2011 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 20

Well, I still haven’t slept since my Day 19 prompt. That will be remedied soon enough, but I wanted to get today’s prompt and poem up before sleeping in. I started yesterday in Georgia, made it up to Ohio (grabbed my sons Ben and Jonah), and am now back where I started (in Georgia)–more than 19 hours later. Whew! (I apologize in advance for any typos, missing words, etc.–I’m exhausted.)

For today’s prompt, write a best ever poem. Now, don’t stress out. I don’t expect everyone to write the best poem ever written–however, you’re allowed to aim for that if you wish. No, I’m asking you to write a poem about the best ever something. For instance, the best ever kiss, best ever dance, best ever party, best ever comeback, best ever moment, etc. Think about your personal “bests” and then write one (or three).

Here’s my attempt:

“Best Ever Triolet”

I tried to write a triolet.
Though it wasn’t the best ever,
I needed a fun game to play.
I tried to write a triolet,
because the rhymes fell fast today.
Don’t think it’s because I’m clever
I tried to write a triolet.
Know it wasn’t the best ever.


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295 thoughts on “2011 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 20

  1. Marian O'Brien Paul

    Bramley Tarts (A Yeats Octave)

    A pie is called a tart in Erie-land
    in England, too, I guess. Irrelevant –
    because for half a year, the time I spent
    on western County Mayo’s coastal strand
    acquainted me with Bramley apple tarts
    Uncooked, the sour apple taste can pinch
    a tongue and pucker lips up tightly in a clinch
    but sugared, baked in pastry shell? The best.

  2. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    best ever
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    you, me, and the dog
    a deck under a full moon,
    planes, satellites
    streaking comets
    voyeurism at its best,
    mugs of lapsang, warm
    in our laps, quietly steaming.
    life in ‘burbs is good,
    slow and easy
    a trickle in the woods
    away from treacherous falls
    in the city, a safe place
    to dangle tired hot feet
    in the headwaters
    ever so often,
    a haven to turn off
    peacock colors and
    just fade to grey
    a little while.

    the dog’s breath
    on the back of our arms
    reminds us it’s time to return
    to the warmth of our beds
    likewise waiting patiently
    for the crush of our
    own sweet heads.

    © 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  3. Sibella

    Serial Monogamist

    Don’t sit at the end of the bar, or he’ll drop his cue
    and tell his buds he’ll marry that woman,
    you, the one who’s going home with him
    and falling for him before borrowing
    his toothpaste, bearing his son
    before he lifts the veil, plumping his pillows,
    washing his socks, stirring his gravy
    if you know what I mean and I think
    you do but you’ll do it anyway,

    give yourself to him because he says
    you’re the best ever. Pick up
    the cue, hand it back gently, refuse
    his Jack and Coke. “Best ever” means
    “best so far”; “ever” goes on,
    and the world spills over
    with next bests.

    Pamela Murray Winters

  4. Joseph Harker


    Passion in a glass bottle, cherry-red and translucent,
    slightly syrupy when you pour it into the shaker.

    That first afternoon in the park (when the air
    could have split between our fingers, and four o’clock
    was pregnant with spells of the sun), squeezed,
    collected, distilled, clarified.
    Our conversations, our furtive touches, our first kiss:
    two shots, on the rocks.

    A dash of bitters, whose counterpoint
    we appreciate from a safe distance, afterward.
    A few muddled moments: horror films,
    rainstorms, highways at night, all of it
    pulped and sweetened with memory, crystallized
    at the bottom of the glass.

    Time, clear and frozen solid. Shards of it
    tumbling around the shaker, dagger-thin and almost
    invisible when poured into the glass.

    The whole of it rose-cheeked and frost-nosed.
    Curtains of broken light feeling their way. On top,
    perfect teeth and caramel skin for a garnish.

    Too much of it for a shot, but too short to be called
    whole. More of an experience than anything else:
    sweet to the taste, many-layered, strips the throat
    on the way down. But impossible for us to say
    it was anything other than perfect in its complexity,
    and overall, well worth drinking.


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