It’s time for another challenge! Arrrreeeee yyyyyoooouuuu reeeeeaaaddddyyyyyy to pooooooeeeeemmmm?
I know I am! And today just happens to be a Tuesday, which means two prompts! For those new to the PAD challenge, you can pick one of the two prompts or do both–if that’s how you roll. Also, you can share your poem(s) for today’s prompts in the comments attached to this specific post below. Click here for the complete guidelines. Don’t stress out; I’m pretty laid back about this whole poeming experience.
So here are today’s prompts:
- Write a procrastination poem, or as I like to call it a “I’ll get to it tomorrow” poem. Or…
- Write a proactive poem, or the old “I’ll get to it today” poem.
Grab some coffee and eat some leftover trick or treat candy. Then, get poeming!
Here’s my attempt:
“The morning after”
Wrappers strewn around the apartment
and pumpkins filled with fading glow sticks,
I should get out of bed and welcome
November, however… However,
I have so much sleep to catch up on,
and the poems hidden in my dreams
say, “It’ll wait; it’ll wait; it will…”
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
And tweet your progress there using the #novpad hashtag!
Also, I’m growing a moustache for prostate cancer research this month (the event is called Movember). Click here to learn more.
*****
Use the 2012 Poet’s Market, edited by Robert Lee Brewer. Hundreds of publication opportunities and great articles on everything from submitting to reading poetry!
Finally made it?
For twenty-five days I have promised myself I would begin, and then
read wikipedia instead.
My counters are polished, no dust bunnies survived.
The laundry folded and put-away,
I’ve read the reader’s digest my mother left,
the one with no content that interested me,
from cover to cover.
i’m exhausted from turning my back on a task that will take no real time when it comes down to it.
I’ve almost run out of excuses.
But I’m afraid I’ll fail.
So I clean another dish.
and wipe another counter, and call it a night.
Did I miss this day? I must have written on something other than the prompt. I set up a blog ans was adding my Poem-A-Day drafts there and found none that fit this prompt, so I wrote one. It appears below.
The How-To Future
by Rachel Hyde
It sits at the far back
of my mind, to seep
like a drip of forgetting
and must down the trail
of spine and manifest.
I want it; shut eyes to see it,
complete it, in spite of myself.
Thank God, shadow says,
thank God, tomorrow will be truer.
This day clouds with tasks
clamorous, the wheels that cry,
the needs that press
nepenthe upon the driven,
the burning, now flickering, breast.
The shadow loves me, licks ear
and sighs rationality.
I tick, tick, winding down
as the now shades to then,
and why swallows when.
Begin
Today
is the first day
of the rest of my writing life
Another stone
Another bridge
and now on to a mountain
Time to follow the words
tripping from my brain into my fingers
Never climbed this chain before
I’ve spent my days in the lowlands
But the word-peaks call to me
They’re luring me away from my word-seas
for a month
(maybe more?)
The Night Before
He didn’t write out his vows
until the night before the wedding,
knowing that she had written hers
weeks earlier. He chose to let
his thoughts marinate,
to feel with his senses
the way a blind man might
see sounds in his mind,
as the idea that started
as a single sentence
grew legs and spun itself
into a cocoon, a microscopic
granule of truth that needed
to take on layers of promise
to be whole, to become
that genuine pearl
in the oyster of his language,
to emerge as that rare butterfly
only seen through the eyes of children.
Was it patience, or a fear
that to see his words on paper
might somehow dilute their significance?
Each breath held a pregnant pause,
a heartbeat caught in the throat of desire,
as his fingers let the paragraphs
pour through them onto the page,
an act that seemed effortless
as a rose unfolding in light,
yet demanded to be beautiful,
as only the truth can be.
Time to spare
Getting up early
full of life and vigour
energy abounds
the list is scanned
already priortised
before the second coffee is consumed
two tasks are efficiently crossed off
and so the morning progresses
the list grows shorter and shorter
will-power and self-motivation rule the day
till at last the list is screwed up
and thrown away
and now the mind is still
now the body relaxes…
…it’s still early – whatever shall I do now?
Iain
At last!!! I have started!
Tomorrow never comes
Each day starts and ends the same
with plans a-plenty
and best intentions
a list made out
of things to do
Each morning the lethargy creeps in
and pointless tasks
take precedence
over priorities
and time wastes away
Each evening ends the same way
the list is added too
and vows are taken
oaths are sworn
it’ll all be done…
…tomorrow
Iain
Mañana
The keys have called
Had full intentions of looking
Even went as far as
opening up a new tab
but here it is
five days late
with poems waiting
to be written
I Will
I will write more
I will write more today
I will write more today soon
I will write more soon
I will write soon
I will write
I will
Today
Today
I won’t mortify my flesh
Won’t take a brick to my head
Won’t look in the mirror disappointed to not see there
someone, anyone else.
Today
The numbers are auspicious, auspicious enough
Already I see books back in their shelves
and tasks sorted like seeds by size and their likelihood
of growing.
Quercus lobata, smooth in my hand.
And perfectly ready.
What greater mystery than potential
And – given the right conditions –
the likelihood for the roots to search and tap
the seed to tree
the artist to see
Today
The doves outside I see
are out of seeds
The little seed house above them empty
bobbing in the first November wind
I will fill it
And provide
And spill seeds generously
For them and see the seeds fall
like golden tears
of a maiden
in a tale
that turns now – today –
today now,
- as I will it -
towards light
and her unexpected sweet luck.
OK. Trying once more. I input this a day or two ago, but it doesn’t seem to have “stuck”. Joining the party a bit late — and running behind — due to Storm Alfred. Still housing storm refugees at present, but hoping to eventually catch up on writing… and maybe some reading & commenting too! Eventually. :-] Until then, here’s my offering… for Day 1:
“Never put off ‘til tomorrow…”
That ambitious admonition
(juxtaposing her brief, uncelebrated life)
clinches his philosophy.
Her oft repeated creed,
(evaluated, translated, transposed),
he transforms into:
postponing joy
is ever a risky endeavor
(Wholly Inadvisable).
Ahhh… I found it. Put it into the wrong day by mistake. Go figure.
That pretty much sums up my week so far. :-]
Hmmm… thought I had successfully input DAY 1, at least — but it’s not here. Am I doing something wrong?
Procrastination poem
As much as I love poetry,
work and life interfere.
I must decline to write or
write and decline to work.
Proactive poem
I’ve decided that there is little
In this world more valuable
than art or the appreciation
of art. Therefore, jobs without
esthetic value are worthless.
One must eat via practical
employment but live through art.
Hey, I’m sorry to barge in here but I have a question and I’m not on Twitter, so I couldn’t think where else to post.
Can you join in on this if you missed the start and catch up on the prompts? Or have I missed the boat, as it were?
great american poem
by juanita lewison-snyder
today is the day
i begin the great american poem
front and center
pen to tablet, then
mouse click to God’s ear.
today is the day
i take the word
by the processor,
align them like legos
noun to verb, stanza to stanza.
today is the day
i kick fear to the curb
lick envelopes shut
search for stamps
fire off those submissions
today is the day
the hordes begin amassing
in front of Borders
to wipe the shelves clean
of all my chapbook prodigies.
oooo….is that a danish?
tomorrow is the day
i begin the great american poem
© 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
AS THE SAYING GOES
Never put off until tomorrow
What you can do today
Delay will lead to your sorrow
If life’s untimely end
Steps in the way!
Procrastination?
Perhaps today I will get my life back on track
Reach deep to write poetry
On topics on dreams and self but even now when writing by
Computer and not at leisure by pen and ink
Recall and lost memories rise venom strong.
Again the flow is disrupted by call after call
Sinking me deeper into another round of put off me
To take up tasks of tending lost memories.
I look at the clock for the wind down to work return,
Nothing remains of time for me and verse.
Another day another lunch time so
Today is the day
I will write
Or maybe
Not as nothing stirs in my mind by writers block er procrastination
Megan
Procrastination Abomination
Sorry,
i would have written this sooner
But,
everyone knows how time flies
And,
i procrastinated…
Again,
the Procrastination Abomination has struck
And
i fuel his power
By,
telling myself i work better under pressure
But,
i know this is just another excuse.
Will
i ever get my act together
And
proactivate my life?
Or,
will it consume me,
Leaving,
i, powerless
Like
dr. jekyl to a Mr. Hyde?
Hoarded Treasures
To my mother, they represent the past:
Shampoo and medicine long out of date
Toothpaste so old it has separated
(I didn’t even know that could happen!)
Furniture, linens, decades of jumbled newspaper clippings
To my mother, they represent the past:
Every article of clothing helps her remember
The event she wore it to, “when I was thin” she says
(She is so thin now, but always thinks herself fat.)
An archaeology of 70s, 80s, and 90s fashion
To my mother, they represent the past:
Cardboard boxes that encase my academic career
Piles of old schoolwork and composition notebooks
A book of my poems, from Mrs. O’Rourke’s 7th grade English class
(I wish I could find her on Facebook!)
IQ scores and papers that launched my father’s old tales
To my mother, they represent the past
And so, she can never divest herself of them
Only bequeath them to my father, my brothers, and me
Some will be easy, some hard: Trash? Organize? Store? Donate?
(Who would want any of this?)
We sit at my mother’s kitchen table, procrastinating on the inevitable
TODAY
I stand in the hallway
and see the
mountain of boxes, the containers
of a life that I
wish I didn’t
have to unpack just yet
Waiting on the Perfect Day
I am waiting on the perfect day
to clean the house and give away
all the things that crowd our space
things we’ve moved from place to place
little shoes and coats and hats
my children’s toys and balls and bats
and books and books and books galore
on shelves and dressers.. on the floor
I look at them and know full well
that in them only memories dwell
they gather dust.. they are in the way
I’ll do it tomorrow if it comes my way
*******
I know this was posted late.. I hope it is OK.. have a great poetry day!
Patricia
nicely done. You must hate housework as much as I do.
I tried to post this yesterday, but it didn’t seem to work, so here goes …
Rosebuds
They say time waits for no man;
I’m no man, but it doesn’t wait for me.
I have a certain measure of days,
an unknown quantity, and too many
small things to repair, too many
stones in my shoes. I can’t run after
rosebuds, gather them while I may;
my rosebud bucket has a hole in it
and besides, is too full of unpaid bills.
What we really need to save are breaths,
each one expiring as soon as it’s born;
we’re a little more dead each time
we exhale. The trick is to forget this,
get out of bed anyway; if you want to
pick some rosebuds, I won’t tell you
they’re dropping behind you as you go.
ON Time
Oh, am I late?
Is it time?
I waited all day,
To poem and rhyme!
I couldn’t put it off,
Not one more minute!
It is November,
Time to begin it!
It has to be done!
Done right now!
I must hurry, it’s fun!
I must moooove . . .
Holy cow!
Running to catch up! This has been the November challenge so far . . . just to find my way back to the site!
And happy to be back . . . hello all . . . onward and Up Word . . . it has been quite a fall!
Latent Defects
Weeks and months fly together
Nothing I do makes it
Better
And you may think
That I procrastinate
In fact the problem is
I haven’t caught up
With the right date
Discharged
The date is all penciled in
Ready for the challenge
To begin
The google’s in sync
With my HTC
Just forgot to charge
The battery
A friend doesn’t go on a diet because your fat. Erma Bombeck
May I suggest
togetherness, bonding over greens, tofu
and bottled water.
A holiday in Europe, a night in Paris,
sleek black dress and slim Jim.
The wedding gown, white shoes and
fat feet
Ah graceful long fingers, a home
for the diamond ring
Let’s muse
Cuba, the beach, the honeymoon,
bikinis, and men, tanned men.
Hmm did I mention health, yes health
feel good , green tea and broccoli.
When will it get done?
I’ll start tomorrow.” I say
So when tomorrow comes
I just wait another day
It saddens me to see
It growing in great heaps
Tomorrow I will be
All set to start the feat
Tomorrow is now here
And I must start my lowly job
But first I’ll have a beer
With dear old Uncle Bob
Moaning I say, “Oh God.”
“I just got to get this done.”
But dear old Uncle Bob
He’s died and waked at one
So there isn’t any reason
To start a job in June
After all it’s fly season
I’ll do it next full moon.
“Why Wait?”>
This is just to say
I have taken the last piece of pie
that was left in the tin
and which you’d probably expected
to see this evening after dinner.
Forgive me
It was so tempting
And, yes, as irresistible as you.
( with thanks to William Carlos Williams)
Why Wait?
This is just to say
I have taken the last piece of pie
that was left in the tin
and which you’d probably expected
to see this evening after dinner.
Forgive me
It was so tempting
And, yes, as irresistible as you.
( with thanks to William Carlos Williams)
Love the WCW flavor
He’s one of my faves….a savant, I think.
Postponed Push
In between procrastination
And proactivation
I put off pleasures
As I putter
Frantically fretting
The list goes on
Neverending burdens
Frittering my hours
As a dedicated dawdler
My commission, my mission
A quest for time
From later to leisure
One day I say
When I’m finished
When it’s done
Good to see familiar faces here. I am a day behind, but intend to catch up. Happy poeming all… Thanks for this, Robert.
Pamela
Waiting for Sleep
procrastination rules
tomorrow and tomorrow
stretches always
out ahead of any moment
requesting my attention
like
secret-fill of closets closed
cedar chests too full too open
like
pantry’s muddle-mix
tomatoes closing in on grits
like
box-stacked writing works
sitting silently, unmoved for years
still
tomorrow and tomorrow
atretches always
out ahead of any moment
pleading for attention
jane penland Hoover
Yesterday I thought I had an inkling
of something I could rhyme,
but it left me in a twinkling
so I had to take more time.
Then today I almost had it -
Something clever and profound,
but it scattered bit by bit
and now it can’t be found.
Tomorrow is another day
to chase the elusive muse.
I’ll search again for something to say
but for now it’s just no use.
Priorities
by stu pidasso
2Nov2011
[I thought it a nice twist to actually put this off until today....considering the topic]
I, humbly, offer my submission
for yesterday’s task.
I’ll not fib, cavil, lie
or else try to mask
the fact that I got to
writing it just this morn
for yesterday’s “to do” list
had my feelings torn
twixt calling my kids
and dining with mother,
going to rugby and sharing
a beer with my brother;
or indulging myself with
some reading and writing
and ESPN (for hockey fighting).
But family comes first
of my things “to do”
and my personal desires
weigh in at number two.
So, although I put off
until today, poem number one
I managed to get plenty done
under the light of the sun.
So much to do, so little time to spare,
maybe tomorrow, or, if I dare,
let it all hang loose, relax, enjoy
the day, do nothing that needs doing,
just let go, lighten up, cast aside
all guilt, plans are made for breaking
so I’ll start again – maybe . . . tomorrow.
On My Mind
I’ve got so much on my mind
So much I cannot think straight
Like finding work or taking time
To get to things that just can’t wait
Things that have waited so long already
Things that are starting to eat away at me
My brain is so full of tasks
Things left for the last minute
A last minute that has not arrived
It’s time I must get to it
The list is long and growing daily
The list is starting to eat away at me
I will prioritize the list
Most important right up top
Then I’ll do them one by one
‘Till it’s gone I will not stop
Priority list, easy as one, two, three
So why is it eating away at me
I’ve got so much on my mind
So much I cannot think straight
I think I’m gonna’ take a nap, then
I’ll get to the things that can’t wait
Waving goodbye to my sanity
I can almost see her staring into space,
looking blankly at something out a window
or sitting in front of a television
that is turned off and covered with dust.
That bitch muse is ignoring me and sending spam email
to me to sift through, sending subliminal
messages to Bianca to call me about how
she needs my help, which is only an
excuse to weasel herself back into my life.
She is drinking all of the coffee in my mug
and putting out my cigarettes. I think she
hid the pack now and wants me to go crazy while
I search the entire apartment for them. Maybe
she wants me to quit, but it could just be another
excuse to walk away from the screen and its blinking
cursor that laughs at me and tells me to stop
putting off the inevitable poem about death or
smoking or Bianca or the next person who leaves me
thinking that I should actually start trusting people.
Most likely, I’m just a masochist.
raking leaves –
taking the yard to the cleaners
amongst the giggles of children
Mistake
I made a mistake. I kept putting off my appointments, year after year. I always felt those appointments were a violation, so uncomfortable. Sure, I’ve learned from my mistake but the lesson I’ve learned will make no difference for me. All I’m left with is guilt and remorse. This could have been prevented. I could have lived longer if I had gone in sooner. Maybe others will learn from my mistake…but not today. Today, I need to curl up in a ball and have a good cry. Tomorrow…perhaps tomorrow I can look cancer in the face…but not today.
Procrastination Ponderments
Do you ever wonder…
where we’d be if angels
rush in before the fools
if the early birds sleep in,
missing thankful worms
and the penny-wise forget
to save their coins for rainy days?
if the drowning man hesitates
to choose the longest straw
or your chicken census fails
when you wait till they hatch
if you fall into the river at
bridges you haven’t come to yet
if gardeners don’t plant till May
will April showers waste their drops?
if you put off eating, drinking and
being merry, will you die day
after next instead of tomorrow?
but if everything comes to him
who waits, and bad news comes
slow to those who procrastinate
which arrives first on your doorstep?
How many days would it take
to earn another dollar, and
what exactly do you lose
if haste makes waste?
Carol A. Stephen
November 2, 2011
I WOULD GLADLY PAY YOU TUESDAY
It was bound to happen.
Jetting globally for work and pleasure
has crept into my internal clock.
Days pass as fast as the IDL is crossed.
I seem to be losing my bearings
and misplaced parts of weeks.
I know it sounds wimpy,
but I’d gladly pay you Tueday
if I knew which day that is!
The Lunchtime News: Trick or Treat
His lawyer inhales,
counts to ten and then
ten again as they wait.
A starchy man who wears
his red tie all askew,
he holds Mr. Assange’s
defense and a dusty
white wig in the palm
of his liver-spotted hand.
He’s glad today’s not
Halloween. Headlines
reading Trick or Treat
aren’t apt to be seen.
Opening my eyes each morning
Surfacing to air
Checking everything still in place
Sun outside window, yes
Dogs lying on floor, expectant
Man somewhere
Razor buzzing
The list drawn up
Mind’s eye flickers
Up and down, yes
that and that, and that
all to do
still there
PS One for Misk…
When I am dead and gone
You will go and open the envelope
That says it’s all up to you now
We’ve written them that way
So you decide not us
No trying to influence the living
Just giving
Is that procrastination or proaction?
Increasingly uncertain
Words glisten and slither
like gummy acetobacter
(have changed my username to reflect my gender, it’s me Zeb!)
Death Visits This Time
The point of birth happens at the precise moment
a dew falls from the leaf. Flower is the window
to the heavens,
but the filaments are curled limp
displaying no eagerness to rise on wings of light.
She steps out of the night robe scented with sleep,
her mind is miles ahead, desire of the body
singes the path that she knows
as end of life:
moving is better than staying.
Stay
Winter will come but I want it to
wait. Let the brilliant autumn trees
procrastinate, stay clothed in color
just a bit longer. Crimson Vine Maples
sashaying with the coming storms,
poplars dressed in yellow gowns
glow like lit tapers among the green.
Each day there are less leaves on the
trees, more in piles on the ground,
melancholy settles in, still sudden
gusts of wind spin fallen leaves sky-
ward, color keeps lifting my heart.
Jump off that slab
You call a bed:
It’s time to grab
That horny head!
No dally-dillers!
Sit right down
And watch the miller’s
Wheel go ’round.
Mighty boulders
Carved to disks
Will grind down shoulders
Placed at risk
By putting them
Against the wheel.
The prospect’s grim:
Think how you’d feel
If you got hurt
And couldn’t write
Or change your shirt
Or sleep at night
‘Cause you succumbed
To Siren’s call.
You’d be benumbed
For good and all.
A broken wing
Won’t let you work
On anything;
You’d better shirk
The task at hand
In favor of
The things you’ve planned–
The things you love.
Prioritize
Tomorrow’s list.
Now, close your eyes.
(You won’t be missed.)
The Morning the Essay’s Due
I planned to start the essay at six,
but I overslept. I pace my desk,
scavenging for a hook to snag
those dormant thoughts I lost
last week when I planned to start
before I caught plans for Halloween
before I went out with friends to eat
before I bought a new video game
before I was too tired to think
before I needed to catch up on sleep.
Now I sit at my computer
with two hours left, dry heaving
words half-baked, thoughts not digested.
Outlines and research abandoned
as I improvise with little time
to revise but the most noticeable omissions.
The same tricks don’t work in college:
puffy adjectives under her scrutiny
stretchy quotes show my strain of thought
passively plump will stand out as a hump
rambling will get me nowhere
nothing will work except well-thought out words.
Three thousand words later, I excrete an essay
one that makes it just above the flames
a word over the requisite, only the citations I needed.
Though I’ll gladly a suffer a C
or even tolerate a well-deserved D
I can no longer compete with the valedictorian
who boasts a 4.0. I’m only half the man.
Despite my gymnastics, despite perfect form
despite answering every question she asks first
The essay reminds me that I’ll never learn.
This is the problem with having a late night, West Coast writing habit…everyone has already posted by the time I get finished! Some lovely poems here and I’m enjoying reading them. Here’s mine:
Does later ever come?
I sat on her bed wrapped
in the absence of her,
hand restlessly rubbing
slick polyester bedding
as if I could build up a static
charge of her energy,
something to zap me out of the
echoing silence of her now
dead house.
There were no tears and so
you thought I was just hiding from
the family, you and responsibility.
You pulled me back where
you said I was needed,
the hubbub of relatives,
potluck dishes and pies –
the macabre dance of
funeral prep.
The absence of her followed me,
strands sticky like spider silk
wrapping around and around
my tears and squeezing them dry.
I’ll cry sometime later, carefully
unwrap this meal of tears alone to the
sound of rain and Edith Piaf.
You won’t see me cry and I
won’t tell.
To get a photo or other picture to appear in the thumbnail: go to gravatar.com and upload an image to be your avatar, and it will appear anywhere that you comment (if that site supports an avatar). It’s pretty simple to do…and free!
Forgive me please… if I don’t get to read and comment much in the beginning of the month.. finishing up a project… and doing NaNo… Happy poeming all… For those of you who remember Kaitlin she and now her mother Caroline are back
Blink – (The Continuing Story of Four-Year-Old-Raped-Murdered-Kaitlin Jones)
They stand on the lawn blowing into their hand
Tearing footprints that will stay
Microphones in hand they
Smile as they shout questions
A young one holds a handful of Kleenex
As though that would buy her an
Exclusive or stop the tears
of Kaitlin missing…
It is always the mother she knows
and is not angry – soon – soon
she will tell them to go
so she can think about a
small white casket
and what she might wear
or
Right now
She will wipe her eyes
with the sleeve of her shirt
and tell them to get off her
property
tell them that they are vipers
and that they of all people
know that they are standing
on the lawn in front of
a house of mourning
I am constantly
rewriting my to-do lists
from week to week
like submitting those poems, chewing
on new ones, paying those bills, switching
between doing laundry and studying and working and chores
as if I were writing all of this out
on a chalkboard:
“I WILL NOT PROCRASTINATE.
I will not procrastinate.
I will NOT procrastinate”
as if this was punishment,
as if all of those things
would eventually smudge
in something indescribable
or be erased by accident
and off the paper trail
of my life record.
Procrastinate
Don’t wait,
you can prprocrastinate
today.
It won’t cost much
(just success).
Don’t fuss,
you won’t lose sleep
(just your goals).
So go ahead
put up your feet
and retreat.
It won’t hurt now
(just your future).
So, why wait?
Procrastinate today.
Procrastination
I guess the reason I put off cleaning the house is because I really do not enjoy it and
I have so many other things to do. In addition, it does not look much better after some effort on my part. I am an artist and there in lies the rub. Paper, storage containers, paint, drawing paraphernalia. Printmaking inks, blocks, screens, squeegees and special papers for printing are stacked up on open shelves. Vertical areas of stretched paintings, blank canvases, and portfolios lean against the wall between the stereo and the bookshelves. In addition, I have taken on restructured clothing. Stacks of clothing to be redesigned are in storage containers under the dining table and other locations. Many are cut apart and neatly stored for their later use. In addition to this, I have started a line of leather bracelets; cuffs, that are particularly appealing and have their designs based on California endangered wildflowers. I have a box full of completed ones that I am marketing and am starting a smaller version of the cuff so I am cutting out leather as well. I guess that is why I keep put off cleaning the house but as people say, it doesn’t clean itself.
Right Before Midnight
Fourteen ’til twelve
Eleven fourty-six
The iPAD clock
to me, it speaks.
Only twelve minutes
Eleven forty-eight
Yup, I can do it—
another poem today.
Now eleven minutes
Eleven forty-nine
It’ll be a minute
And then I’m done.
Procrastination comes from a latin word that literally means “towards tomorrow”
Pros= toward
Crastinus= tomorrow
PROCRASTINUS
Procrastinus genes
knitting malicious code
constructing delay
with tomorrow’s bones
to hold
Passive muscles
in their slow-twitch ways
reacting in silence
reacting always
Lazy ligaments
a deferring spleen
procrastinating cells
are diabolically seen
He never saw it coming!
Together were two
No longer one
I needed you then
Instead you were gone,
Always playing your games
Keeping me in second
I wanted to be First
You never wanted to listen
Unless it was your game
Controller in hand and
Head in the game
Your loosing me more and
You dont even Know
I am walking out the door
With my bags in toe
You sit on the couch
While I drive away
Not a call or a text
Untill the next day
I tell you its over
But you still want more
Should have steped up and
Been the husband i adored
“There’s Always Time”
There’s always time
later
for all the things that don’t matter
There’s always time
now
There’s always time
for kissing your daughter,
and for one more game of Candyland.
There’s always time for
drinking wine,
and dancing,
for undressing slowly ,and
falling into bed with lovers.
There’s always time for
wrapping your arms around
your father,
for laughing with your mother,
for calling your sister back.
There’s always time to
play fetch with your dog,
to rub his belly,
give him a treat.
There’s always time to stay up too late,
and miss a few days of work or school.
There’s always time to
take communion,
to be too loud,
to watch the sky.
There’s always time
to read a novel,
play the piano,
sing in the car,
meet friends for dinner.
There’s always time to write,
paint,
create.
There’s always time to learn,
change,
get worked up,
love,
let go.
There’s always time
later
for all the rest
and if there’s not -
oh well.
My first shot at doing this type of thing and newbie to the site.
Just 10 more minutes
I’d like to pull the sun down
like a window shade.
Just fold blue sky over it
until it’s night again,
and I’m tucked in again
dreaming of him again.
Nothing needs to happen today
that can’t happen tomorrow.
Tuck the bright lights away.
Pull the night up over me
because he was dancing with me;
twirling, romancing with me.
While the morning protests
it will not fold back into night,
just yet…
Great first day! I especially liked “pull the night up over me.” Great imagery in this piece.
Thanks IrisD.
Procrastination Confounded
Though a young man was frightfully scared
Of having his backside so bared
He scheduled next day
He wouldn’t delay
And so from the chemo was spared.
THE RIGHT TO SHIRK
The rake leans, the way the
Devil does, satisfied to loaf as
the world disrobes and litters.
I like writing a list in Autumn
because it takes so long that
nothing else gets done, and the
letters light upon the page
like they are formed from
lemon juice or the blood
of ghosts. There is the pile of
bricks the prior owners left,
meant to line the walkway but
now an unruly altar to a
dozing god of good intentions.
Now I can’t even find my
pencil to inscribe a little
protest sign: the Idler’s
Union would be out on strike
but no one will show up to
march, and I’ve got so much
to avoid, it’s going to take
me the whole day.
Forever Delayed
At odds with today
And never is the place to be
I’m forever delayed
For tomorrow is my destiny
Rght to write
Nanowrimo kept me sprintin,
So many words to be writtin.
Needed to stop and check out PAD
But my wrimo buddies might get sad.
So I waited all day my poem to write
Now its time to say goodnight.
———————————————-
ps.Goodnight and hello to all you PAD peeps. It is so good to have this to look forward to each day. PAD we have missed you!!!
Later, Steve
Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow,
he said, as he left his body.
Been there, done that, long ago,
in this, my current body.
What have I done since to prepare,
or what should I – anybody?
Until I Have My Ten-Cup Fill
Which to do first?
This or that?
My art or thirst for
words or what.
I know! Neither
this nor that
For—do I thirst
but for coffee. Drats!
I’m out of coffee!
This or that—
do now—I can’t,
until I try some tea.
Yet I still must part
from words or art,
cause it just won’t do
this thing called tea.
I know exactly what you mean, a.paige
Vena cava
A pulse through fingers
that stagnant on a desk,
on a remote.
Bleary eyes stay open for
two straight hours of
television, to make coffee
and pile sugar cookies
on a napkin.
His voice beckons you to bed.
The sound of heat being pushed
through vents break the silence.
You can hear the pulse
in your head now.
Feel the weight of your body
slouch into your chair.
You reach into the fading minutes
and piece together what you
have been putting off.
It’s not enough.
Procrastination
Wash Me!
The color of his car
can no longer be determined
due to a permanent protective
coating of dirt, which likely
cannot be washed off after
two years time. He claims
the car has simply to run,
and it does–dirty or clean.
Proactive
Who is that woman buying
toilet paper and tissues
by the crate, stockpiling
shampoos and makeup
backups, because, if
the world ends, she will
still look fresh, even
if she is the only person
left to notice?
She is my friend.
Your car poem speaks to my son! Do you know my son?! When he comes to visit my hubby often washes his car for him.
Well, this is my 1st time participating in the PAD challenge, and I suddenly remembered why I very rarely write poems. Haha! It’s only day 1 and I’m hanging on by a very slim thread!
Don’t give up! Keep plugging away and something will come. ^_^ (And welcome!)
Yep…agree with domino….just continue….I always remember something Robert said in first challenge…paraphrasing he said: “.just write – edit if you wish later” I’ve written on just about a daily basis for past three years…
WELCOME
Pre-Socrastination
If Zeno’d gone the other half
or Heraclitus stopped his bath.
I would rise from where I lie
get out of bed – give it a try.
The dart that draws a perfect arc
is kept by logic from its mark.
My feet will never reach the clay,
they’re always half again away.
The rivers pass beneath my eye
without a howdy or goodbye.
What use now for me to say
that I’ll get out of bed today?
I cannot think why I should go
Or venture forth a single toe.
Zeno said I’d time enough
to twaddle in the endless slough.
So like Achilles I should stay -
and dream of turtles making way.
You’re late, a schmuck, and out of luck
says Heraclitus from the flux.
While arrows quiver, rivers play,
- my ass won’t leave this bed today.
“The rivers pass beneath my eye”
“Or venture forth a single toe”
“And dream of turtles making way”
“my ass won’t leave this bed today”
Pre-Socrastination is so much fun!
Taking the Bull by the Horns
Stir the pot, loose the muse
Read, write
Spark the fuse
Enjoy the electric sensation
Of this November celebration
I’m ready and I’m psyched
For this PAD
You know it, I’m hyped
The pen of a ready writer
equilibrium of a steady fighter
Throw your blows
Let your words flow
For this thirty day challenge!
“Notes to Self”
Step one: Make lists
of what laundry to sort and which floors need mopping
of groceries that need buying and closets that need cleaning out
of emails that need sending and messages that need receiving
of things to do for work today and things for work yesterday
of what needs doing for the dogs and maybe how to help myself
of long lost friends to call and maybe visit
of books to read and poems to write and stories to tell
of goals for tomorrow and next week and ten years from now.
Step two: Make a list
of chances missed
while writing lists.
brilliant
That’s me you’re writing about.
Thank you! I am a big list maker, too!
regarding getting a photo published with your work – I think you have to put one with your profile on Google because that’s the sponsor of Poetic Asides now as far as I can tell and the pic of me (my eyeball) that shows up here is the one off my Google profile … I’m not tech-smart by any means but that’s my guess …
Will give this a try. Been going in circles searching for info for posting my photo. Thanks for this
I’m not sure, Sharon. I follow Dyson McIllwain’s blog and I know for a fact that he posts on WordPress and his photo does show. I’ve flip-flopped between my blogspot and wordpress, and neither shows my profile picture. There has to be something in the PA profile itself. Haven’t figured it out yet. It did appear when we initially changed format here, but went away shortly after. I do remember closing the account and reopening it and it came back for a spell. A tempramental beast.
I suppose this wee poem could work for either prompt …
Domani
Every night
I lay my weary
Head down,
Shut fast eyes
Refusing to see
Truths all too
Familiar
I promise -
Tomorrow I will
Wake full
Of energy, hope
And all things
Wonderful
I will
The Clock Ticks
My “To Do” List multiplies like cockroaches in a crack house
Rarely diminishing, the column of assignments lengthens
Task master Burnout or Master Procrastinator?
I ponder that question and avoid the work;
Instead, I wait for a burst of energy or
inspirational spark to attack the
Pile of papers, awaiting a score
Or plan that lesson on Frankenstein
That begs to be fleshed out/
Meanwhile, daily chores beckon:
Clean the bathroom
Switch out summer/spring clothes
for fall/winter ones
Dishes that need puttin’ up
Box that needs fresh litter
But the cats are fed,
the one thing I can’t procrastinate.
And the clock ticks
Tic toc
Tic toc
Tic toc
While I poem.
Valerie Person
I love it Ms. Person its so you! I love your first line” My “To Do” List multiplies like cockroaches in a crack house” . All I could see is you saying that line and cracking up
Robert,
Bring your “A” game. I’m ready and I’ve got my game face on!
Go Benjamin!
The Poet Deferred
I inherited poetry from my mother,
Who recited Keats and Dickinson from memory
To two young daughters,
Her passion adding value to their words.
Early on I discovered my own passion
For cadence and phrase,
An ability to sculpt pain,
Smoothing the jagged edges,
Carving out minute details
In monuments to human emotion.
I found I could dive into the darkness
Searching the soul for the salvation of truth,
But the darkness frightened me.
Darkness had trapped so many,
Lost to addiction, to insanity,
And fear enabled responsibility
To silence the dreaming artist.
Poetry and responsibility,
Two warring partners
In the dance of my life.
Laundry, dishes, finances,
All stepping forward to take my hand
And waltz me down the sensible path.
The dreaming artist inside
Still plays the muse’s song,
Just audible enough to haunt my days,
An endless tune I can’t escape.
Today I make my choice.
I step forward to accept
The fate cast upon me years ago:
An artist brushing loss and regret
Across the canvas in portraits of heartache,
Interpreting human frailties to share with all.
Today I decide to dance in the darkness,
Assuming the title I’ve shrugged off until now.
I am a poet.
What are You Waiting For?
It feels like every month I wait too long
and the poetry begins to ooze out of me,
through a sneeze at work
or a cough on the bus,
but it’s the poetry that never gets out
increasing the heaviness,
weighing me down when I’m alone
or won’t answer my phone.
I feel it the most on the slanted sidewalks in Northern Liberties
drawing me into the street
and daring me to be eight years old again
and run up and down the streets in the rain.
How wonderful the rain was when we were younger!
If only we could procrastinate growing older
and more tired and less excited
the way we put off everything else,
if only we could tattoo our youth
all over our faces
and keep it smiling at the rain forever.
The creativity always looks good on your Mike. Nice work.
*you*
Thanks, Marie. The creativity is always worth your supportive comments.
Hi Mike,
I enjoyed the simplicity and creativity of your poem reflecting your personal experience. Good job!
Thanks very much, Benjamin.
Nice way to view procrastination in both a negative and positive light
Went through again for a second perusal this morning, and so glad that I did. I discovered your poem. Fabulous, Mike. Glad to see you’re back for the challenge because I love your work.
Ah, thanks, MiskMask!!!
This is my first PAD. I tried combining procrastination and pro-activeness; can’t believe how emotional this made me.
Just a Minute
Oh yes, my Dear, in a minute. Just a minute , I have to wrap this up. In a minute we will play. But first I have to finish this phone call. I’ll see your new painting and read your story in just a minute. I have to send another email, and prepare for another meeting. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we will go shopping and eat ice cream. Minutes turn to hours, hours turn to days, days turn to years. In the end, I die filled with regret, longing for just one more minute.
P.R.O.C.R.A.S.T.I.N.A.T.I.O.N.
Progress is slow and nonexistent
Running, writing, writing, running, if only I can manage it
Over and over this sitting here never ends
Cries, screams, the pages yells, the pens whine but still, I simple freeze
Reality has finally gotten the best of me
Anger, normally fuel writing passion, but today all it helps is the pain
Stubborn my fingers has now become
Time is winning the war of my words that has been lost in the sun
Imagination has left me lonely on this muse less sea
Never-ending writer’s block the writers will to be
Agony felt for the death of inspiration
Today, tonight, tomorrow, it all went to empty page hell
I am nothing but an empty well, where words use to flow endlessly
Over the page turns, blue lines on white paper, plays tricks on the eyes thought
I saw a letter but the dust bunnies keep whispering lies
New day, muse still gone away, procrastination seems here to stay.
I’m working in another continent right now, so my posting might be sporadic. But this morning got me thinking proactively, and it turned into this:
Cloud, River, Cloud
Someone whipped the air into stiff peaks, fresh cream
the color of morning, and spread it out over the world.
We were still half-asleep. We thought,
maybe we could reach out and scoop up great handfuls,
bury our faces in it and die with delight. Airplane glass,
though, stood in our way: we had to
content ourselves with longing. The plane bellied down,
didn’t dive through the layers of frothy vapor so much as
rub against them until they parted in ecstasy.
Bits of white clung to the wing tips, and raindrops
scattered at the first hint of sunlight. In the deepest gaps
we could see the land, a great carpet of it
rolling with topography. Old land, creased with age lines,
smiling up at us and baring its mossy breast with welcome.
Big metal bird, soaring and leaping, now, you come,
you push out and in, touch down and bring these
foreign children to my brink without delay.
And we wanted: the voyage had made us nothing
so much as creatures of want, divested of motion and
exploration for so long, shaking out overnight leg cramps,
anticipating the new and unexpected. From up there
on the ceiling of the world, we saw the sun peek over
our bird’s shoulders, throw pennies into the many waters
pooling so far down. Moving with us. Blinding us,
bottom-up. Great mercury wires, hammered flat, looping
and curling the hummocks of secret grasslands, catching
light in every shade of silver and grey and the blue
that is the blue of the first undressing of the dawn.
That is what had us pressed against the glass. That,
and the promise of the salt air, and trees leaning in the wind.
We corralled ourselves through the gateways, into
everything else: we stand barefoot now in surf beginning
to wake up. It bubbles on our toes like that dreamstuff
we fell through in the first place, so we look up, thinking,
how similar, how far we have and
haven’t come, and all so terribly soon.
Joseph this is absolutely beautiful. I always am taken by the startling imagery in your work.
Thanks for sharing!
Carol
So rich, so wonderfully rich..and yet, at the very end, how strangely melancholy. Beautiful.
I kept trying to think of another theme this year, but things have been so busy lately that I (go figure) put it off. So, here’s a general sort of procrastination poem…
Undertakings
Promise to be a better person, tomorrow:
for now, let the sun go down on your beautiful wreckage.
When you make promises you can’t keep,
fold them into a kind of origami, red birds, blue frogs,
arranged around your crown like sentinel jewels.
Pretty things: still nothing more than paper,
and air. Promise to be a better person tomorrow.
Promise to be a better person, tomorrow,
drink your fill of tears while you still have the stomach for it.
Promise to be a better person tomorrow,
and the sun will come in through the windows caked
with dirt.
Dig yourself out of a shallow grave, tomorrow. Clear away
the debris from the doorway of a sunken house, tomorrow,
and open the door. Walk outside of the brick-and-mortar
body into the clear, bright cold, tomorrow.
Promise to be a better person, tomorrow. Promise
things to yourself, things to others. Rip vertical lines
down dreams and notions, weave the strips together
or glue together crinkling chains of them,
tomorrow.
Promise to be a better person, tomorrow. With your
jagged teeth, tear raw gobbets off the night, tonight.
But promise to be a better person, tomorrow.
love the imagery. Especially the origami stuff. I can really see it.
Wow! I can’t wait!
I’m so glad that I looked again for your Day 1 poem(s), Joseph. This one looks like it would read aloud very well.
The Greater Obligation (Shadorma)
Perhaps worse
than rearranging
(delaying)
(postponing)
is complete abolition
of a helpful act.
Hello everyone,
This is my first time posting poetry here — or anywhere, for that matter — in ages.
I look forward to musing with everyone!
“Writing is Hard”
Hold it! There’s no reason to dirty your fingers,
I’ll scrub those dishes sleek and shiny.
No need to thank me, it’s been far too long
since I polished my share.
What’s that, the laundry needs cleaning?
Don’t bother yourself, it’s about time
I made myself useful and tossed a load in.
It’s a duty I’ve long neglected.
Dinner time? Don’t dial for delivery,
I’ve got it covered. I’ve needed to hone
my kitchen competency for eons now.
Expect a mostly mediocre smorgasbord soon.
While I’m at it, I think I’ll take the litter out,
perhaps polish the bathtub,
vacuum the debris from the bedroom blinds,
maybe even brush the crud off the baseboards.
For I’ll do anything and everything,
despite the displeasure involved,
as long as it means
I won’t be doing
that which I want to do
more than anything,
but somehow manage to avoid anyway
like a phonetic plague.
Your poem encapsulates procrastination to the nth degree, but what a lot of useful things you manage to do while fending off the inevitable!
Sunset and sunrise,
no longer trigger
the usual actions
in my day to day life ..
I sleep through sunrise
till its almost noon
Sunset I stare at
if work spares me
from meeting rooms..
Settled now,
in this crazy routine,
I curse myself
when I miss normalacy.
but none of this inspires
enough to search anew
a job that pays and tires not,
some place that allows
flexible working hours..
some day sure,
I shall step out of the box
till then, I be contend
with just writing this post …
My first #novpad entry !
Wanted: a Good Home
An afternoon is squandered once again;
the internet’s been googled, sifted, found
overwhelming. How to choose among
the facts I found is more than I can do.
Compare a million-billion nursing homes
for one you love to live in: now you know
the reason why I crumpled, why I cried.
Impossible to choose. Impossible.
But decide – I must – in two days time
or send him back to an atmosphere so mad
it fostered grand delusions, left him lost
and lonely, wishing he could simply die.
Incomprehensible to him his sentence:
imprisoned in mental illness his whole life.
Marian O’Brien Paul
Wait
by Pake Gowin
Write everyday
Procrastinate
Wait
Smoke another cigarette
Time is ticking
October is gone
Turn the page
November is here
Write everyday
Wait
Procrastinate
Smoke another cigarette
Exactly! Except my line is down another cup of coffee
THE MORNING AFTER
Overnight, the symmetry of wind-
chimes and honeysuckle is
all paved over. Someone stole
the pumpkin for its seeds.
In the frying-pan, a lake
of congealed grease.
Fortune-teller cards strewn
from entry to hall, the Knave
of Thirteens vaporized with all
his luck. Around the globe, the news
is worse. The clockwork mouse is dead.
We need to deal with Wednesday.
Feels like stumbling into a scene from Wonderland without knowing the context. Not sure what to make of it, but it’s perfectly tantalizing.
agreed
all that, but exciting as well.
Procrastination poem
“I’m on it, I’m on it.”
Tom reinforced,
Vacating the office
With a file past ready
For evaluation.
Sandy rolled her eyes
To Sue who half-laughed,
Accepting her barren dog
Would have puppies before
The file’s destiny came to fruition.
Sandy stared from afar
as Tom
Grabbed a ringing phone from his pocket,
Refilled his coffee mug,
Messaged Patty in accounting,
And planted the manila folder
Like a flower in a garden
Of yellow post-its, blue pens, pink receipts.
It
Taking root like a dandelion
Gone to seed long ago.
Love this simile, “Taking root like a dandelion”
Enjoyed this poem
Procrastination Expert
Really wanted to get this done—
To start in on this poem-ing fun.
First, fed the chickens, the cats, the sheep,
And then dryer began to beep,
Fold the clothes, and call my mum,
Dog started barking, alpacas hummed,
Sun was out—tomorrow will snow—
So out to the gardens I had to go,
Straw tucked around the orchard’s feet,
Time for lunch, cooked something to eat,
More paperwork to sort, and then,
The animal tending starts again,
Husband is cooking for tonight’s guests,
I have to pitch in; you know the rest.
Lovely rhythm
Thank you. The 4th line should read “the dryer”, though. Oops!
CHALLENGING MY MUSE
I was ready for the challenge,
I could hardly wait!
So why is it, then,
that I procrastinate?
I saw the prompt early,
a two-fer for my muse.
All day I pondered
which one to choose.
It could be that today,
I just couldn’t stop.
After reading the prompt
my eyes took a hop
to the first poem posted
and the one after that.
So many fine poets,
right off the bat!
Tomorrow I’ll do better,
I won’t be intimidated.
I’ll be more proactive
and not so belated.
2011-11-01
P. Wanken
EEK! A bit overwhelmed…but determined!
~Paula
One down, 29 more to go! A good start, tomorrow’s another day. Nudge, nudge!
Intimidated…belated…
You’re not alone. Great poem
We had a parallel day:)
Thanks, all…it was a rough start. “Theme” went out the window before I could even get started. But Walt is right…29 more days to go. Plenty of time to work in my theme.
This is the first time I am doing the chap challange. Here’s my procrastination poem. Sorry I procrastinated in posting
Procrastination
Mounts of bills envelop me
As I lay dormant behind worlds troubles
Decisive strategies is the golden key
Through all of the rumbling rubble
Today is tomorrow’s past
Past is today’s woe
Peak through the looking glass
To see what fate will show
An age old mantra, spoken with sorrow
Neglecting practical ways
‘I’ll get to them tomorrow
Today’s a new day to play’
And my head turns away
From the hustle and bustle of
The bill shuffle
Mounts of bills envelop me
As I lay dormant behind world’s trouble
Decisive strategies is the golden key
Yet still I decide to struggle
The Payoff to Putting Off
This year, the trees
put off their color show. Long past
the time when leaves should have
blushed, then dropped to
crackle underfoot, the wind
sent summer whispers rustling overhead.
At night, the harvest moon looked
stark and nude without the bony
grasp of naked branches,
and the jack-o-lanterns
wore awkward crowns of
morning glories and cosmos
still in bloom.
Dear Mother Nature, your fit of
procrastination yielded me
an extra harvest of tomatoes and
one last brace of summer
squash, no bigger than my thumb.
For this, I thank you — the delicate sweet savor
of summer’s stolen flavors, fresh from the garden.
Outside, the year’s first blizzard spreads
a blanket over rows of vegetables
I finally found the time to harvest
yesterday.
STARTING NOW
I’m
worn out,
still waiting
to be inspired.
Crossing my fingers
across these blank pages
I keep wishing for a muse
with some grand poetic entrance.
The time has come to start without her.
I’m worn out, still waiting to be inspired.
*This is a form called a Dectina Refrain created by my friend, Catherin Mackie.
1 syllable
2 syllables
3 syllables
4 syllables
5 syllables
6 syllables
7 syllables
8 syllables
9 syllables
Repetition of syllables 1/2/3/4 to make a logical free-standing statement that is the emphasis of the poem
I’d like to know that too, Richard. Also does everyone’s poem say “Your comment is awaiting moderation,” for awhile before it will post? I posted finally for the first time that it would let me in months and I’m wondering if it was successful or not? Thank you.
On another note…I don’t have the time to comment individually at the moment but I’m liking what I’m seeing so far and it’s nice to be here! Happy writing and smiles to everyone!
Proactive Poem
Waiting, impatient
I don’t want to wait ’til tomorrow.
I need to ask her to come over tonight.
I hurt and she’s willing to soothe my leg,
my sore back, then tend to my baser nature.
But she’s been out of town and is tired
and wants to wait ’til tomorrow. So I
guess I’ll take care of myself again tonight.
I wonder if I’ll hear from her, skittish
as she was when we made plans to meet?
Depends if she’s hungry for more
than just texting our fantasies to one another.
Procrastination Poem
Tomorrow
I’ll think about it tomorrow,
the vows we’re breaking —
promises I’ve made to never
let it happen again.
Morals strewn across my life
like our clothes litter the floor.
We wanted the illicit thrill more
than the promise of every day together.
Took a bit of liberty with the Proactive Poem…
The Diet Plan
On the way to a slimmer me
Totally committed to eating fat free
I’ll count calories every day
Running, walking to get in shape
Only day three and it’s getting tough
Already ate a bit too much
Losing a grasp on the goal
Maybe tomorrow I’ll do better
Is it really that important to be fit?
I think genes have a lot to do with it,
This dieting is just too hard
Maybe I’ll try it later…..
My Proactive Poem
Diet
It’s so hard to give up cheetos
Empanadas and burritos
Sodas, pork chops and the lot
Dieting is hard, you see
Don’t YOU roll your eyes at me!
Gonna give it all I’ve got
(c) JH 11/1/11
haha Cheers! Love empanadas and burritos
Mine may be found here:
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2011/11/01/wrong-season/
I needed another PAD challenge, especially with friends doing NaNoWriMo. Here’s my first: http://www.otterblossom.com/blog/2011/11/01/procrastination/
Forgiveness
Again, again, again
you cling feverishly
to the rotting in your breast,
As if the rib could keep you,
and a rotting could ever bloom to sustenance.
There is no rotten bloom,
and it is not for another to release the hellhound that gorges on your stubborn flesh.
Waiting for the noose to soothe,
you will mete out your days and end in the solitude of fury.
How seductive the night air,
though another sunrise will be your undoing.
Let go the rot.
It is for you that heaven’s gates invoke their own procrastination.
Plans
In just a moment
I will show you what I mean
You’ll say, “yes, that is now made clear”
And wink at me like we used to
In the days of knowledge
In just a moment
I will reveal the great secret
The heavens will open
And our wings
Will throw off the robes of office
We had bound them down with
So we could convince ourselves
We knew what we were
In just a moment
I will save the world
With but a simple gesture
We will run into the streets
Embracing all who we meet
So sorry we had forgotten us
So glad to be reunited
It will be an oddity
To see someone not crying
With gratitude and laughter
In just a moment
I will do these things
But first I will just sit here
And laugh at my foolish plans
(Also posted on my blog, here http://bit.ly/tsQlDG)
As a little side project for this month, I decided to post a video of a favorite poem each day in November on my Facebook page. Today I selected “Facing It” by Yusef Komunyakaa, his amazing poem about the Vietnam War Memorial, read by a Vietnam vet, a video that is part of Robert Pinsky’s wonderful “Favorite Poem Project”.
http://www.facebook.com/bniedt
Cool idea!
I love that poem too, Bruce.
Yusef is one of my newly-discovered-this-year favourite poets! thanks, Bruce
Carol
Now!
There is no later,
the time is now!
Tomorrow is an illusion
and yesterday is one collective
implanted memory,
so roll on,
breathe in the air
dance in the sun
and lose yourself
now!
Even if
you’re just planning
for tomorrow,
you’ve got to do it
now!
Sure, the Mona Lisa was painted
way back then,
but she does not become relevant
until you see her now!
That big meal you’re planning
for the end of the month
is only a collection of passed-down recipes
and unbought groceries,
and only becomes Thanksgiving
when you’re eating it
now!
That great vast
afterlife
some of us cling to
is also a mirage
for there is no Heaven
waiting off
in the foggy, cloud-strewn
future
waiting for us,
but rather
Heaven is in this moment
now!
So,
knowing the primacy
and the urgency of
now! ,
I ask you
my dear reader,
without irony,
was it worth it?
Good form!
Perspective readjusted. I am relishing this moment, right now.
how does one get their photo posted in thumbnail box beside postings??
I don’t remember now, Mr. Atwater. I knew a while ago, but it didn’t work for me for some reason, so I didn’t hang on to the information.
see my reply above your question – at least that’s how it’s showing up on my screen – agh!
You have to go into your WordPress account, edit profile, add photo/Gravatar.
Edit profile at top of page
Iain
NaNoWriMo
They wait
suspended
between scenes,
the girl in that
startling land
and her unlikely
guide. Like
children playing
statue maker
on park grass,
they hold their
last pose, while
I take a few
minutes more
before daring
to send them
careening even
deeper into
delicious disaster.
Love! Hooray for November!
Thanks, Shannon : )
I’ll Get to it Today
The leftovers
A theme for PAD
The question for NaNo
Birthday gift for Bill
Writing something, anything
Make the Skywriters meeting
Leave the Halloween candy alone
Spend time with Jeni
Answer my email, get messages from IPhone
Get my conference material in order
Keep an attitude of thankfulness all day
Tell those I love that I do
Embrace the moment, seize the day
Clean up Halloween decorations
Dinner with daughter and son-in-law
Make Christmas card list and start
Give Lexi dawg her bath
Get nails done
Sign up for Christmas show
Send birthday cards to nieces
Find an art class
Sign up for Nov knitting classes
Take photos of our new house
Think about what furniture to take
How to decorate
Today
Perhaps a bit smaller list would
not set me up for failure?
Ha! My list is longer! The last two lines are exactly what my husband tells me whenever he sees my list. Nice, Judy.
the secret of her success
here is the reason she’s so bright-eyed,
bushy-tailed, when it comes to getting
things done, she said. you see, it’s just
the chillthreat of forgetting that can
happen any time at all – thanks to
the miracle of modern pharmaceuticals.
some days, she says, it’s all good. and
some days, her brain drifts over the valley
like winter coming in for a landing for
the usual unspecified period of forever.
don’t get me wrong, she says. there are
bright days and days everything fits.
she takes them when they come, but
others don’t always understand how
up can so suddenly become not up.
it’s all right. I’ve made a living pre-
empting the dark shadows that
come along with ultimate freedom.
it’s just bad wiring when all is said
and not much left undone. and so – next?
Overcome Your Fear
You were going to do it yesterday.
Might get to it tomorrow.
Perhaps it will still be undone next year.
You think about it all the time.
Project the ideal plan.
The first step is to overcome your fear.
You want to do it perfectly.
You cannot stand to fail.
That’s something you detest and sorely dread.
It’s better that you move beyond
the fear of second rate.
Sometimes it’s simply best to forge ahead.
The first step is the hardest.
The final one, a breeze.
Overcome concerns that cloud your mind.
Take a chance and get it done.
Think positively now,
and leave all of your dreaded fears behind.
By Michael Grove
November 1st, Pro Active Date
by Rich Atwater Nov. 1, 2011
Oh “Hallowed Evening” (Halloween); or ‘All Hallows’ as the British say!
October 31st has come and gone again! The goblins had their prey.
For– ’tis now November 1st, Pro Active Date, called: “All Saints Day”.
A time God is glorified for all His saints, known or unknown they say.
The Roman Catholics and Anglicans are required to hear Mass on this day,
And most working folks who survived last month’s chores have got their pay.
At eventide the sun still sets in Ireland across old noted Galway Bay,
As old timers hold a horn up to their ear, in response they say: “Ay!”
While you just reply to all the news that’s going on—a simple “Nay!”
And sit back in your chair to listen on the radio to the Tampa Bay Rays!
Tulips and daffodils still reach their height of blossom in the month of May,
As hairs on heads of middle age and older “Baby Boomer folks” turns gray.
I still remember when the New England Patriots and Tampa Bay Buccaneers were in the fray,
But that was long ago when I was still young enough to kick around in the hay,
While scoping out the scenes beyond with my binoculars to seek out a blue jay!
They tell me on the Oklahoma license plate it says “Oklahoma is still—OK!”
A man who was only “Twenty-four Hours from Tulsa” told me so the other day.
Gene Pitney would have been proud to know that someone remembered his song as I lay
Upon my pillow with thoughts of how “True Love Never Runs Smooth” each day,
Please pass the snacks and drink, because it’s TCM movie time, and place it on my tray,
Get up you lazy sluggard and get out of my way as I head to church to think of what to pray!
After writing a poem like this I’d say November 1st, is sure a Pro Active Day, wouldn’t you say?
Please, everyone just respond in unison with acclimation of the truth and say: “Yeah!”
Moving Day Wish
My coat needs a hook
My clothes need a dresser
My paintings need a wall
My shoes need a closet
Is there a cupboard for my food,
A refrigerator for my produce?
Is there a space for my music to fill,
A desk for me to write at?
I dream of a headboard
I dream of an area rug
I wish for new curtains
I wish for a proper coffeepot
All I need is a room warmed by love
A space lit by inspiration
Four walls and a door
Filled up by me
Repulsive Duty
by: Teri Sibenaller
Sitting and waiting,
anyone?
looming mound
stares me in the face,
no creel can contain
the fury,
nerves unraveling
tedious task neverending
my body
dare not move,
ungodly mass of dirt and sweat
I’ve got better things to do
Tomorrow shall seal your fate
till I see your putrid face…
breed the following day.
Golden leaves tarry
burst of sun and last of green
tomorrow, a dream.
Pro Crash To Nation by Obi-wan: Richard-Merlin Atwater– Nov. 1, 2011
The stock market goes up and down like the yo-yo of my youth,
And everyone knows old Abe was shot by John Wilkes Booth.
Johnny Bench was a Pro baseball player for Cincinnati Redlegs,
While Long John Silver was noted for his prowess and wooden pegs!
Far too many autos crash by drunken drivers on the American street,
And the things that magician Harry Houdini did was quite some feat.
Rudy Vallee as a crooner was noted for being from the state of Maine,
And Roger Miller sang of ‘King of the Road’ about a bum on northern train.
But as for me and you who live from day to day without a banal care,
We just sit and wait for the TV to announce: “Pro Crash to Nation” fare.
“The end of the world” has come and gone, we put it off too long,
So now it’s too late to sing about what used to be in happy song:
We procrastinated once too much so now it’s time to give the dog a bone,
And get on with life and labor as we refinance our mortgage with a Fannie Mae loan!
was wondering what it means on my post “YOUR comment is awaiting moderation” since many others posted after mine don’t have the same comment??
rmatwater, this must be your first response on the “new” format. Once this clears moderation it will not be an issue again. It happens on each first comment.
Tomorrow
Its all saints day, and I have no candles
to light. The sun is hotter today than it
was this summer and my car is packed with
beach sand and a sledge. Im so unsure
what comes first, sun or snow. These days
remind me of everything Im failing at–
the lack of a plan. Matches for the candle
I dont have. Tomorrow I will prepare.
Sick Day
I’m not in the mood
for writing poems today,
my head is too stuffy
to think of anything new
or witty or entertaining.
Maybe tomorrow
my sinuses will have cleared
enough for my brain to work.
Maybe tomorrow my nose
will stop dripping onto the page
leaving snail-like tracks of snot.
Maybe tomorrow my throat
will not feel so raw
that every swallow makes me wince.
Maybe tomorrow I will shift
my ass from off the sofa
and type something up –
something, anything –
even if it’s as crap
as I feel right now.
(A big thank you to the lovely person who coughed and spluttered over me in the cinema last week – ironically while watching the film ‘Contagion’. How kind of you to spread your disease around!)
That’s disgusting. But on the bright side…your poem is nice. I laughed out loud at the word “snot”. It’s very funny in print.
Yikes! November already? Time to wake up
and sing some words for PAD.
“I Had it in my Heart”
I had it in my heart
to back-
bend into time,
roll my eyeballs
to face the old gray
matter
in flashback
to what you think I
should have done
and then do it
right
for you
for once.
But my spine
supple
no more
can only hunch
(flash-forward)
and see that
this desire
still sags deep
in the pocket
of my heart.
***
my mother’s mouth
***
my father ties
his right shoe
while driving-
my mother, that’s her,
looking out the passenger window-
the car is small; their clothes fit.
my father doesn’t like the way the seatbelt
fucks with his tie.
my mother pats his stomach, loans him
the word
doll-
it’ll come back.
HaiCan’ts
Just when I think I
should do something productive
I do something else.
Gotta getta move
on with what needs accomplishing.
Really. Just not now.
Laundry list of things
which needs to be addressed. First?
Must do the laundry.
Procrastination
is rude. Why? It’s pro-crass and
I’m just too polite.
How could this be more clever! LOLed a lot. ^_^
OH. MY. GOODNESS. See why I love you?
Perchance to sleep
I’ll sleep when I’m dead
I’ve often heard it said
It comes back to me now
As I stare at the ceiling
Again
Ah, to sleep,
To sleep, only dreamed of
I’ll get to it later
I’m sure
My nervous laughter
Wakes the cat
Open contempt in sleep-filled eyes
Greets me, then shuns me
As he returns to the land of nod
I am envious
I think of kicking him off the bed
Later
When he’s dreaming
I forget what’s it’s like
To sleep, perchance to dream
…of sleep
from: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Blog
Something to write now
We need it right now
Something to rhyme now,
It’s Poeming tonight
Something with pathos
Something with bathos
Something for everyone:
It’s Poeming tonight!
Nothing that’s trite, nothing with mold,
Bring on the sonnets, haikus and odes!
Hooray for November,
Strike up an ember,
Shine with your own poetic light,
Prosing in December,
Poeming tonight!
I like it but somehow, this reminds me of a song from “Something Happened on the Way to the Forum” – “Comedy Tonight!” LOL
Keep on Poeming!!
Glad you recognized it – I was building on that. Thanks for the comment!
Cheers!
^_^
its impossible to read all these in one day and have a life!!
here is my twofer
http://taratylertalks.blogspot.com/2011/11/name-and-poem.html
glad to be a part of poetry madness month!
Ready or Not
‘Twas the eve of November
and late into the night
I gazed out the window
and felt a great fright.
My pencil and notebook
were all in one place
with my trusty Pink Pearl
should I need to erase.
But something was missing
I could feel it in my bones
though I’d paid all the bills
and disconnected the phones.
The PAD Challenge was looming
and I quaked in my shoes
the prompts were lined up
but where was my muse?
Nice rhythm!
Thanks!
Rosebuds
They say time waits for no man;
I’m no man, but it doesn’t wait for me.
I have a certain measure of days,
an unknown quantity, and too many
small things to repair, too many
stones in my shoes. I can’t run after
rosebuds, gather them while I may;
my rosebud bucket has a hole in it
and besides, is too full of unpaid bills.
What we really need to save are breaths,
each one expiring as soon as it’s born;
we’re a little more dead each time
we exhale. The trick is to forget this,
get out of bed anyway; if you want to
pick some rosebuds, I won’t tell you
they’re dropping behind you as you go.
Hm, what a curious thing – I was planning to write a Proactive poem and “get to it today”, but somehow it got twisted and I actually plan to “get to it first time tomorrow” – Procrastination poem
***
I’ll get to this first time tomorrow.
As soon as I wake up and brush my teeth,
As soon as I put on my cream and spray my perfume,
As soon as I succeed
to get it over with
and then
get over you.
© 2011 Mariya Koleva
Such a lovely little twist there at the end. Very nice.
Cool surprise ending
Thank you, girls!
BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE…
…hug your children; your immortality. Teach them to love and stick to their morality. Always be there when they cry out.
…thank your parents for all they have helped make of you. It’s true the nuts do not fall far. Be who you are, and there they’ll be.
…give a friend a helping hand. A grand gesture is returned without prompting. The handshake keeping them closer.
…thell those you love, that you love. Unspoken, but always wanted; a vaunted supplication of devotion and emotion.
…know that the only danger a stranger presents is a lost opportunity for some universal unity. Whatever you do to the least brother, will be rewarded. You can afford it.
…give yourself every chance to be the kind of person you’ve aspired to become. Sometimes, it’s all we need to succeed.
…life should be lived to the fullest potential. In the torrential outpouring of each gifted moment, the time spent wisely is an investment in your legacy.
Do it, before it’s too late.
Thank you Walt, in all sincerity: wise words.
A wow. Just … a wow.
Tearing up.
Ah! Here’s to my first November PAD and the first poem of the month! Good luck with the poeming, folks!
When the time is just right.
I know his name and the streets he will walk on;
the city he will be born in, and the one he’ll call home;
the mother he will adore, the father he will look up to.
the sister he will love, the friend he’ll count on.
I can see him dance to his silent tune in the monsoon rain,
See him hold a heavy secret, that would soon exact its price.
I can see him savour a stolen kiss, cherish a forbidden love.
See him cry when all he ever knew, vanished in a moment.
He’ll embrace an alien world, and make it his home.
He’ll find validation in the eyes of the one who knows.
He’ll carry wounds too deep to heal, too raw to hide.
Yet hope will stay afloat, in those eyes, in that smile.
I can see him run, oh, I can see him run,
Hell, I even know the song that plays as he runs,
I know where he’s going and why he’s in a rush,
And best of all, I know how it all ends.
He awaits the pressing of each key, of each letter,
that would fill his sinew with blood, of the literary type.
The words that would form, and together tell his story,
when my fingers finally think the time is just right.
TO HELL WITH TOMORROW
Today’s the day, your chances await you.
There’s no guarantee it will remain so.
So grasp the brass ring when it comes around,
or you’ll have found it gone at the next opportunity.
Yours for the taking, to hell with tomorrow!
Proactive:
My legs heady and my heart clutched in my hand,
I run toward you through more than I can withstand –
Amid the thickets and brambles of my mind,
The overgrown brush will only with love become aligned.
I push through the confusion like a mud path through an overgrown jungle,
Your words bring direction, like God’s words alive from the Bible;
A moss-covered tree trunk moist beneath my palm
Grants me the song of my blood, like David’s psalm.
Through the shadows is a glimmer of light, nestled in the wisdom of Plato –
Conceived in ancient times like a sun disk blazing in Alexander’s Philo;
I will emerge from the many leaf-shaped shadow,
For as I move forth my face becomes aglow.
(ooops. Make that “also found by clicking my name way up there at the top of my post.)
Yeah. Wasn’t sure what it was, but knew it wasn’t part of the poem
Morrow
Sorrow
can wait.
Today (sweet reprieve)
let’s just leave
the dust and the mire and the
salt watered fire and the
haunted hollow ache,
soak silken sun
into hungry skin
breathe in
the syllables
of grace.
Also found here:
Really liked this, De! Very smooth flow…
I’m looking forward to reading a month’s worth of your lovely poetry.
I WILDLY second that emotion.
Wonderful things going on with sound in here; but I think you probably knew that already.
This is beautiful, De
grace indeed…just exquisite…thank you
De, that’s so beautiful.
my first ever PAD challenge attempt..
The Age Old Battle
This is mine as well
THE SHILL
Don’t be afraid of November.
A slight of hand and look -
you have a real nice day to start off the month.
Pretend it’s October . . Hell, you can pretend it’s Spetember!
Forget this month steals daylight with the spin of a dial
and leaves shivering birds with ice in their bath water.
Forget the cold, dark mornings and wind whistling at your door jamb.
Forget all that – today is warm and inviting and whispering
close to your ear, “Maybe winter won’t come at all this year.”
Come on outside! Feel the sun on your face and beads of sweat on your neck.
Do whatever you want today . . and to Hell with tomorrow!
A Defense of Procrastination
Procrastination gets a bad rap, considering
its pod contains the seeds of purpose.
We have first to know what must be done,
before we can ignore it. That should count for something.
Cleaning my desk and table, I come across eight lists
that read like geological studies of a life, layers
of partial inactivity with good intentions pressing down
through heat and happenstance to create
multicolored strata, petrified preserved procrastination.
What must be done usually is, list or no list.
I decide to consolidate the lists into one proactive check-sheet,
a can-do list designed to encourage my vim and vigor,
putting those bottom-heavy projects at the end
where they can balance and support the lesser tasks,
like sculpting a statue of the god of procrastination,
his feet papered with plumbing, yard work, and jobs with ladders,
his long shanks built of seasonal jobs—raking leaves,
moving plants, moving clothes from closet to closet;
his middle gently rippled with suet for the birds,
hot soups for the sick, muffin baskets and pound cakes for shut-ins;
his broad chest muscled with grocery items, calls to return,
checks to cut, laundry to fold, floors to clean, plants and animals to feed,
his fingers squeezing slips of paper with snappy phrases
and doctors appointments, cards to send for deaths, births,
thank-yous long overdue and email addresses and
phone numbers for people I no longer remember;
his masterful head a spinning mass of books to read,
memories to ponder, music to play, friends to make,
dreams to dream, and all those frolicking poems to gather.
Yes, let’s try that last one for a month…
The Lunchtime News: A Walk into Disobedience
Two hundred tents pitched
at St. Paul’s main stairs.
Protest and disobedience
to capitalism it’s said.
Black-socked microphones
lean toward mixed opinions.
Claims and counterclaims,
excuses and denials.
St. Paul’s is closed.
Murmurs of God closing
the doors to those rattling
the money changers.
Here’s proof and a putrid
pudding – politics and religion
are an unholy don’t mix.
Someone says they must
pop home tonight; feed
the cat and have a bath.
And as the tents dampen
from autumn rain, and the City
looks for their legal rights,
a man in robes, the Dean
of St. Paul’s, stares into
the clutch of tents and sees
the flames of hell licking
at his soul. His shoulders
droop and he sighs as his
robes of position and authority
drop to his feet, and he
walks into disobedience.
Powerful! Especially liked “Murmurs of God closing/the doors to those rattling/the money changers.” Great piece!
Oh, Misk … I’m NOT one for political poetry, but regardless of one’s political leaning, this is one extremely well done poem.
I like the ending: Walks into disobedience….Nice…
Nikki, Marie and OMBW: Thank you so very much for reading it, and for your kind comments.
Fantastic start Everyone!!!
PAD 11/1/11: procrastinating
WHY BOTHER TODAY?
Putting off today all I can
means I’m such a cynical man.
It has got in my head
to do nothing instead.
I’ll just have to do it again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PAD 11/1/11: proactive
So short is light this
time of year, skeins of geese say
we must fly this day.
Love “why bother!” Short, rhythmic, and states the sentiment perfectly. Good job, and good to see you, Willy!
WHAT DAY IS IT?
October barged in full of bluster and possibility
stirring up a calendar steeped in commitments.
Birthday candles flickered,
Columbus sailed by with a wave,
vampire meetings and monster projects
lurked behind pumpkins and scarecrows.
Then, suddenly, it was gone -
vanished in the dead of night.
I believed October would last forever.
How can it be November?
Too true!
JUST AS SOON AS , , ,
Blunt yellow Ticonderoga smudges across the page
Pentel lead snaps off mid-word, refills hide beneath piles of paper
Plastic stick, advertising local psychic, sputters, splatters, ceases between the thought and the page
Beeweled silver Parker, a gift of love gone awry, slurps through inkwell sludge
Each taunts with possibility
Words waiting to be written crisp black against stark white
The place where the thought meets emptiness and fills it with meaning
Poetry should be written by hand
Each word flowing through the body, through the pen/pencil/crayon to the page
Pencil points embody thoughts
The lead could spawn an entire book
The inkwell holds a novel in its depths
The poor artist sees only flawed tools
I see potential hidden in reluctance
I will begin just as soon as , , ,
Forecast
Winter procrastinated:
First there was snow and then rain
Maybe just let us know nothing
Good or bad lasts long
Then an inversion stitched the smog
To the muddy foothills that surround out town
And we were quickly veiled away from Fall
I read online today
That an virtual friend passed away
A sudden heart attack
After weeks of chest pains and fatigue
His Twitter account keeps sending auto-updates:
“Ten keys to a happier, life”
His wife said she didn’t know how to turn it off
And that maybe she’d just leave it for a while
Reminders are all around us
And though we seldom listen or
Take precautions, it seems everyone
Still hopes to predict the weather
Lonnie in China
In the words of George Constanza, “I’m back, baby, I’m back!” Here’s to a great month of creativity and piles of dirty dishes.
Tomorrow’s Bloom
I like the warmth of darkness
In this space where life
Lays down against itself
In folds of fold in hollow wall
The world is big out there
Where life is sunlight and pain
And fragile beauty drowns
In each drop of salty rain
Good to see you back!
A Winter Wish
I wish I could just take a day and run
for running’s sake. The breeze across my face,
my skin is warm and tingling. Just for fun
I stop along the way, release the stress.
The flowers paint a picture in the field,
as blurry reds and yellows pass me by.
A landscape of Monet, this beauty yields
the inspiration for a greater mind.
The insects buzz about their tiny jobs,
collectively contributing their share.
They circle me, a swarming little mob,
and let me go. Another scent is here.
I wish I could just take a day and run,
but I will have to wait ’til winter’s done.
DIGITAL WEEDS
Facebook page
Left untended.
Weeds in the
Digital yard.
The last update,
“Happy Thanksgiving!”
Keeps it current
Once each year.
One of each – Procrastination and Proactiveness. Though I think they may actually be interchangeable now that I look at them again. Hmm.
(1)
The long weekend
stretches ahead.
Oh, the things I will do,
I think,
putting the chores
on a list
so very
precisely.
When Monday comes
the weekend
is gone,
of course,
and the chores
remain
mostly undone.
Yet, I am feeling
pretty good about life
in general.
The things that were done
(long walks)
that were not
on any list
(telephone talks)
were far more
satisfying
(book read)
than ticking off
the items
(time fled)
on that
stupid list.
(2)
The Important Things Aren’t Things
Thank you note written?
Check
Cookies baked for sick brother-in-law?
Check
Visit with good friend?
Check
Storybook given to friend’s son?
Check
Homeless kitties fed?
Check
Load of stuff dropped at Goodwill?
Check
Though the laundry isn’t done
I think I’ve still
made a dent
in the world
today.
Domino, love the thoughts your poems provoked in me!
Thanks Karen. It really was a busy weekend, just not in the way I thought it would be. ^_^
I have lived both sides of this – as teacher first (sigh) and more recently, student. Fortunately I’d learned from my teaching experience that it’s best to start VERY early and spend the rest of the time pruning, honing, correcting and editing – if that’s not multiple tautology! I love your poem.
Your second piece really caught my imagination. I like it a lot.
Glad you liked it Misk. ^_^
DOWN HERE
The morning after
in the darkest of the year
tangled in chill of dry twigs,
leaf-fall sheets wrapping dreams
in shadow blacker than trees,
someone’s lost, in frost-bit stars
waiting to be found
while I sleep
waiting to be found.
Someone’s lost in frost-bit stars,
in shadow blacker than trees’
leaf-fall sheets wrapping dreams
tangled in chill of dry twigs
in the darkest of the year
the morning after.
nice! It looks like a bee.
made me shiver, Taylor
I love this!
Robert, the PA PAD followers are so loyal, we even poem on vacation. Typing as I gaze at the Gulf, seeking inspiration!
Great start, everyone.
No Waiting Necessary
No hesitation, no procrastination–
I fling my arms skyward,
in praise of the One Who made all this.
Wide stripes of azure, turquoise, emerald, and ink
stretch as far as my aging eyes can strain,
bathing my senses in the Gulf’.
Breeze tickles the balcony and ruffles my hem
as I lean out to capture the scent of salt
and sound of sloshing surf.
God spoke it into being and then said
of His creation eons ago what I now
whisper: “It is good.”
Wow. It is good. And so is this.
Rock, rock, ya’ll!
***
“For Richardson Bay”
I’m going to spend the next part of my path
away from you. Farther away. It’s not
my choice. There’s good in it, but I’d rather
stay near. While I surge in and out on BART*
you’ll keep languishing in your endless bath.
Some extraordinary day when it’s hot—
it may be years from now—I’ll come across
the bridges to walk with you and visit
about those days and these days. Eight years passed
in your embrace, breathing your marshy breath.
When summer comes, how will I not miss you
in the city with all its distractions?
Union Square swamps with shoppers and tourists
making each day’s commercial commotion,
but there may be days or weeks I forget
the surge and suck of water in motion
though, so close, the bay kisses the ocean.
*Bay Area Rapid Transit
That last line: damn. The whole poem, too, but especially the last one. A wonderfully wetlandish love poem.
Wow, I didn’t think one could write a beautiful poem about BART. Thank you for proving me wrong…that’s amazing.
Thanks, Joseph and ina.
@ ina – not really about BART, but about Richardson Bay. Are you a Bay Area person? If you’d like to connect for a bay area PAD pod, email me – efflux@sonic.net
This may have only a passing reference to procrastination, but it had to be written:
White Halloween
We didn’t just get frost on the pumpkins,
we got several inches of snow,
a shocker around here in late October.
Jack-o-lanterns sport white winter caps,
and it amuses the kids who crunch through it
in costume on the way to trick-or-treat.
All the leaves I didn’t get around to raking yet
are camouflaged for a while. Some people
complain that Christmas decorations are already up
in the stores, but nobody’s griping about
an early display of snow shovels and ice melt.
It will be gone soon enough with the next warm-up,
but for now, I’ll take advantage of the situation,
and go out for Halloween as Santa Claus.
PERHAPS
Perhaps, it is not too late….
Regrets, being permanent,
Are best avoided –
Failing that, corrective action
Must be attempted before
Regrets become truly regrettable.
Maybe, if I start today
Telling her everything I should have
All of those yesterdays,
Then she will still be here tomorrow.
Possibly, if I learn to focus
My attention on things
Important to my children,
They may remember me when I am old,
And sit at my bedside holding my hand
As light fades and oblivion calls,
And loneliness becomes my greatest fear.
Perhaps, if I started today….
Hi Walt,
Is it the Sherman name??
A blessing and a curse…but I sure wish I could write a line as memorable as
Take me home from Camp Granada
Please don’t leave me in the forest
where I might get eaten by a bear!!
Alana, I love your sense of humor. I only jest because I’m a fun guy (as opposed to a fungi – which now that I think of it could be why they called me “mushroom” in my younger years. You do good work. Happy to find it here.
I’m afraid I’ll be posting a lot of very rough drafts…apologies in advance.
Orange cones (procrastination)
Maybe they’re seasonal, décor,
melted neon witches,
but I’d rather they were gone
before the rain begins.
What we save (proactive)
The last green leaf.
The dew before the frost.
one final breath of mellow, rounded air,
sunlit and still.
Your proactive piece is gorgeous.
Thank you, MiMa – much appreciated
“Getting Ready to Get Ready”
Knolls of clothing dot the rug, a
Rainbow of empty plastic hangers
Sway with every pass. Hot rollers
Get a little hotter, round and rectangle
Compacts litter the counter, waiting to
Give her a face to face the world.
She picks up things and puts them down,
Making decisions and easily changing her
Mind. A timid little queen of a tiny kingdom,
Running her life within the walls of her
Walk-In, avoiding the subjection that waits
Outside the closet door.
***********
2nd poem for today
DOUG LIKE THAT
A classic pose—
Boy with chin in hand,
Full on or with head tilted
slightly to one side—
I kept looking
not too closely
though I should have
looked more closely.
I didn’t ask about it
just eyed it
from across the room
as we chatted about boats
and landscapes
and how paintings
can feel more real
than a photo
in the way
these words
aren’t the thing
they are talking about.
Sophmoric
But that portrait
was my brother
(Who might have painted him
at that age?)
I didn’t want to look more closely
because I was afraid
it wouldn’t be Doug
and I was sure I had a photo
of him like that
I wanted to look at
for comparison.
Another year
like yesterday.
Always that immediate.
I will go back to buy that portrait,
But, it won’t be today.
STANDING EIGHT COUNT
Life, the undefeated champion.
An arsenal of left hooks
and upper cuts that find your glass jaw
every time. You pick yourself up
and search for senses long vacated
and elated you can live to fight
another day. A tentative jab to the body
leaving that chin unprotected
and you land dejected. Your legs abandon
and bit of evasive action, devoid of traction
and purpose; a direction useless to follow.
But you swallow your pride and stride
into your next punch which misses its mark
and parks you back to your seat.
You will not accept defeat and you find your feet.
At the count of eight, you come out swinging
bringing everything you’ve got until the final bell.
What the hell, life is the undefeated champion after all.
Eventually
The purple cabbage head
perched in the back of the fridge
made a perfect bowling ball
for the containers of sticky
General Gau’s chicken
and broccoli in garlic sauce
for the blueberries
in the cracked-open
plastic
for the yogurt
for the half-drunk coffee
in an open cup
My to-do list
scrawled somewhere
this small household tornado
of go there
get that
fix this
yes yes I remember it now
it was important
like all the rest
“clean the fridge”
Now I write
“clean the floor”
and check it off
wiping and cursing
Ha ha ha I love this! Except MY cabbage is green and the berries are straw….with a mold reduction…
Carol
Procrastination’s Victim
Exactly one week before the final essay,
assigned a month ago, is due—
five to seven pages of literary analysis—
Pick one living poet.
Read at least eight poems.
Choose three–
I arrive in class on time,
prepared, armed with
my MLA style manual,
the dictionary, our anthology,
bigger than a concrete block,
nerves of steel
Eager to trouble shoot,
I check the roll, then open
the floor for questions.
Dismayed, I hear
Can we do Poe? Nope. Dead.
How long does it have to be?
(sigh) Read your syllabus.
Is the library open on Sundays?
For a paper due on Monday?
One week from today, attendance
will be down, students mysteriously
called off campus, out of town,
unable to turn in the hard copy due.
I can expect excuses, alibis, tears,
slapdash efforts, and a couple
of essays masterfully completed,
the rest trickling in,
slid under my office,
rolled up and shoved into my tiny mailbox.
In one week and one day, I know
the emails will start, the phone calls:
Have you finished grading our essays yet?
I really want to know what I made.
Loved this! I’ve been on both sides of the situation lol
This tackles both topics so perfectly! I’m impressed.
I adore this one. Possibly one of my favourites today.
Whew! You captured this phenomenon so well. I hope you will be pleasantly surprised.
Please tell me someone didn’t really think Poe was still alive. o_O
Joseph, we even had a student who got Homer Simpson confused with the poet Homer in her essay. (Shudder.)
ROTFL – thanks for sharing that image, Nancy. LOL
“I really want to know what I made.” No, you don’t! :^)
This is great.
Pam
Universa Greek: Dimidium Facti Qui Coepit Habet
I always feel guilty whenever
I read the words, Carpe Diem.
Especially now in middle age, standing
behind the podium stationed in front
of my classroom, teaching Robert Herrick
to all my seniors. I mean, how can I
impress upon them the importance of today
looking as if I have been asleep
for twenty years or more?
I am more suited to say Caveat Actor
or bis pueri senes as they march out
ready to conquer the world.
How can I be honest and tell them
They are more likely to memorize
Asperum Aestimare Fimi Aliquid Hodie
than ever utter: Veni Vidi Vici
or Aut Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam.
In all my days I have seen much
but one simple truth I am learning is
how wonderful a little peace and quiet can be:
Parum Digna Pax Orbis I have come to say.
Still, my seniors, in their youth want to hear
Audaces Fortuna Iuvat or Qui Audet Adipiscitur
forgetting Dulce Bellum Inexpertis. Perhaps
I simply need to relive my youth, think
a little more. Post Haec Revertar.
I adore poetry that makes me work and think a little — this is wonderful.
It Can Wait
Push the dust under the bureau.
Drape a curtain over the loose pane
and let the laundry pile.
The peeling paint can wait, too.
The November sky is Chinese blue,
the sun still warm at noon
and there are poems to write,
poems to write.
I like this. Charming.
I completely agree with MiskMask — charming is exactly the right word for this. I love it.
BLAMING STEINBECK
Leonard George had a plan;
not so much of a take charge man,
(not even doing the best he can).
And so, his wife’s glad she’s bereft him.
Happy from the day she’d left him.
But his short sightedness upset him.
Leonard George had seen the light,
if fact it kept him up all night.
He decided to shut up and fight.
George’s maladies were much;
a battle with the booze and such,
a lothario with a cheater’s touch.
Emotion, not his strongest suit,
but after all, that point was moot,
the heartless bastard got the boot.
He knew he needed to take hold
of both his bootstraps, broad and bold,
to reclaim the soul that he had sold.
Leonard George still loved his wife
inspite of issues, troubles and strife.
So tomorrow, he’d repossess his life.
But, tomorrow is a funny thing
where hopes and wishes take their wing
and hopeful dreamers tightly cling.
The best laid plans of mice and men,
have fallen short of mark again.
That night, Leonard George came to an end.
At his graveside, his estranged wife cries,
a flood of tear drops in her eyes
for the man she still despised.
Tomorrow comes a day too late.
So clear the clutter on your plate.
Or else you’ll suffer George’s fate.
This is AMAZING
Thanks Ina. Means a lot.
Ina’s right, this is amazing! ^_^
Very clever, indeed.
Holy Crap! Now THAT is poetry. Nicely done.
a good one, Walt. You’re on fire again.
Captivating. I can’t see that you have cause to ever doubt your gift.
Smiling huge, my friend.
Walt, are you as prolific as you seem to be, or do you sometimes have a stash of drafts waiting that you can edit that fit the challenges? Just wondering, cuz I thought I was prolific but I wouldn’t stand a chance in a competition with you lol My best day was only 15 poems…
Anyway, not knocking it, just in awe or maybe awwww… Carol
Priorities
Recently, I replaced the in-tray
on my smart mahogany roll-top desk
with a modest garbage can on the floor.
The only envelopes I now open
are marked “Last Notice,” or sealed with lipstick.
I use the time saved to play Angry Birds.
Love it!
CLASSIC ANDREW! LOVE IT!!
Proactive! I love this — and someday, I may just get around to playing Angry Birds
I have decided not to post my poems here during the month, as I am trying to also include them in my NaNoWriMo novel challenge. I doubt I will have time to read all the wonderful poems posted her during November, but I will save them all up like a X-mas gift to read from the Archives during December. At the end of the November, I will still submit my poems as a chapbook. Happy Poeming, ALL!
Wise woman, Patricia! I’m not sure I’ll be posting mine here, either. Mainly because I know I won’t have time to read and comment as I love doing. All the best to you, talented lady!!
My poems this month are from the point of veiw of my main character in my nano novel ( a jilted bride who goes on her fifty state honeymoon alone) not necessarily from mine.
The Adventure Begins
My tires rumble down the road
as I gaze across the Texas plains,
stretching out, dry and barren,
to a distant horizon.
I wonder how people got here
and more importantly,
why did they stay?
My soul feels like this landscape.
I may not know how I got here,
but pennies have piled up
in my piggybank
as plentiful as my dreams
and I’m NOT going to stay.
I like this, Connie. I’ve often wondered at the tiny towns and homes in the middle of dusty nothingness and why people stayed there. You put that question into words very well.
Thanks Domino. I like “dusty nothingness.” I might steal that for my novel!
You’re quite welcome to. ^_^
This is a very intriguing concept, Connie. I look forward to following it through the month. Off to a great start.
Intriquing for sure. I look forward to more. So descriptive!
Stay on Task
Moving with a sense of haste.
A feeling there’s no time to waste.
All work, no play you say is not much fun.
There really is so much to do
and it is simply up to you
to stay on task until you get it done.
By Michael Grove
THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE
Words in a tombola
Popping and dropping
But not near your ears.
Hearts speaking,
Beseeching of love,
These sounds falling
Foreign on our ears.
Today you are with us,
Tomorrow possibly not,
So I’ll send you this prayer
For God to translate.
How can one not love a poem with “tombola” in the first line?!
Nifty word, eh? Thanks for commenting.
Loved feeling the rumble of this one
as I read it aloud. Nice.
Thank you reading it and for your generous comment.
When the streets are filled with downed wires
and oak limbs lean leisurely against them
and the mayor says save water
I guess the dirty dishes can pile on the counter
till we return, hopeful that disappearing
will make power and light return.
(in exile from Western Massachusetts)
You have my sympathy — and kudos for a short-and-sweet poem that captures it all. Sometimes there’s a good reason to procrastinate.
I’LL GET TO IT
Yesterday,
I had an idea for a poem called..,
Oh umm,.. oh yes, “At my back”
but what was it
that idea…something about
“time’s winged chariot”
and not having
enough time to do something
because I should of course
always be doing
something right now, today– about my cellulite
or my plants, or my writing
but as I sat down to do it
yesterday the phone rang and so I put it off
thinking “I’ll get to it tomorrow,” which is right now
and just as I got to my desk
and started to write
the
Forgive me Alana. But evrytime I read one of your great poems, all I hear in my head is “Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah!” It’s a sickness, I know.
Love it. I have so much WIP, that I can sympathise heartily.
Perfect.
Wow, awesome poems guys!
PKP, thanks for your response on the other blog.
I’m gonna re-post my questions here as well.
“I do have some questions. This will be my first November challenge. If I post my poems on this site during the month, but none are accepted for the challenge at the end, will I still be able to publish any of the poems somewhere else, or would they be considered already published? That’s my one fear, that I will have wrote these poems, and won’t be able to do anything with them in the future. That I’ll have 30 or more useless poems.
For the chapbook challenge, do you center on a theme, and use the daily prompts to further that theme? I have a theme in mind, and wonder if you guys think that would hinder the poeming process or help it. I can’t see having a chapbook of random mish moshed poems. Unless, of course, that’s what you were aiming for.”
Ok,off to write…..
Wendy, your poems could be considered previously published if you share here, which is why I make posting to this blog optional. However, I wouldn’t call the poems useless, because you do get to share them with a very actively engaged group of other poets here. Plus, I know several “unused” poems on the Poetic Asides blogs have ended up finding homes at other journals and publications (because not all editors consider posting to the comments in a blog as previously published). But it’s really your choice–no pressure. Even if you don’t post to the blog during November, you can submit a chapbook manuscript in December.
Using a theme is completely optional. Some poets follow a theme, some let one develop, and still others just write it a poem at a time. I’ve employed all methods myself, though I usually find that even if I don’t come into the month with a theme that one sort of just asserts itself by the middle of the month.
Happy poeming!
Wendy,
Some mags won’t take things that have had a previous presence on the internet, others don’t care; they usually say something in their submission info. I’ve asked a couple of places before submitting, and they were cool with it because the poems had changed pretty significantly between their original posting here (I have a bad habit of posting drafts) and the final version.
So that’s my experience anyhow; my guess is the poets here who’ve done a lot more work have a better feel for it
Ina
Seconding Ina’s comment about drafts. If you change a few things (and it doesn’t even really have to be much) and the poem can stand on its own two legs, many journals will be okay with it. The big-name famous ones might not, but they’re pretty snooty anyway.
(Also, now that comments are set by log-in and so much easier to locate, I feel like they should be easy to find and delete in the future if needed…)
Suppose.
They say nothing lasts forever
And I suppose I should have known
All the times I said tomorrow I will tell you
And tomorrow became never
And I suppose I should have known
It killed you and everything inside you
When tomorrow becomes never
And I suppose I should have known
Eventually everything ends with you.
Tomorrow and Tomorrow
Tomorrow grey geese pilot their formations south,
we pick up after the party where we said too much,
an old brown bear digs out the last late grubs, beds
down. Tomorrow we remember to throw our metal
fists into the gears of the machine, to buy compact
fluorescent bulbs and apples grown in Washington,
waxed in Mexico, at the corner store in Eugene.
Tomorrow we devise new tenses for the things
that we will never get around to: calling our dead
brothers, dismantling the IEDs, acknowledging our
complicity. Because today rushes up to us like
a flock of fleeing children, noisy and immediate,
smacking the world around with their little brown
fists. Today we do everything we can to hear them,
maybe feed them. “Tomorrow,” we sigh to each other
through the gathering fog, “there might just be time to love.”
This is the first one that’s made tears spring to my eyes. I can’t quite figure out why the emotions run so deep, but I like it anyway. Good job!
a wonderful poem. I love it.
Excellent stuff! Love the little details you chose.
Excellent!
Wow. This is incredibly powerful.
This poem’s scope is large but profound. <3 it!
Well done! I really like this and it’s given me an idea for another poem too! Carol
Thanks for all the kind words, folks.
Ready, Set…
Got my keyboard ready
Got my fingers loose
Got a fresh new notebook
Got my number twos.
Got my spirit willing,
But I’m a little confused.
The stage is set
Now where the heck’s my muse?
I think you found her. ^_^
Snagged the prompt and I’m off writing! I’ll be back with my entries. SO glad to be well enough to play the game. I hope many of the regulars come back. WELCOME to all newbies! You WILL make it to the end, chapbook in hand. WHOO HOOO! TKS, Robert!
Hi Patricia & all
I returned about a month ago. It took a long time to finally be able to sign in. Glad you are able to poem again – chapbooks is nice but the best thing is being part of the group again!!
Time flies…better do it now…
The bell tolls it’s time,
Released from earthly gut-retching grime,
Dawning fear or grim surrender assail,
Foreshadow dead-eyed damned detail,
How many tender hearts did you break,
How many fatherless children make,
How often when desperately called for aid,
Did you contemplate countless ways to evade,
The clock ticks it’s time,
What transcends could be grotesquely hell or a heavenly climb,
My friends it’s time to contemplate,
For the time it flies and once it flies it will forever be too late….
LOVE this!
me too.
November
As the month opens, my calendar quotes Rumi:
Welcome this pain! It opens
the dark passage of grace.
All Saints Day: it leaves a lot of us out.
Does God track like the primary schools,
making some bright Cardinals,
some hapless Turtledoves?
I resolve to be grateful and positive
every day, a friend writes, grimly.
Such work, as the trees shed,
as the sky pales.
Maybe God blessed the ones who had
no reason to hope, whose only gift
was sight for noticing.
Pamela Murray Winters
The line that sticks with me: “I resolve to be grateful and positive every day, a friend writes, grimly.” It resonates because that’s the way people often attempt it: grimly. Beautifully written, Sibella!
Lollygagging
While sweeping remnants of Halloween’s
ruckus I find a candy bar wrapper which
leads me to last night’s treat bags where
a breakfast of champions awaits. Of course
now I need some milk which leads me to the
fridge where I notice fingerprints and
crumbs, outdated food and limp lettuce
which I must throw away. I remember today
is garbage day and we forgot, so I hurry
through the house and gather trash where
I find my daughter’s clothes piled up on
the floor which leads me to the laundry
room which I notice is a slipshod excuse
for cleanliness. While I’m at it I dust,
vacuum, mop, scrub toilets, shower, shave
my legs, finally get around to that pile
of someone else’s treasure for Goodwill
which leads me to my computer to look
up locations where I find the blank page:
Poetic Asides Poem-a-Day Challenge 2011.
Oh, yeah… that’s where I started.
love this, Laurie. It’s very universal and yet specific to you. Good one!
Thank you, Penny.
I thought as I began to read that you caught me in my lollygagging ways! I think many will see themselves. LOL I think it’s lollygagging with a touch a ADD for me. LOL
I’ll get to it later.
Oh, yeah
Been busy, and haven’t been here since April. Not at all sure I like the new format, but I guess I’ll get used to it. This is a strange little form of counted syllables, started at three, rising through six, then descending again to two
I’ll go soon,
but not today.
I want to see
another April,
savor sweet lilacs
and see the dogwood bloom,
so tomorrow won’t do
either. I’ll just wait
through the holidays.
I’ll hearth sit through
January,
leave, perhaps
in May.
I love the details in this. Every winter I long for spring, for summer, for later.
Good to see you back.
And this is a curious, enjoyable little thing… the rhythm works well, gives it a charming lilt despite the serious subject matter. (and now that I’m re-reading it, even the subject matter is open to interpretation…)
I like the rhythm of this poem.
I love the imagery in the middle and “hearth sit” is brilliant.
Darn it: the layout didn’t work. You can see it on my blog – http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2011/11/01/procrastination-for-pad-1-11-11/
Step inside Walt’s mind a see what chaos looks like, Viv!
Slow down, please, Walt. You’re making me dizzy!
PAD 1.11.11
PROCRASTINATION
I will write a poem today
but first I must
make the beds
hang out the washing
make the bread
bring in the washing
clear up the kitchen
iron the washing
cook the supper
put away the washing
All is done and so am I
I’ll write a poem tomorrow.
haha, Viv – cute procrastination poem. and, on a more sober tone – so true.
And the proactive version
Later, I’ll Check My Email
It’s Tuesday and November
and the sun is late in rising, so
I will not check my email because
I have ideas that came to me
while sleeping, and those
snippets and similes
in a folder on my desk
I’ve lined up paper
next to pencils
brewed strong coffee
to fuel fingers and
kickstart poet braincells that
metaphorically overflow.
The cat can wait till later,
there’s nothing more important
than to get the poem on paper,
I’ll do it now, not later.
Carol A. Stephen
November 1, 2011
i love this – ina
Thanks, Ina~! Carol
The beautiful leaves have fallen down
The red, the russet, the gold, the brown.
and I must go out in a little while
to store them in our compost pile
The sun is warm, I hear birds sing
A gentle breeze, it feels like spring
I’ve raked a pile – high and wide
big enough for a child to hide
if I were a child, I’d happily play
with piles of leaves this autumn day
I push the wheel-barrow across the sod
of our frost-killed garden, again I’ve trod
the rows that filled with a lovely crop
vegetables and weeds, now they will stop
We’ll wait for another spring to come round
while the autumn leaves sleep in the frozen ground.
Last Chances
Had you believed in last chances
would you have turned to me
and said, “I love you,”
before you suddenly realised
that last chances
are last chances.
I like the dynamic tension between last chances and next chances here.
Thank you, Jane. I often find this concept puts my head into a twirl.
Short, sweet and pithy. I love the hint at regret that doesn’t need to be voiced at all.
bittersweet – well done
Thanks for your lovely comments, Mosk and Chamie.
ANOTHER DAY
Sleep the illusive adversary.
Free falling into the abyss of a dark
and ominous place deep in the recesses
of a mind once fruitful and productive.
Success the seductive whore
stood to sap more and more
of what made me so. In the flow
of vibrancy, a vacancy sign was hung
and every unsung song within
withered with any lucid thought
it may have possessed. At best,
any escape into a restless slumber
would have me lumbering through
the motions. But bottom beckoned.
Jagged and treacherous were the rocks
of my self-imposed despair. And it was there
that the climb back looked to be impossible;
nothing but endless sky and no wings to fly,
only empty pain and disillusionment.
Signal flares went unnoticed. Today was awash.
Hopes for tomorrow clutch weakly.
In dire need of the newness of another day.
Oh Walt, I really feel for you. This is one hell of a good poem about one hell of a situation.
Hang in there, Walt.
I really like the last line and like these words as well:
a vacancy sign was hung
and every unsung song within
withered with any lucid thought
it may have possessed.
Luckily, a new day is always just hours away. <3 This is a lovely poem about difficulty. Somehow it helps to know others feel the same sometimes too.
Been there buddy. I’ll say an extra one for you.
Seasonal Wears
A procrastinator he was
Put off wearing his scarf
and a hat for so long
that summer birds returned
singing their sweet song
Ha, some procrastinator! Lucky he didn’t get a cold all this time he was procrastinating
Hey there! So wonderful to see you here again. I hope that you have a wonderfully creative month.
Thanks, Misk
First, I’ll Check My Email
It’s Tuesday and November
it’s a great day to write, but
just before that I’ll just
check my email, take a look at
what’s been happening while
I was sleeping, and there’s
those articles I should be reading
but first, I’ll make some coffee
get some paper and a pencil,
let the cat out, let the cat in,
have some oatmeal, check
the weather, bring the mail in,
sort the bills out, flip through
this catalogue, find my glasses,
grab more coffee, take the trash out
make a sandwich, grab the telephone
find a notepad, take a message,
oh, more email, notes on Facebook,
an invitation from friends on LinkedIn,
take some soup out of the freezer,
microwave it, eat my dinner,
time for my favourite TV program,
check my watch, and time for sleeping
where’d the day go? Where’s the writing
that I promised I would get to? Guess
I’ll do better, if I start it first thing
tomorrow morning …
Carol A. Stephen
November 1, 2011
Proactively Procrastinatory
The novel will wait
’til PAD ends.
I’ve a Muse to sate!
NOW OR NEVER
Is it now or never?
Or is later okay?
Will you wait for me,
To get my act together?
Or should I just act together?
I can act, but I’m not together
Not now, maybe later,
Not now, but I hope not never either.
“The World Light Makes”
Brilliant morning light
plays with the objects
in my office,
casting shadows
and creating windows
which open into other worlds
far more interesting than the
cheap veneer and plastic
the real world provides.
So I stand
and ponder
this other world
knowing work
will always be waiting.
Love this!
Beautiful — I know this feeling well.
I like it, Jerry!
Confident and cool. – thanks Mosk
What a great way to start! Great poems everyone.
Here’s mine on procrastination(something I’m good at).
What Have I Gotten Myself Into
I should have know better
the words my not flow.
I’m a worry-wart and a fretter
the words I may not know
So in the mist of a hasty decision
I may find myself in a quandary of procrastination
My words may need some revision
but I am a writer who suffers from
word fascination.
I think you should have no problem at all – well done – buddah m
To-Do List
Waking up determined to face my to-do list,
I attack a stack of books on the coffee table,
pick one up, read a few pages, see a quote
I want to look up, fire up the laptop,
notice the mail icon flashing, check in
and answer a couple of dozen messages,
then clean out the inbox, empty recycle,
which reminds me—today’s Tuesday.
I rush to the carport, roll the bin to the curb,
stopping along the way to deadhead
the mums by the mailbox, notice my nails,
a disgrace, and head inside to scrub, file,
and polish, knuckling on the television
while they dry, tuning in just in time
to catch Wolfgang Puck out on the Plaza,
showing Matt and Ann a few tips for fall—
hearty soups, quick breads—so I rummage
through the pantry, the freezer, pull out
the stock pot from the cabinet, finding
behind it one of last month’s bills, fallen
through the back of the drawer, I stop,
sort through the other envelopes, grab
the checkbook, force balance, and write
out the ones now due. Searching for stamps,
I come across a name in my address book,
a friend I haven’t called in years. Instinct
kicks in and I dial, catching her on her way
out the door, surprised to hear my voice.
Twenty minutes later, I’m back, looking
at the coffee table where I started—books
still stacked, July magazines still unread,
I hear the coffee maker click off, rush
to fill my cup once more before it cools,
sit down in my corner of the sofa, tugging
a shawl around my knees, opening a book
I’ve meant for weeks to read, tuning out
the list still nagging in the back of my head.
It can wait. I think I’ll sit and sip and read.
Nancy: Oh my, I feel wiped just reading your poem… very well put!
A day in the life. Love the breathlessness of this poem.
I think you and I were sort of on the same wavelength, Nancy!
Carol
Now THAT’S what I call procrastination. I promise I wrote mine before I read your splendid poem.
I love the stir of this, even as I don’t enjoy my own side-tracks. I’m sitting, sipping, and reading, sis.
Sooo true! I am there with you.
I wish I had time for all that.
Nancy, good to know that someone else’s attention span is like mine. Hahahaha, ADD or just too much on our plates?
Tea and Crime-Scene Tape
Along the path the autumn winds
sends leaves scurrying ahead.
Where to they go in such a rush
and why?
I take three dogs through the wood
where children have looped
crime-scene tape through the sycamores
and children’s trainers hang from the branches
of the ancient ash.
On the road to the supermarket
empty beer tins clatter,
clatter along the pavement
then into the road to be flattened by cars.
Someime I pick them up for recycling
but not today.
Outside the shop the dogs bark.
A passing cat takes shelter
beneath the bed of a Transit van.
I buy milk and cheese
and wish for the day when I can afford
bread and tea as well.
Absolutely delightful! I felt like I took the walk with you.
Well-written. I agree with Chamie. I was along for the walk, too.
Love the rhythm & flow of this. Great piece!
Thanks for taking us along with you… I really wasn’t feeling the winter until today with all of the November poems. Yours really struck me this morning. ^_^
There’s a lovely ease in your phrasing that makes me want to buy the bread and tea and join you.
Beautiful meshing of nature and human construction. Not sure how the first and last bits fit into that mold, but I love the feeling both of them have, bookending that imagery.
PINK COLLAR
She charged into the world,
with pen in hand,
searching for purpose and herself.
The least of these could wait,
as her talents appreciate
in her dusty old self.
She charged into the world
unaware of man’s delay,
carrying a glass bottom boat
on her head.
She should have known
she would be prone
to last minute sprints
and roadblocks instead.
That glass-bottom boat will stay with me. Intriguing image.
She charged into the world
unaware of man’s delay,
carrying a glass bottom boat
on her head.”
excellent- mosk
My favorite lines too! Thanks for the comments
I’ll Get To It Tomorrow
In the purpling dawn,
my mind vacillates between
awake and asleep;
thoughts jumble together
like spilled candy from a Halloween bag
spread over the den carpet.
My greedy fingers sift through the thoughts,
searching for order and clarity.
One by one, the ideas line up and
I awake.
For a micro-moment, scenes and words linger in my head.
I think, got to write this down.
But then
the dog barks;
the baby cries;
the schedule for today overlaps the ideas
like windows on a computer screen and
poof,
they are gone.
I’ll get to it tomorrow;
tomorrow I will write.
But it never is the same.
Patricia Nesbitt
Oh, I like this, Patricia. This is soooo true.
Yes, you’ve captured that moment the muse strikes, but once distracted, never comes back quite the same way. ^_^
Beautiful imagery, Patricia.
You’ve certainly got the gist of it.
“My greedy fingers sift through the thoughts” great imagery-mosk
Robert… Wonderful morning after….
Thanks, Pearl!
Haha Walt we were almost rolling in the clover back until I struck the phrase…. Happy poeming.
mhmm suppose we could ” do it again”
BUT ON THE OTHER HAND
November.
The door mat to winter.
I wipe my feet on its rawness.
Not sure where I stand on the idea
of moving into a new season.
I was just getting comfortable;
feeling a bit more stable and hopeful
that familiarity is the friend I remember fondly.
We will take this walk,
hand in hand together. Starting today.
Starting right now. There’s no time like the present/
And this gift brings joy and plaction.
This stagnation won’t last too long.
Standing firm to go strong.
November.
Walt: love the imagery and the structure of your poem. Thanks for sharing this.
Very nice Walt–enjoying the walk with Walt already…
Drum Roll
It is November the very first day
Across the country and planet fingers poised ready, get set,
They all say
And I rush along with them
Thrown headlong into the mist of a book to be chapped
This poor little entry the first by me to be mapped
Or
I could roll right over pull up covers tight
And decide to wait until later
When inspiration might sparkle with light
Happy poeming all:)
Happy poeming Pearl
Get your pearls ready for this november PAD !
ON SECOND THOUGHT…
So what if it fails me?
Do I start it over?
Standing alone
rolling in clover.
Do I have it in me
to take up the gauntlet?
Will one more shot
be just a wee bit daunting?
Maybe tomorrow when the
excitement runs aground.
Maybe THEN can I get
all these thoughts written down!
Love them both, Walt. I knew you would be first!
CURTAIN UP
Hit the mark, light the spots.
This poetic artist is smoking hot.
Has his words and fingers are limber
Been waiting all month
for the start of November.
Give me a prompt, and get out of my way.
Chapbook challenge starts today!
Yay! Smoking hot right out the gauntlet
Amazing!
Right from the get go, what a perfect poem to start the challenge with!
Adorable.
Why am I not surprised that you are the first to post, Walt?
Great!
Today I multi-task between cooking chili
and “Mommy can I eat pudding for dinner” times two
I search for the lyrical genius who hides beneath a fading robe,
a girl I once knew
Today I let creativity flow through my spirit and into my pen;
I don the thinking cap; welcome words in.
Today I master the art of letting my soul run free.
Today I block out the world, tell them all to shush.
Today I’m doing me.
I liked how this is written to yourself- sometimes I need to do that too. Very good.
Love this Walt! What a rip-roaring start.
Walt! You came out of this PAD smokin! Out of the blocks in full sprint!
Good poem, and even better about your moustache. I’m growing a beard and moustache for prostate cancer awareness too. Great start to the month, mosk
Glad to see Mr. Wojanik
Is ready with a treat
Not a trick