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2011 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 1

Categories: November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2011, Poetry Prompts, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog.

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.

*****

Find a home for your poems!

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!

Click here for more details.

 

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About Robert Lee Brewer

Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

418 Responses to 2011 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 1

  1. sidewalkdiva says:

    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.

  2. rachelhyde says:

    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.

  3. JujYFru1T says:

    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?)

  4. Jay Sizemore says:

    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.

  5. 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

  6. 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

  7. Linda Neas says:

    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

  8. hohlwein2 says:

    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.

  9. PSC in CT says:

    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).

  10. PSC in CT says:

    Hmmm… thought I had successfully input DAY 1, at least — but it’s not here. Am I doing something wrong?

  11. Kim King says:

    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.

  12. JujYFru1T says:

    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?

  13. Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

    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

  14. 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!

  15. foodpoet says:

    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

  16. tlums112 says:

    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?

  17. AgentK says:

    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

  18. 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

  19. pblacksaw says:

    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

  20. posmic says:

    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.

  21. Janet Carnahan says:

    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! :)

  22. SaraV says:

    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

  23. Anita Murphy says:

    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.

  24. Anita Murphy says:

    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.

  25. pomodoro says:

    “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)

  26. pomodoro says:

    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)

  27. JoBella says:

    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

  28. pami says:

    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

  29. jane hoover says:

    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

  30. zwrite1 says:

    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.

  31. stu pidasso says:

    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.

  32. Glory says:

    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.

  33. Earl Parsons says:

    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

  34. Arielle Lancaster-LaBrea says:

    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.

  35. Michelle Hed says:

    raking leaves –
    taking the yard to the cleaners
    amongst the giggles of children

  36. Michelle Hed says:

    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.

  37. ceeess says:

    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

  38. 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!

  39. MiskMask says:

    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.

  40. Zebbalina says:

    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!)

  41. Uma says:

    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.

  42. kberne says:

    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.

  43. Angel says:

    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.

  44. Von says:

    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.

  45. Kit Cooley says:

    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!

  46. PKP says:

    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 :)

  47. PKP says:

    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

  48. 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.

  49. 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.

  50. cstewart says:

    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.

  51. a.paige says:

    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.

  52. 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

  53. JustineBarnett says:

    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

  54. Rebecca Chasteen says:

    “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.

  55. Idream2 says:

    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…

  56. sueatkins says:

    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.

  57. Slusher Brian says:

    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.

  58. Forever Delayed

    At odds with today
    And never is the place to be
    I’m forever delayed
    For tomorrow is my destiny

  59. IrisD says:

    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!!!

  60. ely the eel says:

    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?

  61. a.paige says:

    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.

  62. Raina Masters says:

    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.

  63. Sara McNulty says:

    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.

  64. writejowrite says:

    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!

  65. Dan Collins says:

    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.

  66. 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!

  67. Katie Dixon says:

    “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.

  68. seingraham says:

    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 …

    • a.paige says:

      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.

  69. seingraham says:

    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

  70. vperson says:

    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

    • JustineBarnett says:

      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 :D

  71. Robert,

    Bring your “A” game. I’m ready and I’ve got my game face on!

    :)

  72. Mary Mansfield says:

    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.

  73. mikeMaher says:

    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.

  74. Myrrh95 says:

    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.

  75. vsbryant1 says:

    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.

  76. 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.

  77. 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.

  78. Marie Elena says:

    The Greater Obligation (Shadorma)

    Perhaps worse
    than rearranging

    (delaying)

    (postponing)

    is complete abolition
    of a helpful act.

  79. Varek Nikolas says:

    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.

  80. Nimue says:

    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 !

  81. 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

  82. Pakegowin says:

    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

  83. 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.

  84. boltoncarley says:

    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.

  85. Kit Cooley says:

    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.

  86. pmwanken says:

    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

  87. Gregory says:

    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

  88. Chamie says:

    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.

  89. Lovely Annie says:

    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

  90. Hannah says:

    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!

  91. AC Leming says:

    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…

  92. Mom6 says:

    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…..

  93. 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

  94. otterblossom says:

    I needed another PAD challenge, especially with friends doing NaNoWriMo. Here’s my first: http://www.otterblossom.com/blog/2011/11/01/procrastination/

  95. Nambe-Pambe says:

    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.

  96. wildharmonic says:

    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)

  97. Bruce Niedt says:

    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

  98. 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?

  99. how does one get their photo posted in thumbnail box beside postings??

  100. bluerabbit47 says:

    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.

  101. Judy Roney says:

    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?

  102. 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?

  103. Michael Grove says:

    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

  104. rmatwater says:

    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!”

  105. splbham says:

    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

  106. Celestialdrmr says:

    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.

  107. Hannah says:

    Golden leaves tarry
    burst of sun and last of green
    tomorrow, a dream.

  108. rmatwater says:

    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!

  109. imperfect tense says:

    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.

  110. Tracy Davidson says:

    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!)

  111. J.lynn Sheridan says:

    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.

  112. barton smock says:

    ***
    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.

  113. RJ Clarken says:

    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.

  114. Berep Jak says:

    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

  115. Karen31 says:

    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!

  116. taratyler says:

    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!

  117. cara.holman says:

    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?

  118. posmic says:

    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.

  119. 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

  120. 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.

  121. ShreyIyengar says:

    Ah! Here’s to my first November PAD and the first poem of the month! Good luck with the poeming, folks! :D

    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.

  122. 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!

  123. 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.

  124. De Jackson says:

    (ooops. Make that “also found by clicking my name way up there at the top of my post.) ;)

  125. De Jackson says:

    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:

  126. Leo says:

    my first ever PAD challenge attempt.. :)

    The Age Old Battle

  127. Nancy J says:

    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!

  128. Jane Shlensky says:

    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…

  129. MiskMask says:

    proactive poems

    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.

  130. Willy says:

    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.

  131. Nancy J says:

    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?

  132. NomiWrites says:

    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 , , ,

  133. onemanbandwidth says:

    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

  134. 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

  135. nikkeyg says:

    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.

  136. Mike says:

    DIGITAL WEEDS

    Facebook page
    Left untended.

    Weeds in the
    Digital yard.

    The last update,
    “Happy Thanksgiving!”

    Keeps it current
    Once each year.

  137. Domino says:

    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.

  138. 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.

  139. 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.”

  140. DanielAri says:

    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

  141. Bruce Niedt says:

    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.

  142. Mark Windham says:

    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….

  143. alana sherman says:

    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.

  144. ina says:

    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.

  145. CNBMarkle says:

    “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.

    ***********

  146. alana sherman says:

    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.

  147. 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.

  148. pricedgp says:

    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

  149. Nancy Posey says:

    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.

  150. Justin Evans says:

    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.

  151. Ann M says:

    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.

  152. 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.

  153. 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.

  154. 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!

  155. 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.

  156. Michael Grove says:

    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

  157. MiskMask says:

    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.

  158. robinamelia says:

    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)

  159. alana sherman says:

    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

  160. Wendy Stevens says:

    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!

    • ina says:

      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…)

  161. Billie says:

    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.

  162. gilgallagher says:

    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.”

  163. De Jackson says:

    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?

  164. 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!

    • Marianv says:

      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!!

  165. justastatistic-poet says:

    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….

  166. Sibella says:

    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

    • Domino says:

      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!

  167. laurie kolp says:

    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.

  168. Penny Henderson says:

    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.

  169. Step inside Walt’s mind a see what chaos looks like, Viv!

  170. viv says:

    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.

  171. ceeess says:

    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

  172. Marianv says:

    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.

  173. MiskMask says:

    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.

  174. 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.

  175. MiskMask says:

    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

  176. ceeess says:

    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

  177. RobHalpin says:

    Proactively Procrastinatory

    The novel will wait
    ’til PAD ends.
    I’ve a Muse to sate!

  178. JMireilleM says:

    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.

  179. “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.

  180. 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.

  181. Nancy Posey says:

    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.

  182. 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.

  183. maxie2 says:

    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.

  184. Patricia Nesbitt says:

    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

  185. PKP says:

    Robert… Wonderful morning after…. :)

  186. PKP says:

    Haha Walt we were almost rolling in the clover back until I struck the phrase…. Happy poeming. :)mhmm suppose we could ” do it again”

  187. 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.

  188. PKP says:

    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:)

  189. 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!

  190. 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!

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