2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 16

For today’s prompt, write a snapshot poem. When I think of snapshot, I think of a photograph or painting still life. The poem would bring this particular moment to life. However, if you have another interpretation, I encourage you to follow your muse.

Here’s my attempt:

“Saturday morning”

He’s sprawled out on the bed
watching the wind shake the leaves
and branches. The sun slides through
the slats of the blinds. She snuggles
next to him and listens to his heart
beat hard and slow. They stay
that way most of the morning;
after all, there is no alarm.

*****

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*****

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0 thoughts on “2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 16

  1. J.lynn

    “The Tomato Birthday Party”

    Under the deep September sun, the tomatoes
    in Uncle Something’s backyard percolate and
    sway in a kind of hula burlesque. They masticate
    on earthworms and goat manure almost as quickly
    as the poison ivy in my yard coils around my shins.

    Row upon row of nippy Lemon Boys and Mr. Stripeys
    grasp horny hands with slow to ripen Garden Peaches
    and plump Early Girls—all of them bursting to celebrate
    proud Uncle Something’s 80th birthday.

    He tapped signs all over his garden: Pick a juicy dozen.

    Great Aunt Mildred—or is it Estelle? Whichever one lost
    all that weight when she had the shingles— bends over
    to separate the dancing lovers then gives us a show of
    her own double Golden Nuggets, dimpled and dreary as
    her wrinkled knickers slide to her knees.

  2. Mike Bayles

    Concerto

    You hold the neck of the cello
    like you’d hold a lover
    while you coax out of its hollow body
    somber notes of a song you wrote.
    Next to you, sits a partner
    who picks at the strings
    of his Fender electric guitar
    trying to collaborate,
    but you dominate,
    as if the song
    is yours and yours alone.
    People drop coins into a hat
    set before you,
    and you nod and you smile
    at those before you,
    but I wonder
    why you never talk to him

  3. Mike Bayles

    Concerto

    You held the neck of the cello
    like you hold a lover
    while you coax out of its hollow body
    somber notes of a song you wrote.
    Next to you, sits a partner
    who picks at the strings
    of his Fender electric guitar
    trying to collaborate,
    but you dominate,
    as if the song
    is yours and yours alone.
    People drop coins into a hat
    set before you,
    and you nod and you smile
    at those before you,
    but I wonder
    why you never talk to him

  4. Domino

    Thank you, "The Doctor." I was in such a hurry, but did have two "snapshot"moments in my day. ^_^ I enjoyed the poems you put out today, even though my Spanish is not what it should be, I hope the sadness passed.

    And thank you too, Penny Henderson. Your portrait of Zacchius was wonderful! 🙂

  5. Penny Henderson

    Thanks for the mentions, M.A. and The Doctor. I’ve enjoyed the few brief moments I’ve had to scroll through, finding old friends, like Taylor, Bruce, Daniel, and others who know who you are, and have been delighted to find a few new favorites like you guys, and Tracey, Zeb, A-Lotus, Domino. the list is far from exhaustive. Just who came to mind.

  6. MiskMask

    I just posted another ‘snap shot’ piece to my blog with a photo at http://wp.me/p1bqY3-6D

    It’s just been such a busy weekend that I didn’t have time to post this before the new prompt appeared. Pity.

    Stony Whispers: The Arlington Row Cottages

    A groan , ancient whispers and a sigh,
    Labour pains, new life begins,
    Quick breaths, a mother sobs,
    a baby’s cry, cheery moods,
    celebrate as glasses clink
    and held up high, death’s rattle chills
    the room, hanging heavy as a husband
    dies and another journey begins.

    These ancient stones cottages,
    walls linked in a row, have absorbed
    more than just the rain.

  7. Jo Lightfoot

    TWO-LANE TRIP

    I didn’t take a camera
    to Oklahoma,
    but I got a snapshot:

    police car lights, broken fence,
    escaped bulls, bluff just beyond
    crowned by a row of white wind turbines

    Not the Oklahoma I remembered.

    [ASIDE: Our trip lasted from 5:30am to 11:30pm. Thankfully, I got the poem prompt at an OKC Starbucks. The poem has already morphed but this is the pre-midnight version.]

  8. Claudia Coutu Radmore

    the four of them: a snapshot

    even then they were old to me
    in this photo they have settled into
    chairs as if finally into themselves

    eyes like pale jewels water bright
    they look faintly puzzled as if they
    know something but not what to do

    with the knowing as if they find
    themselves in a quandary need more
    time need to discuss further before

    sharing a secret their expressions
    remind me of that line of jack
    benny’s: the thief says your money

    or your life and jack pauses
    left hand under right elbow hand to ear
    says i’m thinking, i’m thinking…

  9. Debra Cochran

    "Life- A Short River"

    He stands amidst a beautiful
    green river, in the hills of Tennessee–
    yet I wonder if he’s truly happy–
    or ever has been.

    He’s carried the world upon
    his shoulders — all of his life–
    and now has been given one more
    year to live.

    Lung cancer — yet he still
    hangs on to the cigarette–
    his crutch in a cruel
    world.

    I only hope that one of his
    remaining days
    contained a sliver of
    happiness.

  10. Linda Simoni-Wastila

    Raleigh before the tornado hits

    Cresting the inner loop
    after seven hours of slick asphalt,
    the city stretches before us
    shrouded in haze the yellow
    of nicotine stains. Trees droop
    still as skyscrapers, the radio spits
    static. In the rearview black clouds
    churn, the children sleep, and I
    press the gas until my foot goes numb.

    ***
    Reposting because the original went wonky in word and left out a line.

    Shout outs to Nancy P, Debra E (plus HUGS!), Bruce N, Corinne, gorgeous stuff that moved me. Back to reading later, off to visit my sister. Thanks, and peace…

  11. Corinne Dixon

    Bruce, thank you for your comment as well.

    Marie Elena, I did not know of your daughter’s battle. How heartbreaking. I can’t imagine dealing with that. My father was diagnosed with a slow moving form of PD about 15 years ago and is now almost 79. He’s been able to pack a lot into his life and I know that if I were to be diagnosed like your daughter, he, like most parents, would trade places with me in a second. And, on an additional note, there is a swath of schizophrenia in my family so I am familiar with the many challenges that can bring as well.

    Have a wonderful celebration week. I have deep admiration for long term relationships, and when I catch a glimpse of what yours has encompassed, I am even more humbled.

    God bless, everyone!! See you on tomorrow’s (now today’s) prompt.

  12. Corinne Dixon

    Walt, that is so sweet! Thank you for your comment. That is how I started my day!!!

    I’m glad to hear things are starting to feel steadier in your world. I enjoyed your contributions yesterday (today on this thread) and did notice the shift in style. Liking it!!

  13. mbschied

    Facade

    Each photograph
    shows a forced image
    of wanting to be there
    behind the off-color smile
    her brain is screaming "Run"
    to be frozen in time
    forever
    is a painful reminder
    of life’s reality
    instead of the imagined truth
    indulged only when
    facing yourself is optional

  14. The Doctor

    So many more great poems on here. I wish I could comment on them all.
    I don’t think I ever read a poem on this site that I didn’t like.

    Marie Elena-I love your poem, touching. :)…

    Bruce Niedt-Super!!!

    Carole Katsantoness-Your poem….I liked it…A lot. 🙂

    Penny Henderson-Coolio!! Like the poem.

    MiskMask-Always have amazzzing poems I can read, thank you.

    A~Lotus-One word: uber-awesome.

    Zeb-Great poem:)

    Domino-Really good poem. But isn’t really good just great? If it is than: REALLY great poem. 🙂

  15. Walt Wojtanik

    Been spending more time reading and less commenting this weekend as things slow get back to normal.

    There is an amazing karma going on in these poems and I am again awed by your work poets.

    If I must say something it would be in agreement with all ob Corinne’s master work. Your heart and compassion shines through in major way. Thank you for sharing that "snapshot".

    Thanks for all who had commented on my humble pieces. I tried to make them short and sweet, sort of a point and shoot approach.

  16. Wendy

    This is my attempt at a snapshot. It’s based on an old black and white photograph of my mother smelling a rose bush in her backyard, circa about 1953. Try as I might, I can’t get the wording right and the way I want it. I’m so tired, it’s been a busy few days. lol So, I’m just gonna post it as is.

    The Rose

    I stare at the photograph
    Smiling at the girl inside. 
    My mother at age 3
    Bending and smelling a rose bush 

    I reach inside and shake the bush
    The little girl jumps back,surprised
    She hesitantly steps forward again
    I use the rose to tickle her nose

    She giggles and smiles
    I see my mother, young and carefree
    I see my mother, old and wise
    The 2 females inhabiting the same body

    The eyes she turns towards me
    Are the eyes of the woman who
    Rubbed vix vapor rub on my 
    Chest when I was sick

    She stood by me when I got married
    And gave me money for groceries
    When I had none 
    She loves me unconditionally 

    The woman and mother she becomes
    Locked inside the child in the picture
    Trying to get out through the trials 
    Of her own childhood and adolescence

    Innocence caught forever in a pose
    Of complete surrender
    To that one moment
    Of the sweet smelling rose

  17. Bruce Niedt

    I also had to read Corinne’s poem that moved everyone. And it moved me as well. It reminded me of a poem I wrote about my father-in-law a few years ago, "Old Man at Bedtime" – he wasn’t as debilitated as your dad, Corinne, but the sentiment was the same. Bless you and your loving care.

  18. Marie Elena

    All:

    I began to try to catch up with reading, and write one of my own this morning. I got as far as Corinne’s piece, and fell apart.

    Corinne, my heart aches for you and your dad … and that statement does not do justice to what I am feeling in my heart for you. God love ya, hon. God love ya. What my own lovely daughter is going through has opened my eyes to the world of movement disorders. We need research, understanding, and HELP.

    On a different note, Keith and I are celebrating 20 years of marriage in the Hocking Hills this week. No cell service, no internet, no TV … just us. =) Normally when we are there, we try to stop into the Laurelville library for a brief period each morning to check on work e-mails, weather and such. I’ll try to catch the prompt and continue writing, but my reading time will be all but non-existent. 🙁

    In the meantime, all of you take care, and keep doing what you all do best. Warm, Hannah-esque smiles to you all!

  19. Bruce Niedt

    I’m about a day behind and this point, and unfortunately I’ve been unable to read a lot of the other poems. I’ll catch up as soon as these %$&# taxes are out of the way.

    Bride

    We couldn’t afford a limo
    you were in your dad’s Pontiac
    chauffeured by your friend from next door.

    We’d just left the ceremony
    on our way to the reception
    and you were looking right at the camera.

    Something about the light
    reflecting off the blue interior
    highlighted your already striking eyes.

    You looked like an ingénue
    a model not quite smiling
    yet your joy lit up your entire face.

    You’ve never looked more beautiful than at that moment.
    You’ve never looked more beautiful than at this moment.

  20. Marie Elena

    Stolen Snippets (Pre-and-Post Schizophrenia and Tardive Dyskinesia)

    My first child. “It’s a girl.”
    Bathtime at Great Aunt-Grandma Peg’s.
    Birthday cake smeared on pudgy-cheeked, one-year-old-big-girl.
    Side-by-side in backyard turtle pool with brother.
    Peeking into bassinet of new baby sister.
    A hug for Grandpop.
    Fishing on Grandma and Grandpop’s dock.
    Black-and-white dance-shot glossy of Maumee Select Choir.
    “Elbow Grease” business card.
    Stunning bride.

    Divorce.
    New Orleans.
    Katrina.
    Loss.

    NY School of Visual Arts (full scholarship).
    New start.

    Unwarranted fears.
    Disturbing voices.
    Paranoid whispers.
    Thought confusion.
    Visual hallucinations.
    Deafening brain noise.
    Agonizing hours on phone with mom every day.
    Paralyzing fear of ALL (books, crosswords, music, sleeping, bathing, art, being alone, being with people, days, nights, dark, living, dying …).
    Suicide attempt.
    Medical leave.
    Home for “healing.”
    Inpatient psych-ward (10-day stay).
    Anti-psychotics, anti-depression, mood stabilizer, anti-anxiety, sleep aid.
    Partial hospitalization (3 months, daily).
    Slow, two-year progression (still at home).
    Odd jaw movements. Anxiety?
    Brooklyn.
    Back to hours on phone with mom every day.
    Progress.
    Making friends.
    Own routine.
    Some enjoyment in life.
    Laughter.

    “What’s wrong with my eyes?”
    Increased facial distortions.
    Functionally blind.
    "Tardive Dyskinesia — a progressive disorder with no cure."
    Too much. Too much. Too much.

  21. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Oh my!! Linda S-W! Poem, stands on it’s own merit…. Building tension that gas pedal pushed to floor and the sleeping children…..SO GLAD. that you were not caught up on actual storm as I was on your poem! Stay safe and enjoy the day!

    Tracy thank you for sharing your hauntingly beautiful last portrait of your brave Mum

    Carolyn, delightful liners in your lines every one. ….. Thanks for the mention…

    Janet your collection of …. There Once Were Three Sisters … Was great fun and well done to boot!

    Janet agree with De your paragraph reviews are a labor of love….especially when there are so do many wonderful poems here

    Just a few mentions…..Sara M….great friendship poem tight as shore to sea…
    Mike …each day one " attempt" follows the other with grace…today no exception…did enjoy put "woman’s" void e

    Buddah…still smile from your found photo and found genetic proof…. LOL

    HAPPY SUNDAY ALL….

  22. Carole Katsantoness

    Empty Journey
     
     
    Did you see it
    laying in the pickup?
    Arms outstretched,
    groping for the cabby,
    face down with its
    wheel aired, missing
    its safe place in
    the shed.
    No load to carry,
    its cries go unheard.
    Why is it set
    in a childlike pose,
    relieved of duty,
    transported who
    knows where.

  23. Linda Simoni-Wastila

    Raleigh before the tornado hits

    Cresting the inner loop
    after seven hours of slick asphalt,
    the city stretches before us
    shrouded in haze the yellow
    of nicotine stains. Trees droop
    still as skyscrapers, the spits
    static. In the rearview black clouds
    churn, the children sleep, and I
    press the gas until my foot goes numb.

    ***
    Late to the game — traveling yesterday and arrived to my mother’s house 15 minutes before the tornado hit downtown just a few miles away. Peace…

  24. Penny Henderson

    ZACCHAEUS

    Why in world am I in this tree?
    It’s bad enough I’m almost a dwarf,
    now here I sit in a sycamore
    while they all laugh at the little guy.
    I wasn’t thinking how it would look,
    I just really needed to see him.
    I must have flipped–gone a bit loony.

    Whoa! Here he comes, children hovering
    likes flies around a sweaty donkey.
    Even the town fathers are flocking
    behind him like sheep with a shepherd.
    Wish I could hear what he’s telling them.

    What’s he pointing at? Me? You mean me?
    Wait–I’m coming–can’t someone help me?
    How did I manage to climb up here?
    Wait–I’m coming as fast as I can.
    Don’t go, sir. Don’t leave here without me!

  25. Melissa Hager

    Sara McN – A beautiful poem of friendship. You are lucky to be able to still enjoy it. And on a beach, too!

    De – I am doomed with a non-Mac, non-number pad laptop it seems. Thanks for all you have done to assist me. Your help opened more dialogue that maybe can assist other poets who don’t have diabolical computers! Maybe my regular laptop will be easier to work with when my children fix it – my darling virus downloading liebchens…

  26. MiskMask

    Tracy, too funny. Did you see a fool with a camera snapping shots of two stuffed foxes on Henley Street? LOL!

    Off to plant up a half dozen new lavender plants today in the garden. I must remember to wear my gardening gloves….

  27. MiskMask

    Gardening Is Not for Sissies

    Hair tucked up into a band
    Her tanned face toward the sun
    She inspects her hands and
    Reaches for the gloves she loves.
    Too late. Hands cracked with soil
    And a thorn digs in her skin.

    Gardening is not for sissies

  28. Zeb

    I’ve taken a line out, got overexcited there…
    Watermint, alexanders,
    bear garlic, yellow dandelions
    white nettle tops,
    soft green heaps in little bowls;
    the forager in his stripey
    top with chalky invitation
    scrawled on propped up blackboard
    – fresh MORELS !
    piled up to his left, hells bells!
    ‘Come on a foray with me’
    my heart races
    ‘3.30 pm.

  29. Zeb

    Watermint, alexanders,
    bear garlic, dandelions
    and nettle tops,
    soft green heaps in little bowls;
    the forager in his stripey
    top with chalky invitation
    scrawled on propped up blackboard
    – fresh MORELS !
    morel esculenta – what a tongue caresser that one is –
    piled up to his left, hells bells!
    ‘Come on a foray with me’
    my heart races
    ’3.30 pm.
    meet here.’

    April PAD : 2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 16 – I’ll add a picture or two to my blog 🙂 Snapshot? My heart nearly stopped. I think that qualifies!

  30. Tracy Davidson

    MiskMask – I was in Stratford-on-Avon yesterday too (I live nearby). Just think, we could have passed each other in the street! Glad you had a good day out.

    Last Photo of Mum

    Last summer,
    in the back garden,
    eyes squinting
    in the sun,
    wearing her wig and bravely
    smiling through the pain.

  31. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    Two Snaps In A Double Frame 

    Baby boy at breast
    Flushed faced 
    One dimple showing
    Eyes looking up 
    to the face
    outside
    the shot

    Tall grown man at front of Capitol
    High colored
    One dimple showing
    Eyes looking straight ahead 
    to the face 
    outside
    the shot

    Side by side in a double frame
    Time passed – minimal needed to refocus  

  32. A~Lotus

    Okay, this is my fourth time trying to post here. It says Poetic Asides was down. 🙁 Hope it works this time!

    I was working on an art piece to go with this, so now not only am I done with my poem but also my accompanying artwork! 🙂 Enjoy!

    ————————————–

    To Count My Lucky Stars

    Tonight there is no fingernail moon,
    except now I need to cut my own nails
    because they have grown so long that
    I can write my own poems in sand and mud,
    without sticks and stones and even wishbones.

    Tonight, the moon is almost full like the wafer
    I taste when I meet God somewhere among
    the stars. But tonight,
    there aren’t that many for me to count.
    The chimney has spat out Orion’s belt
    and somehow all the ashes
    have turned the sky into a midnight black hole,
    and the Little Dipper is getting too bloated
    to hold all the ink from my pen.

    So tonight, I am folding more lucky stars
    out of paper, out of glitter like a kindergarten child
    pressing my wishes into each crease
    and hanging them next to my window bonsai.
    For a moment, I am as small as a cicada
    pausing in my calligraphy of psalms in the trees
    and breathing in a gossamer thread of the moonlight
    through my window as I watch it skip along
    every lucky star I made–like a small stone
    measuring its meditative steps across a river
    ripple by ripple.

  33. de jackson

    Melissa: Sorry I couldn’t be more help with the spacing issue. The only other thing I remember from PC is that if you can get yourself to the screen where you can insert a symbol, there’s a hard space (blank) right next to the tilde. If you insert that space, it’s a real space. I think the whole shebang was under "Character Map" in my main menu or something? Argh. So sorry. My computer incompetence (and short term memory loss) are astounding.

  34. Tanja Cilia

    Bad Hair Day

    Worms of worry
    Drain my brain
    Cyclops mirror steals my sleep

    Stifling synapses
    Throttling thoughts
    And smiting ideas

    Whirligigs though my mind
    Shattered dreams and injured pride
    I was taken for a ride… they lied.

    Helpless sadness
    Hapless madness
    Overwhelming tide; hurt pride.

    Black tomorrows
    Untold sorrows.

    Feeling weird
    No one cheered; they all jeered
    And sneered.

    Unfulfilled pledge…
    What “cutting edge”?

    Replayed scenes
    Of
    Crumbling castles in the air

    Why did I not leave well, alone?

    Sad emotions
    Darkest notions
    Creating doubt and fear…

    I hate my green Mohican.

  35. Benjamin Thomas

    Janet Rice: Three was your magic number today! Three angles, Three Sisters, and There it was. Good job today. Enjoyed your muse.

    Well, poem on!
    See you on day 17!

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