2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 9

For today’s prompt, write a time of day poem.  In fact, make the title of your poem the time of day.  For instance, “5:54 a.m.,” 2:23 p.m.,” “Midnight,” etc.  Then, write your poem.  Of course, different things happen at different times of day.  So have fun with it. 

*****

Here is my attempt:

“6:35 a.m.”

Or is it 7:35? 
I mean, I know what it is in Austin,
but I’m from Georgia before that
Ohio.  Can’t just erase
32 years of Eastern Standard
in one road trip.  Or maybe you can,
but I know I can’t.  After all this time,
I suppose I’d need an entire
sabbatical or retreat to truly
feel Centralized, though it’s too late now —
now that it’s 7:36.

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0 thoughts on “2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 9

  1. Linda Simoni-Wastila

    At 6:05 in April

    The sun slants an oblique beam
    Through stands of pine and yearning dogwood
    Casting hard shadows on yellowed lawns
    Birds mock my early entry
    Their trills the only noise
    The house sleeps
    The cat pads with no noise
    To the chair beside this desk
    I seize the silence to write

    ***
    Peace, Linda

  2. Michelle Guerra

    11:11
    It’s 11:11.
    I wish it was seven.
    I can’t fall asleep.
    I even tried counting sheep.
    Up thinking about days from the past.
    Trying to remember why we didn’t last.
    Time doesn’t head all wounds.
    Doesn’t make my mind not recognize our old tunes.
    Why can’t I just go to bed?
    To me you are dead.
    There is nothing left to think about.
    Nothing worth getting stressed out.

  3. K Kerns

    9 April Time of Day Poem

    The Gift

    It’s 9:45 in the morning and he’s there by now
    Soon his sheet will cover the chair and
    His warm fuzzy blanket will cover his lap
    In another 5 minutes his arm will be readied

    I watched that first time
    His wrist on its side, the alcohol swab
    Passed down his arm, past that
    Surgical scar that rearranged some veins
    I heard the woman’s voice ask, “You ready?”
    And his nonchalant reply, “Go for it hon.”

    It was called a needle but it was more like a
    Hollow metal stick and they even call it a ‘stick’
    I watched the beveled point pierce his soft flesh
    And watched still as the inch long ‘stick’ was
    Pushed into his vein up to its hilt
    Looking up at me he grinned and winked,
    “I’ll see ya in four hours Darlin’.”

    I loved it when he called me Darlin’
    I was once again Daddy’s little girl
    These days he drives himself, his choice
    But I am happy when he comes home
    He brings with him two more days on earth
    That is the gift that is dialysis ~

  4. Rose Anna Hines

    10:45 p.m.
    Once I was told
    an extravert is one who charges their batteries
    by being around others and being social
    an introvert is one who charges their batteries
    while alone

    10:45 p.m. this is my time for me
    the scrubs, latex gloves, documentation,
    black pens, politics, conflicts and chatter
    go into the top drawer of the dresser.

    Dinner is done
    Husband and furry kids are snug in their dreams
    My driven voice has faded
    My need to take care of everyone else is put in my pocket

    This is my time for me
    now I can fan the ember deep,
    hidden by layers of "do this and do that"
    and lists for each day.

    When truly exhausted I watch a TV story enfold
    a talent contest, or Charlie Rose interviews.
    Often Tai Chi, Chi Quong, or breathing meditation
    quiet my chattering brain
    and reconnect my run-away train of a body.
    Zumba, Belly Dance, or just moving to music
    is joy dancing through my muscles.
    Sitting on a rocker or at the end of couch
    sometimes a cat curled up in my lap
    a novel caressed by my hands
    lets my mind soar in imagination’s sky

    I can’t invite you to join me
    because 10: 45 P.M. and beyond is my time.

  5. Mr. Walker

    Product Placement

    It’s 9:06 p.m. I already bought
    a writing book, Wild Mind
    by Natalie Goldberg at the Borders
    just a couple of blocks away.
    It will be closed in six days.

    I’m sitting at a small round table
    at a Barnes & Noble Cafe,
    where they proudly brew and serve
    Starbucks coffee, writing poems,
    taking the occasional sip of my venti
    Chai Tea Latte, with soymilk, no whip.

    I’m almost directly beneath a round
    Bose speaker set in the ceiling,
    which is drizzling a live Willie Nelson album
    down on me. It’s got a jazz vibe, and
    I think I also hear Norah Jones.

    I try to write a good poem, but
    my mind keeps wandering to my dream
    of being a Hollywood screenwriter.
    I think I’d be good at product placement.
    It works in a big action movie,
    but it’s killing my poem, choking it
    on all those capitalized words.
    I’m sorry if you read this far.
    I’d refund your money if you’d paid anything.

  6. S.E.Ingraham

    4:11 p.m.

    Wednesday, an ordinary middle-of-the-week
    Hump day, late afternoon, run-of-the-mill
    Nothing happening type time really

    But then, the big-hand on the wall clock
    of the hospital’s open-air eating area
    clicks from the ten to the eleven

    And my no-nonsense steps,
    The brisk walk of a person eager
    To depart the hospital is halted
    Pretty much mid-stride

    My senses, my aural senses
    Are assaulted by a symphony
    Of sound, so authentic, so rich and fine

    I begin searching the enormous space
    That makes up this open concept
    Hospital for the philharmonic

    Convinced I will see them
    Seated on one of the four
    Visible levels

    I do not
    But the music plays on;
    I finally grab a chair at the nearest table
    As much under the “sweet” spot
    As possible – casting around wildly

    Is it just me?
    No—I begin to notice others
    Stopping, searching, smiling, bemusedly…

    Oh, now, this tears it—
    A pause in the playing
    And there is applause
    And cheers of “Bravo”

    Where are they, I wonder?
    Then, as they strike up
    Beethoven’s Pathetique
    And I am lost in the music
    Does it really matter?
    Do I need to see them to
    Enjoy this?
    Perhaps not…

  7. G. Smith

    8:46 AM
    (A Kautata)
    (c) 2011 – G. Smith
    ———————-

    Who knew where two stood
    Two hours later there’d be none
    And ten years later still tears.

  8. Laura Kayne

    6AM

    In the early light,
    we wake and wait
    for the day to begin,
    drawing the last, lingering
    moments of the dawn.
    All too soon,
    we will have to rise,
    start the business of the day,
    but for now, we burrow
    into warmth and gently doze.

  9. ChapLynn

    Joy Cometh

    They say my joy will come in the morning
    But I have my joy right now
    Will my joy leave me at midnight?
    Someone please tell me how
    How will he steal my joy?
    What will be my outpouring?
    When he leaves
    my joy will come in the mourning.
    My joy will come in the Morning.

  10. Holly Matison

    12:15 A.M.

    The ever present snoring continues
    My frustration builds
    What can I do about it?
    Go upstairs?
    Maybe take a pill?
    Neither appease my appetite
    They never do
    They never will
    It’s at this hour when I contemplate everything
    What brought me here and do I wish to stay?
    Of late … that’s the pressing question:
    Do I wish to stay?
    I don’t know.
    I often wonder if I’d be happier alone
    Without the imperfections of others to call my attention
    Without their messes to clean up
    Without their lack of respect
    It’s at this hour when I realize I should be sleeping
    Without anger.

    ~ HLM

  11. Scott Mesrobian

    9:45 AM

    The morning sun rose high
    As I drove on the streets to the church
    Where I joined my special family
    To sing praises to God and
    Share his blessings of life.

    The parking lot is full when I arrive
    But the gathering room is empty.
    I see Kay alone, watching her grandson play
    While the congregation sits in the sanctuary.

    I ask, “What is going on?” and
    Kay responds with look of confusion,
    And she says, “It’s the sermon.”

    I look at my wrist, where a watch might be
    When I realize that it is not 9:45, but 10:45
    And I have missed most of the service

    On the first day of Daylight Saving Time.

  12. Arrvada

    5:00pm
    By
    Arrvada
    Five pm used to be
    A moment of finality
    The end of a long day
    With the rewards of the evening’s
    Freedom up ahead.
    Now there is no time that does not
    Mean work or freedom to me
    There is no set schedule
    No time clock I must watch
    I am master of my schedule
    But in gaining that freedom
    My work day has gone
    From eight hours with a lunch to
    Twenty-four hours a day,
    Everyday

  13. Jay Sizemore

    Mid-Day Crisis

    When the sun reaches its apex,
    it starts to panic
    about its remaining six hours
    on this side of the Earth.
    It wonders how many
    of the girls down below
    blow kisses at the moon
    while he is away.
    He grows self-conscious
    of the growing number
    of solar flares on his girth,
    wonders if he is still as hot
    as he was when the planets
    were just being born.
    He wishes for hands and ears
    to adorn with jewelry,
    wishes he was cool enough
    to not turn all metal into vapor
    so he could own a new Corvette.
    His mind races with “what if’s,”
    what if the world changes while he’s gone,
    what if his light isn’t enough,
    what if he doesn’t rise again?
    He thinks about the past,
    about the girl in the white dress
    who hides in the moon
    on the other side of the world,
    wonders if she’s happy,
    dreams of their next eclipse,
    and what he might say
    to make her smile
    if he gets another chance.
    The hours wane
    as he sidesteps the horizon
    in their timeless waltz,
    relinquishing his light for
    her softer spell,
    catching just a hint
    of her powdered perfume.
    Each time he knows
    it could be the last,
    his nuclear reactor heart
    was never meant
    to be unbreakable.

  14. Jolanta Laurinaitis

    3:15

    I’m sure I saw
    Some small children
    Peek through those bushes
    Small heads dart
    Behind green bins
    Scatter
    When I turn my eye
    They’re all waiting
    For when they march
    The teachers back
    To their pods
    And plug them in
    For the night.

  15. alana sherman

    Last Snow
    Friday 4:30pm

    A heavy wet snow burdens
    the trees and the fields
    are hushed. Clumps slide off
    the roof and branches to quiet
    the world. As snow piles up
    it intensifies the stillness
    in the rooms. It is Friday
    and I am at my desk reading
    Chaucer while Oprah is on.
    A heavy wet snow burdens the trees
    and the fields are hushed.

  16. Joseph Beckman

    2011 April PAD Challenge: Day 9
    Posted by Robert

    For today’s prompt, write a time of day poem.  In fact, make the title of your poem the time of day.  For instance, "5:54 a.m.," 2:23 p.m.," "Midnight," etc.  Then, write your poem.  Of course, different things happen at different times of day.  So have fun with it. 
    .
    5 minutes to Dawn
    .
    Five minutes to dawn, am I ready for light?
    I have lived many years, and struggled, the fight
    That defines and makes me the man that I am,
    Has consumed and created me right where I stand.
    .
    So with minutes to go before my new day begins,
    Or is it that moment just before it all ends?
    It should not matter, I should not care,
    For Carpe Diem, yes, death is always near.
    .
    © April 9, 2011 by Joseph Beckman

  17. Earl Parsons

    11:59 PM

    The last minute
    Most of the time unknown
    Unexpected
    Uninvited
    Unwanted
    Yet it rolls around

    The last minute
    Right before the lights go out
    The eyes close
    The heart stops
    The brain shuts down
    At the midnight
    Of life

    11:59 PM
    If we only knew the time
    We’d have a chance to prepare
    To look back on our lives
    To right what we did wrong
    To say our goodbyes
    And get right with God
    Before midnight

    11:59 PM
    Tick tock
    Tick tock
    Tick tock
    Tick tock

    11:59 PM
    Is it nearly the end
    Or nearly the beginning
    Of forever
    Time’s up

  18. PSC in CT

    Thanks to Connie Peters, Melissa Rossetti Folini and Marie ! You ladies made my day 🙂

    Fell behind a bit on reading & commenting, and still trying… For now, I’m just “naming names”. Some really good stuff from: de Jackson (again & again & again!), Jo Lightfoot, J. D. Mackenzie (Thief), Gloria.

    Back later for more.

  19. ideurmyer

    Digital Cock

    The clock says four but the rooster is adamant

    With his raucous nasal alarm

    Town folks arise with musical notes

    But ours are more peculiar on the farm

    The dark roast is dripping in the pot,

    My mate has seemingly risen with ease.

    Wonder if I could fabricate a headache

    And snuggle down for a few more zzz’s?

  20. Caren E. Salas

    7:53 PM

    The sunset breeze subsides
    And a melancholy fog
    Reflects the beach town lights in pinkish grey.

    Random stars blink through
    Like eyes straining to see
    Past the mist, to a sleepy world below.

    The bonfire pops and crackles,
    Ribbons of light wrap tightly
    Around bits of pine and paper cups.

    The cold air bites, embracing
    The heat of dancing flames,
    And the two make awkward love in smokey bliss.

    In the distance crashing waves
    Softly strum the shoreline
    Like an endless ocean harp-song meant for none.

    The moon’s night-light glow
    Calls to tide and twighlight skies
    As the fire gives in, and smolders in the dark.

  21. Carol

    5:07 a.m.

    Voices whisper in the dark
    summon me from sleep
    alarm radio spins its early morning
    stories of war and unrest
    background vocals in cat
    purring “Feed me, it’s time!”
    a paw taps my elbow
    then a thousand pounds of pressure
    on my thigh as he walks across me
    (as if I were just another pillow)
    another of his morning chores
    to keep his day on even keel.
    Time to get up, he rowls.
    I open one eye.
    5:08 a.m.

    Carol A. Stephen
    April 12, 2011

  22. Diane

    Morning Balance

    Morning is a balancing act
    of not getting up too early
    but not sleeping too late.

    I stay asleep until my dear-heart leaves for work.
    He isn’t lovely in the morning.

    Anxious, angry, aggressive,
    he unloads a box of fears,
    piles on a bag of expectations
    and covers it all with a list of shoulds and oughts.
    Then he walks out,
    having ruined my day and his.

    Better for me to attempt sleep
    and let expectations be unspoken
    than to get up too early.

    For a short while all is quiet.
    I fall into a deep, restful sleep.
    I need to get up soon…

    Morning is a balancing act
    of not getting up too early
    but not sleeping too late…

  23. Patti Williams

    The morning
    Simply is the worst
    Time of day.
    Sleep still lingering
    As the alarm
    Intrudes the peacefulness
    Of dreams
    Awaking reality
    When the soul was
    Blessedly in more
    Attractive places.
    Jarring life back into
    The mind of the
    Lovely drifter.

  24. mbschied

    Every minute of every day

    I wish I were
    better
    smarter
    prettier
    funnier
    cooler
    savvier
    kinder

    I wish the inside me
    were inside out
    so I could wear me
    like a favorite pair
    of jeans and
    a sweater that feels like a baby’s cheek

    I wish time would rewind
    so I could relive the happy times
    the times gone and vanished from everywhere
    except my memory

    I wish I could stop the train
    and just

    get off

  25. Kimiko Martinez

    6 o’clock

    Papa clocked out at 6 p.m.
    His inky fingerprints
    were all he left behind.

    He walked in at 6:14.
    His meaty, grease-stained
    fingers left stroked our faces

    and left the indelible stain
    of fatherly love
    on our faces and hearts.

  26. Julie Hayes

    Better late than never!!!

    8:01 p.m.

    “How I Met Your Mother” is now starting
    Not one of my favorite shows,
    But something to have on in the background.
    I much prefer “Mike & Molly” and
    “Two and a Half Men” ~
    speaking of, can you believe they
    have been moved to 9:30 p.m.?
    And on that note, it is now
    8:02 p.m. and I must go…

    (written on April 11 for Day 9 prompt)

  27. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    twilight
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    that time between
    dusk and dawn
    when the moon gives in
    to a rising sun, who
    just hours earlier
    had caved under the
    feminine wiles of Luna.

    she’s good like that,
    throwing around her opacity
    for the world to notice
    every time the sun
    dips below the horizon.

    but with each tilt of the earth’s axis
    our internal body clocks respond,
    particles in the atmosphere scatter
    time-lapse reflections intensify,
    and just like that, the natural cycle
    of day is over.

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  28. Sam Nielson

    12:01 pm

    Lunchtime is now
    And I’m running late.
    They tell me to stop
    Feed my face and
    Tune out awhile.

    Lunchtime is now
    But apples spin
    About the y axis,
    Plotted in some
    Cranky calculus.

    Lunchtime is now
    And I only got
    Momentum going
    In the paperwork
    Needling my skull

    The triplicate
    Report invoicing
    Each sore finger
    Carried by hands.
    Lunchtime is now.

    The grim variety
    Of people stand
    In a waiting line
    Tired of holding all
    Tightly in.

    The time for lunch
    Is right now.

  29. Virginia Snowden VSBryant

    6:12pm

    6:12pm, nothing is done
    Sitting here just watching time run
    Trying to move, trying to breath
    Lazy and just as tired as can be
    Don’t know where the day went
    So much I wanted to achieve
    Now at 6:12pm I am wondering, longing, anticipating, patience waiting on 9
    For then the girls will be sleep at a drop of a dime.

  30. Elizabeth Oakley

    3:00 PM

    Three hours since lunch
    Three hours until dinner
    It feels like nap time
    snack time
    extra coffee break time
    just to stay awake
    It is last night’s birthday cake
    calling my name

    Three hours since lunch
    Three hours until dinner
    It feels like binge time
    chocolate time
    potato chip chow time
    just to stay alert
    It is my leftover dessert
    calling my name

    Three hours since lunch
    Three hours until dinner
    It feels like rampage time
    self-loathing time
    hate my insides time
    just to regret all
    It is my inner fall
    calling my name

  31. Hannah Gosselin

    Connie, Marie, Janet and Michael!!! Thank you very, very much! So sweet to find these comments from the other day! Big smiles to you all!

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