons of the night, they like it not.
    They bid my Guardian Angels to retreat
    And hinder their fine works with all they’ve got!

    I try; I strive to be the best I can;
    Yet strife and doubt beset me all day long.
    Each wee success is but the flash-in-pan
    Each tune a mournful dirge and not a song!

    Each time I laugh, there’s bitter tears in store
    For each success, a failure’s sure to come.
    I will get less, for I dared ask for more –
    I’m bound to fail, when all is said and done.

    Welcome insomnia, wakefulness at night;
    I cede my sleep – though not without a fight!

  27. shann palmer

    Song and Dance

    The old ones are dropping off the radar
    faster than rotary phones, usable transoms,
    cheap gas, and popping the clutch on a hill.

    Tom’s mom fell, Susie died while knitting,
    Genelle hangs on because she’s contrary,
    and Russ simply stopped, just like that.

    We shuffle through wondering who’s next,
    what it will mean to be the last person to ask,
    the story-teller, the only one who remembers.

    Even poets fall back on massaging metaphors
    into believable elegies, crafting blank verse
    measured out in coffee spoons. Some tribute.

    Today, I picked out my funeral hymns, swearing
    I’ll get a hold on my boxes of gimcrackery,
    write names and dates on all these photographs.

    This is the time to reflect in this moment,
    tomorrow I must work, there will never be
    enough space, labels, or plastic containers.

    I don’t mind being mortal, it’s the dominos
    tumbling before me that make me step sideways,
    hope no one sees me hiding, to stay awhile.

  28. A~Lotus

    balmy evening–
    folding over parts of the sun
    strips of clouds
    (haiku)

    **

    How You Are

    A

    Breathtaking soul, someone I least expected to be with is something I will never
    Understand just the same way as how much you love me. Every
    Night I dream of us looking out from under the canopy of maple and pine trees and seeing stars
    Covering a pond of water lilies with the occasion glint of gold shooting out from the water like an arc
    Holding a firefly in its mouth before falling back into a bliss

    Of dreams.

    [Acrostic poem – How You Are A (BUNCH) Of Dreams]

  29. Benjamin Thomas

    Form: Kelly lune

    Modified Kelly lune with 6-3-5 syllables

    Flying by night bygones
    Over the skies
    Reaching the frontier

    Original Kelly lune 5-3-5

    Flying by nights old
    Over the skies
    Reaching the frontier

    Anti-form

    Flying by nights
    Over the skies
    Reaching the final frontier

  30. Mr. Walker

    don’t think, write
    get those words down on
    paper right now

    in your brain
    they’re no good, just clutter
    slowing you down

    set them free
    see what they have to
    say to you

    you don’t know
    what you think until you
    write them down

    and I can’t
    read your mind, so write
    down those words

    then we can
    talk and get somewhere new
    you and I

    (a series of the Jack Collom lune)

  31. Benjamin Thomas

    Whew-Hew! My first Pantoum

    Don’t resist the calm
    There is a great tempest in the sea
    Be at peace it is thy balm
    Tis’ no longer I but He

    There is a great tempest in the sea
    Rebuke every wind and wave
    Tis’ no longer I but He
    Strong and mighty to save

    Rebuke every wind and wave
    He’s always within my boat
    Strong and mighty to save
    Content while life’s afloat

    He’s always within my boat
    Be at peace it is thy balm
    Content while life’s afloat
    Don’t resist the calm

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