2011 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 15

I admit I’m a bit predictable at times. For instance, I always include the following Two for Tuesday prompt during April and November PAD Challenges.

For today’s prompt, you have two options:

  1. Write a love poem.
  2. Write an anti-love poem.

Here’s my attempt:

“no poems”

there are no poems
hiding between us,
no things we just now
remember to say,
but that doesn’t mean
we don’t have poems
left to find on new
paths in old forests
and even if then,
we have so many
revisions to make
late into the night
like our second kiss
just after our first.


Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

And learn more about writing, publishing and living at my other blog: My Name Is Not Bob.


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432 thoughts on “2011 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 15

  1. whatevertheyaint

    Picture Perfect Gets Broken Too

    He wasn’t all that bad, just a little broken
    she thought she could fix him, make him
    almost new

    Now the picture isn’t pretty
    and nothing can fix it
    ’cause she’s broken too

    Who will save them both
    who can put it back together
    they weren’t so bad,
    just a somewhat broken

  2. alana sherman

    Dos Lapas Rojas (Two Scarlet Macaws)

    Here we are, looking
    at each other still.
    Two special birds–a pair
    made for each other.
    I am always happy to be perched
    with you looking out at the world
    even when it seems we are
    on opposite sides. I love you
    now and forever. No matter what
    new plan you make,
    you are stuck with me.

  3. alana sherman

    poems 15


    Well, what would a sailing trip
    be if one of us didn’t go overboard?
    My “dunk” in the turquoise sea
    under a bright sky, left us
    both laughing. You can’t be a sailor
    if you can’t take a joke. Here’s
    to more adventures in paradise.
    You, me, the ocean…
    it doesn’t get better than this.

  4. barton smock


    for when my hands make book

    of course
    young letters
    of dear
    crow and holy

    had to

    and the
    of my insides

    with smoke

    that, too,

    and these: (a paw print she sponged from tile) (a cup the size
    of devil hoof) (wrists
    of clay colossus) (who giggled in us poorly)

    for love

  5. barton smock

    for when my hands make book

    of course
    young letters
    of dear
    crow and holy

    had to

    and the
    of my insides

    with smoke

    that, too,

    and these: (a paw print she sponged from tile) (a cup the size
    of devil hoof) (wrists of some giant
    clay colossus) (who giggled in us poorly)

    for love

  6. Lovely Annie

    “Untitled” (Tanka)

    his presence remains
    gentle as her body aches
    no longer holding
    she unfolds before his eyes
    with insides that whisper ‘stay’.

  7. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    channeling frida k
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    when frida speaks, she needles and pinches me,
    throws folk art paint all over my good clothes
    then rolls her eyes if i fuss.
    “you are indio-latina,” she says, “so pecho affrente!”

    she thumbs her nose at my cafe con leche,
    but leers over my shoulders whenever i sit down to write
    about my own self-portraits of suffering.
    my relationships too are stormy and passionate
    but my own frog prince is kinder and doesn’t stray.
    “lucky coocoo,” she says, pinning up her hair,
    “but you don’t have a movie and calendar deal now, verda?”
    she has me there.

    my house is not blue, which also displeases young frida,
    nor does she think there are enough candles lying about.
    “oh for gawd sakes,” i protest, “this isn’t a shrine,”
    to which she replied, “if tomorrow you die, it might soon be.”

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  8. Judy Roney

    Love and Life

    Love lies fallow in every lonely heart,
    ready to sprout, take root. He hopes,
    looks for the chance to bring sustenance
    into his life, have someone to love and be
    loved by. She prays she doesn’t miss
    out or give up too soon, waits for the spark
    when their eyes meet.

    I want to tell them relax, it’s all chance,
    a big gamble, nothing is ever for sure.
    Enjoy today and the love you share,
    there’s no guarantees about tomorrow.

  9. Marian O'Brien Paul

    Love – a Quatern

    How did I love you? Let me think.
    Your azure eyes ignited mine
    until I noticed how often
    they lit up other women’s eyes.

    After your first affair, I thought,
    “How did I love you? Let me think.”
    Our daughter has your golden hair;
    our son, your shoulders, your blue eyes.

    But when a seventeen-year-old
    young woman caught your wand’ring eyes
    “How did I love you? Let me think,”
    I asked myself and changed my mind.

  10. RJ Clarken

    Sevenling (A Horrible Poem)

    “Love is the poetry of our feelings. But there are some horrible poems.” – Antonio Gala

    Happy-in-Love is a gazillion viceroy butterflies batting about in your stomach,
    it’s drawing two sets of initials in a sketchy blue ink heart on your school loose-leaf binder
    and it’s staring out the window all googly-eyed and stuff.

    Not-so-Happy-in-Love is a just bad bummer tummy ache,
    some leaky blue ink that gets all over your school loose-leaf binder (and everything else, too)
    and it’s also the fogging up of the window with all your heavy sighs and stuff.

    This is a horrible poem, which means it’s probably love.


  11. Benjamin Thomas

    SOLAR LOVE ECLIPSED (Poetic Bloomings prompt)

    Once upon a time
    many moons ago
    we were in the midst
    of the day
    basking in the sunshine
    soaking up the ray
    wrestling in the meadow
    making out in the shadow
    until our day was eclipsed
    into sudden darkness
    where I could no longer see your face
    appreciate your beauty
    and you vanished from reality
    like a mist gone from the wind

  12. seingraham

    Paris Stole My Heart But Then There Was Rome …

    First glimpse of the Louvre’s idiosyncratic pyramid
    Shimmering copper as the sun slid from the sky
    Coincided with my first evening in Paris
    Confirmed a suspicion long-held at a distance:
    I would fall in love with Paris if ever
    Given the chance

    That love affair has never wavered
    Even after spending a sweltering week
    Ensconced in a tiny apartment in mid-town
    Paris, using all manner of well-worn public transit
    Visiting every crowded tourist trap imaginable
    Including the left bank of the Seine
    Which is lovely but as smelly as advertised

    However, last year – Rome came on my radar
    Ah – larger than life, the eternal city
    Quickly showed multiple reasons for my large
    Heart to adopt another favourite
    It is hard to imagine a more breath-taking
    Place; around every corner another historical
    Spectacle or piece of architecture or cathedral

    Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised
    The loves of my life are big cities
    After all, my favourite place
    In the world is still New York …
    No matter what – I don’t expect
    That will ever change

    Born in Toronto, it’s odd
    That I don’t have a particular
    Affinity for that city
    In Canada I reserve my ardour
    For the city I reside in – Edmonton

    But, truth be told – cities I love
    Are like mistresses – for visiting only
    Loving ardently but only short-term
    For living? If I had my druthers …
    I’d live far out in the country
    Even in the woods if possible
    Now that I’d love

  13. Karen H. Phillips

    Write a love poem.

    Love Is a Verb

    The feelings of white-hot infatuation
    cool quickly.
    Lovers are fooled into believing
    after the honeymoon wanes
    that what they felt only feigned love.
    They weren’t willing to toss the petals
    into a deepening well
    and hear the echoes of the years,
    wise with pain, brilliant with laughter,
    call back,
    “I love you now more than ever.”
    I look at the one who snores gently beside me,
    knowing every crease in his face
    and every silver hair on his head,
    and the contentment wells,
    pouring peace on a heart not so giddy
    but grateful, looking forward to waking
    to another day with him.

  14. KathyintheWallowas

    apples and nettles

    for twenty years there has been love/no love
    we dance our hearts out anyway
    bringing gifts of apples and nettles and silence
    dropping them in the unconditional well

    we dance our hearts out anyway
    bringing gifts of apples and nettles and silence
    for twenty years there has been love/no love
    dropping them in the unconditional wail

    bringing gifts of apples and nettles and silence
    we dance our hearts out anyway
    for twenty years there has been love/no love
    dropping them in the unconditional way

    dropping them in the unconditional well
    for twenty years there has been love/no love
    we dance our hearts out anyway
    bringing gifts of apples and nettles and silence

  15. onemanbandwidth

    A Love Story

    When I found your father

    His eyes were still open

    His head was turned

    And his lips were slightly parted

    As though he still

    had something

    He needed me to tell you

    That autumn evening

    At the night market

    Every time she moved

    She left a lonely space

    That gentle breezes couldn’t fill

    And he followed close behind

    To see her face look toward

    The vendor’s open fires

    And then lost his way

    returning home that night

    And for days had to look

    And look again to remember

    The village streets and alleys

    And for thirty years to follow

    There was never a moonlight

    Cool enough to quiet

    The embers of his heart

  16. Earl Parsons

    Love So Blind

    They were both far, far too young
    When they ran away together
    Neglecting the advice of friends
    That told them to slow down
    Neglecting the warnings of family
    That they just weren’t ready
    They knew better
    They were in love
    And love would see them through

    They had very little money
    They had no jobs
    They had no plan
    They had no place to live
    All they had was a car
    And a couple of suitcases
    Mostly empty
    But they had each other
    They had love
    And love would see them through

    Determined to make things work out
    They headed for the big city
    Tank ran dry near a homeless shelter
    So they swallowed their pride
    And walked inside
    But because of the rules
    And the missing wedding bands
    They had to bunk separately
    It would be temporary

    They both found jobs
    Minimum wage
    They both worked hard
    But the stress increased
    They wanted to be together
    They wanted to be wed
    Separation was cruel
    But they followed the rules

    Then one cold winter day
    A visitor was waiting
    When they returned from work
    A stranger to both of them
    With an offer they couldn’t refuse
    An offer of better times
    And a chance for a better life

    All they had to do was ask
    All they had to do was want
    And all they had to do was return

    They talked it over
    They realized their selfishness
    They realized their plight
    They cried with joy
    And they returned home

    Welcomed with love
    Forgiveness and understanding
    They vowed to their parents
    That they would do things right

    Then they vowed to each other
    The same

  17. Tracy Davidson

    My Valentine

    He hasn’t shown up.
    I sit here, waiting for my steak and chips
    all alone, surrounded by lovers.

    The young ones are mostly
    too wrapped up in each other
    to notice the sad singleton
    in the corner.

    Though one girl keeps glancing over,
    sniggering and whispering with her beau.

    An older woman at the next table
    also looks over from time to time,
    but her eyes are kind, warm,
    her smile one of sympathy.

    I resent one as much as the other.

    My cheeks hot, I keep my eyes
    downcast, and my body sinks
    further into my seat, hoping
    the floor will open up
    and remove me from sight.

    I should just leave but, dammit,
    if there’s to be no sex tonight
    at least let me feed one hunger.

    At last, here comes
    my steak and chips.

  18. Walt Wojtanik


    Chasing like children
    running from here to there,
    tongue extended. The first
    snow of the season,who needs
    a reason for such fun.
    And so we run, chasing
    large, fluffy flakes to alight
    melting for a taste. Coming
    together I slip pulling you
    to the ground, mouths meeting
    an impromptu kiss. Bliss
    on a late November day.
    Rolling in the snow passions
    loose control, the kiss lingers.
    Erotic snow angels on the ground.

  19. richard-merlin atwater

    Up the Anti and Pass the Chips
    Rich Atwater Nov 15, 2011 prompt second for a Tuesday but written a day late on a Wednesday

    I never was a gambler, so I never collected “chips”,
    Except at home movie time along with the popcorn,
    In Las Vegas they say “up the anti” with coin flips,
    To seek the “bootie” prize that only evades, forlorn!

    I know there is anti-matter in physics, and relations
    Include an Uncle and an “Auntie” to nephews and nieces,
    But I wonder if there truly is such conflagulations
    As anti-love; me thinks it isn’t sound, and falls to pieces.

  20. zevd2001


    You were waiting for the bus, and I stood beside
    my car in the parking lot. I don’t know what it was
    about you. It was something special. The calm disposition,
    maybe. Of all the people standing at the stop, your body language
    spoke to me. Yeah

    I was in sales for a long time. I notice things
    about people. I miss the challenge. It was as if
    I wanted to run up and
    offer you a ride, but I didn’t.
    It might seem as if I was stalking. That’s against the law

    so I let it go. Then the next day . . .
    there you were walking past me towards the end of the room,
    It was you. I wanted to get up and stop you, offer directions, yet
    it might confuse you, me stopping you
    in your tracks.on your way to wherever

    I would catch you on a coffee break. Right
    everybody goes into the kitchenette midway through the hall. We scatter
    the breaks. It’s possible to be alone with you. It’s possible, then
    to strike up a conversation. Good, I’ll do that . . . if it’s possible.

    Yes, I get on top of that right away, I smile at the manager. I could ask
    him if there are additions to the staff. If anybody knows, it’s
    one way to do it. God only knows

    how I can get to talk to you . . . Take hold of yourself. There are other things
    in life. There must be a way
    to teach the eyes to hold back a passing observation
    and leave it be. I can’t keep thinking of anything
    but you

    I’ll wait until it’s time for the lunch break. I’ll say,
    I noticed you at the bus stop yesterday. I was impressed
    by the way you stood at the bus stop. Okay, it’s stupid,
    but it’s me. If it gets us talking, so be it,

    I’ll try,
    I must requite my love
    the sooner the better, if not now, when. Then,

    there, standing behind you at lunch, I saw you at the bus stop,
    I say. I saw you
    waiting for me at your car
    in the parking lot, she said, What kept you.

    I can’t say, about yesterday, but
    if you don’t mind, this is one on me, for you. Why not,
    of course, she smiles. So it’s a date, I nod my head.
    So it is, we hold hands.

    Zev Davis

  21. pmwanken

    Written yesterday for the “love” prompt at Poetic Bloomings…thought I’d share it here, too:


    I studied her,
    from the safety
    of the stairs – at just
    the right point
    where I could watch
    but not be seen –
    my gaze
    hidden by the banister…
    I learned about life.

    From my perch
    I could see her
    busy herself,
    cleaning the home
    of her family –
    lovingly, yet rapidly
    she worked
    to complete her tasks…

    Other times I witnessed
    her inner strength
    amidst crises of all sizes –
    misplaced papers,
    or times when lives hung
    in the balance –
    her words comforted
    loved ones; her prayers,
    eloquent; perfect…

    My lessons about birds
    and bees
    came through
    the banister rails as well,
    I caught glimpses
    of a painted coral fingertip
    curling seductively,
    the swivel of hips,
    a wordless call
    to her lover…

    Some people say
    I developed a complex –
    I believe I learned
    the best lessons in life;
    I fell in love with my mother
    which helped me find
    my soulmate, my wife.

  22. iainspapa

    “Ironic”: The Opposite Of Ironic?

    L is for the many ways they compLicate your day
    O is for Alright, dOn’t have a cOw!
    V is for aggression, passiVe and the other way
    E is what you wantEd. Happy now?
    Put them all together, there they’ll sit.
    (I’m not your maid!)
    Teenagers: Like feral cats, except they can’t be spayed.


  23. Karen31

    Rhymes Never Lie

    When I say I love you,
    When I tell you that I love you,
    you really should believe me,
    every single time.
    When I say I love you,
    When I tell you that I love you,
    you really must believe me,
    because lies never rhyme.

    And if you say the same thing,
    You’d better make the words sing,
    you’d better have a gold ring,
    you’d better make me sigh.
    Because if you say the same thing,
    but your words are just a bad swing,
    I’ll know it’s not the real thing
    because rhymes never lie.

  24. Janet Rice Carnahan


    To be on earth,
    Invites in mirth!
    Brilliance of chance,
    Sing and delightfully dance,
    Float among the best of clouds,
    Dazzle one’s humor in many crowds!
    Join a hummingbird in mid-flight!
    Relishing any fresh insight!
    Accompanying dolphins on their swim,
    Spontaneously hugging one’s father,
    Watching him grin!
    Cradle a baby in one’s arm,
    Discover a newly built organic farm,
    Hold each moment precious and dear,
    Erasing any age old fear,
    Being oh, so grateful to be alive,
    Making up your own song while you drive,
    Laughing as you spill ice cream on your shirt!
    Cherishing the moments you did in the dirt!
    Embracing storms, honoring nature’s cry,
    Respecting the truth, cancel each lie!
    Open your eyes to compassion,
    Especially for the people life can pass on!
    Be grateful for every breath,
    Offer understanding after a death!
    Feel or say thank you for all you have!
    Let it heal you like the best salve!
    Hold each moment as a heartfelt yes,
    You will fully know joy then . . .

    That’s my best guess!


    Will sink you fast,
    Best advice . . . let it go past!
    Trust what you have is good,
    Be grateful for that, I would!
    Money can come and quickly go!
    Love is the constant, good to know!
    Money doesn’t truly define us,
    It is Love that can refine us!
    Playing to money,
    Is never funny!
    Frankly it doesn’t carry any tune!
    Truly it can disappear too soon!
    Love of money can take us under,
    In fact it can pull a family asunder!
    Loving money is really sticky,
    It can off color beauty, making it icky!
    We can get lost attempting to hoard it,
    Like a doomed plane if we tried to board it!
    It can take us spiraling out of control,
    Like a fast paced snowball on a speedy roll!
    Only through gratitude,
    Can you have the right attitude!
    Yes, open to correctly receive,
    For certain stay positive and believe,
    But hold tight to the fear and deceive . . .
    Or cling to the love for money,
    Not a good idea, Honey,
    If it should leave,
    You’ll be at the bottom . . .

    And endlessly grieve!

    1. richard-merlin atwater

      JRC–Your name alone says it all–a poetic play on words “Janice Rice Carnahan” even sounds poetic to the ear. Your two latest “takes” Sentimental journey and sound advise from a true poetic philosopher–YOURS truly Sir Richard “Obi-Wan” Poet ATWATER

  25. Benjamin Thomas

    Ain’t no love here for ya’

    We have to talk.
    This is going to be tough for you, I know.
    Well…There’s no sense of walking on egg shells.
    Let’s just get the cat out of the bag.
    The truth is I don’t love you.
    I never did and never will.
    So you can take that straight to the bank.
    Good. I’m glad we got that worked out…

    Soap Operas
    Church’s Chicken
    Chicken livers
    Clam Chowder

  26. RobHalpin

    Love Is Patient?

    a bit
    during my wedding
    to my beautiful bride
    the Bible verse was read about love being patient,
    but all I could think about was
    stripping off her gown
    so we could

  27. Poet123

    The Dance

    we tap willing thoughts
    wrought with smooth breezy chasses
    swaying like tango

    together melding
    and compelling each other
    to rise or to fall

    like the waltz flowers
    it is our time to bloom
    making room for love

  28. Benjamin Thomas


    As I look and peer

    into your eyes

    noticing your poor

    disheveled countenance

    discerning the index of your eyes

    as I often do

    doubts arise

    in genuine concern

    for your beloved grandfather

    who is alive but can

    no longer walk and whose

    health is now uncertain

    sobs break forth

    tears stream

    in rapid succession

    down each cheek

    striking a painful cord

    deep in my heart

    bringing to remembrance that day

    that sweet wedding day

    I uttered those words

    to cherish you always

    and wipe away



  29. taylor graham


    We had the place to ourselves, four of us
    at the long wooden table in back.
    You were reading a poem about war, farm-boys
    going to battle for a crown – drumbeats,
    tattoo of boots keeping time with the formal
    meter, drip of rain down collars, rumor
    of cannon-fire in the distance.
    A couple of guys in sweats came in,
    sat down across from us, scraping chairs
    on linoleum, settling heavily; talking
    loud. Your poem got lost in “snap shots
    on the ice” and “penalties.” We
    strained to hear the verse; you raised your
    voice a little louder. “I hate
    poetry,” from across the aisle. “Now
    let me tell you,” to his buddy
    and the world “about that moonshot” –
    lovely metaphor for something involving,
    I guess, a puck.

  30. Dan Collins

    What you saved for me

    I’m glad you let me go
    when you let me go
    and went your separate way
    without a word.
    I’m glad we did not argue,
    that we still thought fondly.
    I’m glad that you returned
    and knew that I had changed.
    I’m glad you kept my sock
    for all of those years.

  31. Kit Cooley

    The Way to Her Heart

    Because my day has gotten away
    from me, and poetry has not been
    written, and even though he only
    just got home from work himself,
    and put the chickens all to bed,
    and helped me from my car with all
    my bags, and fed the dog and cats,
    still listening to my list of still-to-dos,
    while he pulled out cutting board and knife,
    then let me settle in at desk
    with keyboard clacking, lacking
    brilliant inspiration, now, I sniff,
    fresh red sauce, full of garlic and basil,
    heart full, the smell of love.

  32. Bruce Niedt

    Beach Walk

    We walk the shoreline at dusk
    as the sky catches fire

    barefoot, carrying sandals
    we walk the shoreline at dusk

    our feet washed in gentle surf
    barefoot, carrying sandals

    our footprints fade behind us
    our feet washed in gentle surf

    we talk about our future
    our footprints fade behind us

    we barely touch the tide’s edge
    we talk about our future

    our plans entwine with our hands
    we barely touch the tide’s edge

    as the sky catches fire
    our plans entwine with our hands

    [This is a form I created this month which I’m calling the “pan-ku”. I was inspired by a poet friend, Anna Evans, who recently created the “haikoum”, a cross between the haiku and pantoum, with haiku structure and pantoum-like repetition. My form is a little less intricate and sparer, I think: 1. Couplets of seven syllables each (like the “long” line of a haiku), 2. No particular line limit (though shorter – say, 14 lines or less – seems more effective), 3. a repeated line scheme of A-B, C-A, D-C, E-D, F-E….Y-X, B-Y (line B is always the next to last line). 4. A nature theme is preferred, but unlike haiku, similes and metaphors are okay. My poem from Day 4, “Bat”, is in this form.]

  33. PSC in CT

    Not happy with it, but it’s getting late, and it’ll have to do: :-]

    “Love of his Life”

    She was the love of his life,
    (bore him two fine daughters
    on which they both doted), then,
    died, far too soon. Her passing,
    (no easy task), convinced him
    he’d seen enough of pain; no longer
    looking for love (so to speak), he seeks
    companionship in a pretty package.
    But, I can’t help but wonder:
    what young woman would be satisfied
    serving as merely a stopgap, between
    the love of his life and the end of it?


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