We made it. Day 30! Now scramble up to the peak with me and jump up and down in celebration. Another PAD challenge completed!
Before the prompt, a couple quick notes:
- A Quick Note on Being Respectful. Check out this post from last night to understand what I don’t expect on this blog, but also, learn how to efficiently report questionable comments and poems.
- 2011 November PAD Chapbook Challenge Rules! Check out this post for details on how to submit a chapbook for the FREE competition part of this challenge, including how many poems to include, what files types I prefer, etc.
*****
For this month’s final prompt, write an “against all odds” poem. I often feel like we have to fight against the odds, the elements, the technology, etc., to complete these challenges, but there are so many other scenarios that involve someone or something working against all odds to make something happen. Thank you so much, everyone, for helping to make this another great challenge!
Here’s my attempt:
“Tebow”
The VP says he’s not the answer;
the coach says he’d fail in a normal
offense; and for his part, he agrees
with them as he wills his team to wins
after all hope would really be lost.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
And check out my other blog: My Name Is Not Bob.
*****
…by reading Writing the LIfe Poetic, by Sage Cohen. This is one of my favorite poetry instruction books, because it tackles a wide range of poetry-related issues–from craft to inspiration and from handling submissions to reaching readers. It’s one of those books I always keep close at hand.
Against all odds
Prayer changes things
Go to the website below
And see how it rings”
http://www.greatdanepro.com/Pray%20For%20America/index.htm
THE GIRL IN UNIT 5D
Any door’s her starting gate, open
in a flash, the track’s all hers,
she gallops past those kids
on the corner hanging out, a feint
to the right, nobody stops her;
she blazes by last night’s graffiti
on the walls, past a Cinderella
gown in the show-window –
what’s to admire, a big white dress
that binds? Another dodge
around a bum outside the bait-&-
booze store – where’s that siren
coming from? But she’s
already down the block and gone
and come again, the finish line,
back home, she’s Davy Crockett
at the Alamo, this time she wins.
underdog
by juanita lewison-snyder
a tired dog
long past his prime
scarred, stoved up
mangy and malnourished,
disillusioned with a world
that tossed him like a cigarette
butt out on the streets,
got scooped up one day
on a fly-by-night run,
the odds of adoptability
not exactly in his favor.
by the time i arrived at
the shelter just before closing,
he would not even look at me
much less bother to wag a
friendly tail, preferring
instead to rest red swollen eyes,
for what did it matter
since today was his last,
or so read the bright yellow tag
above his kennel.
there were plenty of pups, sure
in all my usual covets,
pedigreed bloodlines to kill for
but something about this
heartsick old fool kept me
coming back, cap in hand
to his door.
© 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
OMG, I did it! I really really really REALLY did it! Few times there when my faith kind of waivered a bit, but pat pat pat myself on my back. Time for Baskin Robbins, So outta here!
Two things:
(1) Robert, I asked a question about the challenge over on the Challenge Rules entry; just making sure you saw it.
(2) This has been, as always, an inspiring exercise. Although I’m not as happy with my overall work as I’ve been with earlier challenges, I’m still really grateful that this place and these people are here. Thank you all.
Pam
Against All Odds
Against all odds, still I stand
I am strong, I am wise, I haven’t been beaten by the land
Against all odds, still I am great
I am fire, I am earth, I am never late
Against all odds, still I move
I am a lover, I am fight, I am a student and their muse
Against all odds, still I am power
I am what I am, a queen, a mother, a dish that never sour
Against all odds, still I am
I am those who came before me, those who stand with me, and those who will be here after me
Against all odds, we are we
We are women, beauty and complete ecstasy
by the end of day
30 poems printed
- wow – now -
a lot of work to do
before the end of
December
~AGAINST ALL ODDS~
My heart awoke
Evoked to poem
Again,
Still retracting
Muscle memory
Simplicity speaking
It into beating
Into believing
In passion and beauty.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I’ve been walking around feeling like I’m in the twilight zone today, not having written a poem. Had to come and write one for old times sake. Smiles to all!
Computer Technology
When first introduced
computer technology
boggled many minds.
But that was nothing –
the technology since then:
exponential.
Yet I’m computing,
who once despaired of typing,
no longer boggled.
This is my “maiden” entry here…I have been lurking for a while and decided to take the plunge beyond just reading all your entries. For this prompt, I thought I would try an introductory limerick as a light hearted entry:
Against All Odds
Arrayed in neat lines for the scrimmage
The down team looked sadly quite hostage
Then they puffed up their bods
And against all the odds
Won all by superior blockage!
To one and all: Wll I didn’t catchup. I have about 13 prmpts that didn’t get poemed but I will try to use december to see where I get. I so enjoy being part of this poetic community (and the wondrous and great poetic unconcsious).
Everyone’s work is so full of craft, ideas and sincerity always pleasure to read and an inspiration. Even though I did’t finish the challenge and won’t be submitting a chapbook this time. I have a lot of “stuff” to think about and work on.
Thanks again for kind comments. encouragement and just being out there.
asherman547@gmail.com
Yes! December 1st! We made it. And there were WAY more poems written than I got around to reading — but much of what I did get to read was awesome. Hoping to stay in touch this time around, and work my way through to read & maybe comment more on the PAD poems input over the past month.
Thanks Robert for a wonderful month! Hope to “see” you all later.
Happy chap-booking everyone!
)
thanks for this wonderful activity. I know it is labor intensive for you, and I love being able to play. thanks again!
mustelid news
photo-perfect, a pair of
they-aren’t-here wolverines
appear, eyes shining in the
spotlight. and now the game
department celebrates what
they pooh-poohed before –
and the long-time biologist who
could have said “told you so,”
just makes two more marks on
his collection of sightings – that
makes ninety possible, thirty
probable, two on digital media.
Honestly, it’s disappointing to wake up without a prompt this morning. I look forward to tweaking my poems of November, and of course, I look forward to next Wednesday. Congratulations to everyone who hung in there all month. To those who also completed Nanowrimo, I have no word! Good for you!
Now, off to grade research papers…..
Thanks, Robert, for your efforts.
and here we are at the next day – the day after
the fascination of awakening to another
prompt requiring a response
and yet
I don’t want to turn away
quite yet~~
thanks all
And So It Goes
It’s been a bit of a baboon’s
bottom type day. As soon as I
have a sit down the phone
rings out its silly default tone,
Kemptown Ladies, a mechanical drone
of a tone that’s not really a tune at all.
And I say ‘Hello’ to a computer voice,
selling me goods I don’t really want.
A fascinating voice – ageless and without
clear gender or accent. It offers me a choice
of numbers one, two or three. I went
for option two, and won an apple tree.
As I said it was a baboon’s bottom
type of day. Once you clamp sights on
it you just can’t turn away.
The Game Show Host Problem
The Game Show Host says, “Let’s see where we are.
You’ve got the jet ski package and the car,
The Cancun cruise, the autographed baseball…
Looks like a lucky day for you so far.”
The Lovely Lucy, made up like a doll,
Approaches, and the Host says, “That’s not all!
The Lovely Lucy has a bonus stored
Behind this curtain, if you make the call.”
The Lovely Lucy grasps the braided cord
And draws the drape aside. What unexplored
Frontier of TV avarice awaits?
The curtain, drawn, reveals a wall, three-doored.
“You’ve had some luck,” the host reiterates.
“Here’s one last chance for you to best the Fates.
One door will lead you to Your Private Isle,
The other two, goats eating paper plates.”
You survey all three doors, and slyly smile.
The odds are one in three you’ll own an isle!
Of course, there’s twice the chance you’ll get your goat,
But one in three? Beats Vegas by a mile.
You tell the Host, “Door A.” He clears his throat
And asks you, “Are you sure?” He smooths his coat
And cracks a joke about you liking cheese
More than a home surrounded by a moat.
But then he says, “Would you indulge me, please?
You chose Door A. That leaves me these two keys.
Let’s use one on a door you didn’t pick….”
Door C reveals a goat with knobby knees.
(You’re so relieved you think you may be sick.)
The Game Show Host says, “Would you rather stick
With your first choice, Door A, or make a switch
And take what’s back of B?” Is this a trick?
You had one chance in three to wind up rich,
And now it’s one in two, right? After all,
With only two doors left, no matter which
You choose, it’s even odds. Or, is it? What’s your call?
If it’s a coin flip now, why change your mind?
You took Door A to start with. Might as well
Just trust your gut, because you’re flying blind.
If you should switch, and lose? That would be Hell.
“I’m staying with Door A,” you say. Baa’d move:
You’re twice as likely, now, to get the goat.
No, really! Run the numbers and they’ll prove
That you just took your boot off Kismet’s throat.
Consider: Starting odds were one in three
That Door A hid the island. Nothing’s changed
Because you’ve seen the Capricorn in C;
The odds on A are fixed, not rearranged.
Why, then, should you have modified your guess?
Because you’re picking A against the field
And now the field’s been cut in half, so yes,
Door B’s odds changed when Door C was revealed.
Look at it this way: There’s a two-thirds chance
The island wasn’t where you first surmised.
The goat behind Door C cannot enhance
A’s one-third chance, but B’s odds rise. Surprised?
You started with one A, and two “Not-A”
(The first “Not-A” was B, the second, C).
“Not-A’s” odds are two in three, okay?
Despite the goat, “Not-A’s” still two in three.
The odds on Door C, though, have dropped to nil
Since we’ve all seen the goat. So, to recap,
It’s one-third A, two-thirds “Not-A.” You will,
By now, have tumbled to the trap:
The odds on C are zero out of three,
But “Not-A’s” odds remain two-thirds, ergo
The whole two-thirds are now installed in B!
The Lovely Lucy wraps your goat to go.
http://trollpants.wordpress.com
Woweee math poetically !
Message flagged
NEVERTHELESS*
He knew where she was
that close and that far
away , the street where Daddy had plans
for her. He know the date, the time
she was going away. This was not the place
for a girl like her, to remain. Too many years
among people that
were not suited to her temperament, Daddy decided, yet
he spent time with her. It wasn’t right
for a girl like her to go. Too far away
to be from him. He was as intelligent as she, he
more modest, perhaps. She played the piano and
knew so much. It confused him when they
talked. All the way home, it seemed her words
floated in the air. Laughing, as he,
understanding every meaning, yet
wanting to pull her down, and, tell her
the sidewalk was made of concrete. Perhaps
she might tell Daddy what his father said
to him about going too far too fast too soon,
the tortoise and the hare, so clever. Daddy’s dreams didn’t match
his daughter’s soul. They kissed, he and she, once
just outside the entrance to the school. Everybody did, still,
if Daddy knew . . . She told him about Elizabeth Barret,
he said something about a stupid poem by Browning about a bird
on the wing. Dreams, dreams,
all our life is a dream. Yes, but you have to take
them somewhere and do something.
She agreed, as she crossed the street. Daddy was standing
at the front door, he safely inside, at home.
Nothing helped. She knew one kiss was not enough,
that Daddy’s deadline was
that close. Then one day he said the birds that Browning caught
in words got to him, too. He wanted to fly with her. He applied
and was accepted at the place she applied
and was accepted. They had concrete sidewalks
along shady promenades. He told her
not to tell Daddy until they got there . . .
and shared a room
their feet on the ground, dreaming.
Zev Davis
Oh lovely! Come Wednesdays please!
To All:
In spite of the spats, this has been an amazing November. So much talent in one place! Loving the new voices out here (especially JanetRuth), and continuing to adore my favorites since 2009.
But, really, ALL of you ROCK!
Marie Elena
P.S. Robert, thank you once again!
Prognosis
They told me to look into a “special farm, up north” for people in your condition. They told me you would not ever be able to integrate back into society. Your independence was gone for good.
The farm had professionals who could care for you, and may be able to bring more of you to the surface than we could ever hope to tap.
Yet, there you are. In Brooklyn. With your own little space.
No longer paralyzing-ly fearful
of people
books
music
crosswords
sleeping
thinking
being alone
being with others
being.
Who needs the odds to be favorable when faith, prayer, love, and determination come into play?
A Not Quite Desperate Battle
The
bills
are stacked
as high as
the odds of winning
the lotto and paying them off
before retirement,
but “Never
tell me
the
odds.”
I’ll keep
working hard,
paying them all down
until they’re gone, persevering.
With a little luck,
odds are good
I’ll win
this
fight.
I deeply apologize for being so pressed for time this year that I was not able to comment to the extent that I usually do.. and that I was not able to fashion some sort of ‘tapestry’ to connect our individual images together… But, I am grateful for this community and for all the poetry spilled from head and heart …. In peace and love …. Adieu
November 2011 PAD
Against all odds
I still believe that
when you walk on
walk on walk on
through a storm
it may toss your
dreams and jolt
your heart but
at the end or even
during there is
that golden sky
and the sweet, silver
song of a lark
or a bunch of poets
singing hope to
one another
Thanks R&H
and my deep gratitude to the Poetic Asides community
and this street of golden lyric
Goodnight -
You Are Home.
Against all odds, long
engulfed at sea
you are come at last!
Your hope, a beacon
kept lit, the lighthouse,
though it be less lucid,
a flickering ember
in the deep dark shroud
that enveloped the moon
and consumed your ship.
Against all odds, you
are come at last!
After long lost at sea
You are home in me.
You are home
By the way, if any of you missed my daily Facebook posts for the month of November, I was posting a poetry video (or occasionally, audio) file each day, each one by a different poet. Some were read by the poets themselves, some by famous people, and some by everyday people. You can still review them if you’re interested. Here’s the lineup:
Nov. 1. Yusef Komunyaaka
2. Billy Collins
3. Robert Hayden
4. Lucille Clifton
5. Gwendolyn Brooks
6. Jane Hirshfield
7. Mark Doty
8. Robert Pinsky
9. Seamus Heaney
10. Langston Hughes
11. Stephen Dunn
12. William Carlos Williams
13. W.H. Auden
14. Rainer Maria Rilke
15. Theodore Roethke
16. Percy Shelley
17. Anna Evans (my not-yet-famous friend)
18. Thomas Lux
19. Ted Kooser
20. Gerald Stern
21. Me! (an audio file of my poem read by Nic Sebastian)
22. Dylan Thomas
23. Molly Peacock
24. William Butler Yeats
25. Marge Piercy
26. Walt Whitman
27. Stanley Kuniktz
28. B.J. Ward (another not-yet-famous friend)
29. Paul Muldoon
30. Emily Dickinson
Wow, Bruce! Wonderful lineup. I’ll look for you on FB.
Wow VERY IMPRESSIVE LINEUP….WILL MAKE MY WAY OVER TOMORROW.
Wow VERY IMPRESSIVE LINEUP….WILL MAKE MY WSY OVER TOMORROW.
I’ll look for you on Facebook, Bruce. It can be so hard to find people over there sometimes. I also find it like grade school: “Oh, look! There’s so-and-so! Should I say hi? No, that’s too forward. I’ll wait for him/her to say hi. But if he/she doesn’t say hi, does that mean he/she doesn’t like me?…” and so on. Gack.
Pamela Murray Winters (over 30 years since grade school)
Finish line! Woohoo!
Lucky
“Never tell me the odds!” – Han Solo
Chances are
you will never win a Pulitzer Prize,
a National Book Award,
or the Nobel Prize in Literature.
The odds are against you
getting a World Series ring,
hitting the millionaire lottery,
being killed by lightning or a shark.
Statistics say you’re very unlikely
to live to a hundred and ten,
have a meteor fall on your house,
or become President of the United States.
So how is it that on a planet of seven billion,
against such incredible odds,
you have somehow managed to find
the one person who’s right for you?
What novel insight, Bruce. I love this poem.
Fate (or Faith) dropped in when I wasn’t looking and gave me a present
Love your take on luck
oops…meant to say ‘amazing poets’!!!
Being new to this experience, just wanted to say thank you for all the inspiration to keep going!
There are some amazing poems out there and I can only hope to become half as talented as you all are!
THANKS!
Against All Odds
I’ve finished the final edits
on God’s Little Miracle Book II
before the stroke of midnight
with three hours to spare.
Who’d have thought
this poet from Kansas
contained thousands of prose words
waiting to be painted on a page,
to form books
to encourage others?
Go figure!
Against all odds quote: Hubert H. Humphrey
“Much of our American progress has been the product of the individual who had an idea; pursued it; fashioned it; tenaciously clung to it against all odds; and then produced it, sold it, and profited from it.”
Walk On
Turn around and watch your back.
Rewind the tape, erase the pain.
No, there aren’t any do overs.
Walk on thru the rain.
Go cast your shadow in the light.
Shout out your message good and loud.
Seek out the warming brightness.
Walk on past the cloud.
There is a pleasant place
where you’ll be nice and warm.
You’ll find it in the sunlight.
Walk on thru the storm.
By Michael Grove
THE SURVIVAL OF HOPE
All hope is dwindling
in steep glissade
downward
fading
spiraling
to the
point
of no
return
yet the
survival of
hope can descend
into any valley and scale to any height
triumphs in every moment while its still kept in sight
Beautiful reminder…hold onto hope for dear life, as I often express in my writings, more to remind myself.
Woo- hoo!! We made it! Congratulations to all who stayed in the game. Thanks Robert for your leadership and for providing this forum for us to band.
Bonded By Our Words
Against all odds our online poetry critique group
has lasted twelve years. We’ve been through a lot,
diagnosis, loss, worry, birth of grandchildren, children’s
weddings, grand celebrations, and publications. We hear
each other’s joy and pain through the writings.
We carry on to encourage, critique honestly, learn from,
and inspire each other. Each of us are stronger for our union.
Our lives, personal and writing, keeps changing but the core
of the group, the friendships we have forged holds steady.
We are a band of women, The Skywriters, bonded by our words.
Seeing Jupiter
After the meal, we followed
the children to the edge of the field,
behind the old hen house
where the dog
barked in his pen,
and through the giant telescope,
only used once before,
we looked at Jupiter
and its moons–so bright
they hurt my eyes,
so far, they burned
through space–
and the five-year-old danced
in the darkness
exclaiming JUPITER,
JUPITER
as if the sight was a miracle,
and we were silent,
knowing it was.
Beautiful poem, Ann.
Lovely, indeed!
I love this one! ^_^
Wow, my eyes just welled up over this one. So simply written and so beautiful. Just marvelous.
Once again today, I have not had the time to read, but wanted to say a big congratulation to all of you for making it to the finish line. I look forward to going back and reading everything I can in the next few months. (THIS shall be my newest poetry collection, set aside to savor.)
If you missed it on tribute day, I posted this by way of gratitude, to all of you:
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2011/11/28/you/
Aww, what the heck. Make that more than one “congratulation.” I’m feeling generous. And a little
Seriously, gang. Great month. You all rock. Put down your pens and smile big.
typo-id fevery.
Congratulations to you, De!! I’ve enjoyed it thoroughly, feels like quite an accomplishment, really. Thank you so much for being here, it has been such a joy!
♥
Yes, thanks to you to De and to all you awesome poets!
It’s been quite a ride.
“Unlove-able”
By all accounts he should have been
a serial killer; could have been
a wife beater, drug dealer or
(at the very least) a colossal failure
abortion money (his mama weaseled
out of some unsuspecting sucker)
going instead, to support her habit,
bought her a week of heaven,
and an unwanted urchin; bought him
eighteen years of hell; stars mis-
aligned at birth; unloved, untended,
never guessing his own worth; then
shocked and stunned, one day,
awed and amazed, to find
that one he thought so unlove-
able (himself) was loved
Wow. One of your very best, PSC. An absolute wow.
Wonderful poem, PSC.
Thank you Marie & Domino!
Yesterday was a very long day, and I just finished yesterday’s prompt right now – woohoo, finally done with the challenge. And oh, finally done with the challenge
– and so I am just posting it now (even though it is late even for today’s prompt). Anyway, here goes.
Evening Troll
It is late when I get home and read about the hate mongering.
It is dark when I turn to look inside and find some hate lingering.
Amanda friended me on Facebook
but someone told her to be careful
because mike Maher. is made of poems
and very little of anything else, even water,
and so you are bound to find some of yourself in them.
The trouble with phones today is you can’t un-hang-up,
that you always know who is calling
and so I never answer.
Neon yellow says the boy in Sunday school
when asked his favorite color,
among all the blacks and whites and greys.
Nothing, says the woman at the bus stop every morning.
Nothing, I say back.
At the venue up the street
a woman sings in a foreign language
in front of West Philadelphia Orchestra
but everyone dances anyway
and tries to sing along, too.
And though it is late
we still walk the long way home under the raised tracks
where there is very little light
because there is nothing worth lighting,
and you couldn’t see hate anywhere, even if you squinted real hard.
Sad and thought provoking, too. Been nice writing with you this time @.
Thanks very much, Hannah. I look forward to seeing you around the streets of PA and the lovely family room Walt and Marie have built for everyone over at Poetic Bloomings.
“Family room” … love it!
Sad and thought provoking, for sure. Such fascinating phrasing as well, Mike … I’ve come to expect that from you. Bravo!
Me too!
Good one, Mike. See you at PA and PB!
“Made of poems…” I love it! This was very moving, Mike.
Carrot on a Stick
After spending every day
chasing a carrot on a stick,
you have got to ask,
is it the treat or just a trick?
It is dangling from a string
and it’s right in front of you,
while you trot along in stride
until your face turns blue.
Every time you take a step
The carrot pulls away
no matter how fast or slowly
you move every day.
If the stick were broken
or the string was cut in two
and the carrot was just laying
on the ground in front of you…
would it still be a reward?
Would you still want it then?
Could you focus on the prize
time and time again?
With your blinders on the mission,
you know firmly right from wrong.
Don’t give up on that carrot
you’ve been chasing for so long.
By Michael Grove
I don’t know, if I don’t think I’ll really be able to catch it, carrots don’t look so good anymore… But still a poem worth reading and ideas worth pondering. ^_^ Thanks Michael.
Natalya once said
She didn’t know
Her mother was Catholic
Until she lay
On her deathbed
Only then did she reveal
To her daughter
The secret she’d kept, years,
For fear of
the communist party.
Against what odds
Would I keep
From and for a loved one
Buried faith;
For how long?
Ugh! I just remembered that I hadn’t written a poem for today yet. This is a real piece of piffle; I’ll try to get back here with a better one. But when I read the prompt this morning, that darn Phil Collins song got stuck in my head.
A Half-Remembered Movie
James Woods and Jeff Bridges both loved working with Richard Widmark, and fondly remembered the late actor’s love of pancakes. He used to have a plate waiting for him while shooting a scene, and Woods and Bridges would often hide it. Widmark refused to go back to shooting before the cakes had been recovered. –IMDB trivia for “Against All Odds” (1984)
I was second-best assistant key grip. I got to muss
the leads’ hair for that cover shot in the surf. Jane Greer,
out of the past, put me in her will, and now I have
all her shoes from the flick. That dame had tiny feet.
How we loved to play hide-the-pancake with Widmark,
rest in peace. We’d have come in under ten mil, but
production ran over budget when Dick kept us waiting
while some poor schmuck looked for his stash of
genuine Vermont maple syrup. Rachel Ward
once replaced the jug with a brew of tepid decaf,
Hall’s Mentholyptus, and Sweet and Low. You never
heard the like. Phil Collins wouldn’t stop dogging Rachel,
and she finally stamped her kangaroo-heel boot and
declared: “Phil, if you told me you were drowning,
I would not lend a hand.” Apparently our star
was Jeff Bridges, but Rachel spent half the shoot
calling him “Kevin.” When we told him later,
he chuckled: “No sweat. I thought she was
Sean Young.” And then we all passed the plate.
That Taylor Hackford, man, his wife,
Helen whatzis, could flip a hell of a flapjack.
Pamela Murray Winters
You may think it’s piffle, but I enjoyed it very much, the humor, camaraderie, and the human fun. ^_^
Thanks. Hey, “Domino,” I ran into some thoughts of yours elsewhere recently–maybe Naming Constellations?–and was thinking of how eloquent you are. It’s been great sharing poems with you here.
Against All Odds
“You were the only one who really knew me at all…”*
You said: “You don’t have to feel like you have to talk
All the time, to fill in the space, you can sit and take it all in…”
My father said this to me as we drove in the countryside,
To a place he had to check out for insurance coverage;
I relaxed. I felt a sense of relief and admiration,
For someone who knew me so well as a personality,
An individual, a soul mate with whom I was traveling.
His large hands holding the steering wheel,
His large heart spreading over me,
Like a blanket over a small child.
I felt so lucky to have him,
On this trip through life.
*Phil Collins said that
“His large heart spreading over me,
Like a blanket over a small child.”
Beautiful image…
Absolutely. Well done!
That was my favorite line too, so cozy and loving.
Thank you everyone for your comments and smiles. And for the talent, you just keep getting better–Happy Holidays to all–
Odd Ditty
Odd balls
Odd numbers
Odd shapes
Odd Bodkins
If it’s not
The norm
Push it aside
Those four moptops
Had it right
Join hands
Hold them tight
Because
After a hard day’s
Night
All we need
Need is Love
Thank you to you too, Sara V.! Last two lines made me stop and think. So true. Smiles to you.
Oh, this is splendid! ^_^
As my weary brain scrambled to respond to the final prompt, I realized that I had not yet written a monoku this month. So, for my final offering:
against all odds cherry blossoms
I love this one.
Thanks, Dan.
Thanks To All ~ a feet-to-the-fire kind of month, and plenty of pepper for the brain. On to December
Thanks to you! It has been great!
What Are the Chances
A bleak morning.
Ground fog, again.
It never used to rain so much.
And then,
slowly,
the mist bows to a casual cumulous,
and green cadences fall from a cloud-mouth of stars.
The future catches in my throat,
musky and delicious.
Its name is Begin Again and
it sits between us
like the last piece of candy in the box.
WOW! I love this one.
“the future catches in my throat” “like the last piece of candy in the box” Wow indeed.
The Suggested Laws of Large Numbers
It is against all the commandments of probability
that I reach into the same well for 30 days in a row
and look – more seltzer water.
I am no math whiz but the odds of opening
up to “Reasons to Survive November”
within the 78 pages of the book
and the 30 days in November
are something like one in 78
multiplied by one in 30,
divided by, oh hell, you figure it out.
There is something in the margin but it’s gibberish,
and I know it’s gibberish because I wrote it
many reads ago after getting excited
by the idea of relative narcissism,
It isn’t funny but you can’t help but giggle
while reading the article about the cheerleader who broke her pelvis.
Wait, where was this all going?
Something about our probability of survival – zero.
The dog whimpers through the crack under the door
out of not sadness but desire.
Then Sarah said
that the most important emotion is self-love
but you have to mean it.
Sad….
Against all the odds
Poetic posting of words
Turns to mud slinging.
Indeed – well put …
Finally had a moment, whew, almost missed the last day!!
Rarely Seen Treasures
Two matching snowflakes
A triple-yolked egg
Limbs just set for climbing
Round hole and round peg
A magnificent home run
that everyone sees
A perfect term paper
Really cute knees
Neighborhood dogs that
just don’t like to bark
Lighting a fire that
starts with one spark.
Finding the perfectly
right life-long mate
And finding him young
so you don’t have to wait.
These are all things that
come seldom, if at all
so if one comes to you,
damn it, don’t drop the ball!
Against All Predictions
The storm’s path hovered;
our city was covered
in a pink swirl.
Weather folks on TV projected
“serious” from wide-eyed stares
piercing the screens,
but twinkling.
Supermarket zones set aside
for bread and milk lie depleted.
A run on eggs caused
eggs to run broken, across
the dairy case.
Evening inched in like a cartoon
cat sneaking up on a mouse.
Would we lose power?
At what hour could we expect
the eye of the storm
to bleed out?
Sleep came to most, crisis
predicted or not.
Lids lifted. A gold light
crept under our blinds.
Sun came up grinning. Weather
folk spent the day analyzing
why they were wrong.
Happy Holidays to All! Huge thanks to Robert, as usual.
Poetic Polemics Against All Odds
Thirty days of words impassioned accrued into camps remembered
The makings of heartfelt rhyme, metaphor, free-verse and more
Poets being a passionate lot with memories long and fervent
And minds like crypts hold fast lines and phrases, fragments too
The makings of heartfelt rhyme, metaphor, free-verse and more
Now limned with illuminating permanence to both page and screen
And minds like crypts hold fast lines and phrases, fragments too
Shall savour, take out, re-examine – roll off their tongues at will
Now limned with illuminating permanence to both page and screen
Poets being a passionate lot with memories long and fervent
Shall savour, take out, re-examine – roll off their tongues at will
Thirty days of words impassioned accrued into camps remembered
What form is this? I wanna try it. Love this piece!
It’s a pantoum – and thank-you … Robert introduced us to it the first year of challenges, I think.
limned with illuminating permanence ~ a dollop of perfection
Thank you so much!
this is a lovely form and never easy – great work here right up to the end
Thanks Jane – appreciate it!
Standing Strong
I battled angry dragons
Breathing fiery lies,
Barbed wire talons
Designed to rip flesh from bone.
Possessed lovers,
Their demons unexorcised,
Forcing me to
Pay penance
For their sins.
The walking dead surround me,
Urging me to settle for
The ordinary,
The mediocre,
The mundane.
They seek to destroy
The light that guides me,
The faith that strengthens my resolve.
I’ve watched my dreams
Besieged,
Bloodied,
Condemned,
Abandoned in reality’s wasteland.
I sense the approaching evil
Seeking to insinuate itself into my life.
The new day brings
A new menace,
Pushing me to
The edge of oblivion yet again,
But through the impending hellfire,
Risking all in the face of catastrophe,
I will stand strong.
Long Distance Relationships Never Work
I want to throw these river stones
back into the river; they represent
my knotted shoulders. “You’re so
tense,” said every college boyfriend
(or attempted hookup, anyway)
except the one I married; he does not
say much as he rubs, a pinch too hard
at times, because his hands are so
strong. He is strong enough that
when I announced I’d met someone
at my first real job, in a city distant
from the cobblestone pretend town
where we’d planned our life, he
was quietly sick to his stomach,
didn’t call me, so that I could have
time to think, time to miss him,
time to call and say how empty was
my busy world on a rainy morning
when he was no longer in it.
Love this! <3
sometimes the odds are stacked, you show us this in a hauntingly beautiful way
Thank you both! Have a great winter, and maybe we’ll “see” each other in the spring. Can’t believe this is over!
Two Years after his Stroke, the Day after Christmas
together
we stripped tiny lights
repacked fragile balls and velvet bows
his right arm hanging limp
his left hand grasping at the trunk
we pulled
in aphasia’s disarray, we
loaded one dry tree
hauled it to the plant-a-tree exchange
on that frozen day
so few customers
the workman’s bright smile
gifted us with ten bare-root sticks
we traveled home
to plant
in the hard yard
where we watered
waded in the audacity
of our labor
yet today
bird songs live
in ten leaf-full maples
lifting limbs
into the blue
silence
Jane Penland Hoover
pure clover
Beautiful
Indeed … in image, phrase, and sentiment.
Against All Odds
Why be against Odds?
Their treasures–
ruby heart, gold coins of clustered ideas–
dance inside safe shells.
Pretty little snippet! Like the idea of dancing within a shell! Loved reading you this month too!
Mutual admiration, Hannah.
Robert and poeming friends,
. I was just sorting through and counted: I’d written 107 poems in November (not all of them eye and ear ready, but begun at least. I know I am a lazy girl and that would never have been likely had I been without Robert’s prompts and guidance and the congenial atmosphere at PA, so thanks to you all for getting more work out of me than anyone would have guessed. Until next time?? Wishing you each just the right word when you need it. Jane
Thanks for the opportunity to put words together and read wonderful poems every day. This is the life I imagined retirement might offer
Here! Here ! On to the December task…
Thank you, Jane for the wishing of words! 107! Beautiful feat of inspiration, to be proud of! It was surely fun!
Jane, it has been a pleasure to read your poetry. Now you just need to narrow your selection and get them publication-ready!
Poetic Form
“I know of no higher fortitude than stubbornness in the face of overwhelming odds.” ~Louis Nizer
I’ll admit I’m stubborn. Surprised?
I write in rhyme, ‘though I’m advised
to write in free verse. No constraints
since readers oft have less complaints
that that which is considered norm.
I do prefer poetic form.
The odds, like numbers, still hold sway
despite the fact I write this way.
In fact, some people think rhymed verse
is puerile and there’s nothing worse.
I like to violate the norm
since I prefer poetic form.
But just to satisfy the few
who say, “Rhymed couplets never do
and writing in tetrameter
should not be one’s parameter,
just once I’ll try to ‘get’ the norm
‘though I prefer poetic form.
So…have my odds for publication improved now?
C’mon…tell me…is this any better
that the doggerel
I tend to embrace?
I think
not.
I think it’s time to go back to
the way that works for me, and you –
can pen your poem, cast your spell
and ply those words you do so well.
But as for me, forget the norm.
I like most trite poetic form.
###
Note: The form is Stave Stanza with one stanza in *gasp!* free verse. Yeah…I did it. hehe.
Sorry I haven’t been around to comment as much as I would have normally done, but life is considerably more hectic here than it has been in the past (not that that’s an excuse, but…anyway….)
So, congratulations to all the stubborn people who stuck it out and ‘poemed’ for the whole month. Against all odds, you – we – showed our fortitude, and that is what matters in the end.
I love a good rhyming poem too and I prefer to write in rhymes. Stick with what you love and continue to learn to appreciate other forms also.
Struggled all month long with this challenge and with balance issues, but loved reading and commenting on many great pieces. Thanks, Robert, for this site and for the chance to “meet” all my PA friends.
one more poem
one more poem to pen and then
i can put my brain to rest
i will see you soon, my friends
one more poem to pen and then
i’m gonna cuddle with my man
don’t get me wrong, i tried my best
one more poem to pen and then
i can put my brain to rest
Perseverance
When there is something I want to experience or create
I have learned that I will persevere with tenacity.
Whether it’s a novel, a job, a friendship, a love, or a poem,
There is no task too daunting for me.
With my faith and my ability I can move mountains
To achieve my dreams.
People can be cruel and say and do awful things,
But I always remember things are seldom as they seem.
Just like rain helps the flowers bloom
Just like cool evening follows a scorching noon,
Like labor pains bring a baby to mother’s breast,
There will always be achievement when I do my best.
I will achieve everything my heart desires
I will turn the circumstance to one that inspires.
There can be road blocks and foul weather and fair weather friends,
But I will always succeed in the end.
NOTE: Thanks all poets here for a lovely inspiring month. I really needed you. I wrote the above in about 5 minutes because it’s what I am living now. It’ not my best work, but it’s from the heart. You are a fabulous community and I am proud to ahve shared a page with you. Thanks again, zwrite1 Susan Summers (tidalpoolpoet.com)
At Odds With Circumstance
“What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance.” ~Theodore Roethke
Would you say
that a man is mad today
if he tilts at far windmills?
And what makes you think this way?
Circumstance
might be random, might be chance…
It’s all in one’s perspective.
It’s not noble – at first glance.
Dénouement?
It’s not the end. We press on
and we leave our legacy:
our nobility thereon.
###
Note: The form (against all odds) is an Irish form called Rannaicheacht Ghairid (ron-a’yach cha’r-rid.
really thoughtful – I’m drawn back to this again and again
Ending with a smile. Ya’ll are marvelous! ! !
“Against all odds I’m a nerd”
The girl who melted into her desk,
hid in the background,
sat in the last row,
skipped lunch to
walked to the library in town
instead of facing the line of
faces in the cafeteria.
The girl who never raised her hand,
Never offered opinions
to class discussions,
never bothered
never partied,
never never
went to prom.
Never wore glasses.
Never a pocket protector.
Never took calculus.
Never was president
of anything, never spoke
in public, never was a
teacher’s pet.
Yet, the girl who flips out
over the misuse of their,
there, bare and bear,
you, your, you’re,
then, than, use, used,
I as an object, me as a subject,
Split infinitives, and beautifully
sincerely, creatively, wrongly, horribly
wrongly overuse of adverbs.
A full body flip-out slam-dunk
head roll, red pen/white-out wipe-out,
this girl does, as if all these were a criminal offense.
Yesterday, I learned I was a nerd.
Very funny. It is shocking these little revelations we receive about ourselves.
If any one is interested, I made quite a number of revisions to the poem and note that I posted previously. I guess I should’ve read it through once more. Any way to save space here’s the link to my blog. You’re welcome to come check it out. Smiles!
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2011/11/30/even-though/
went over – good idea
Thank you, Jane!
Once
In still water
opus unfolding
water
unfolding water
aeon opus blossom
Revision: It didn’t really need all that other stuff.
Once
in still water
opus unfolding
i agree with your decisive cut – very strong song now
Thanks jane
Yes, me too. The fewer words, the more powerful–a lesson I can’t seem to learn myself. This is just right, Dan.
Thank you Jane. It doesn’t matter how many words, it is how you put them on the page. You seem to do very well!
Ok one FINAL revision. who would have thought it would so hard to arrange 5 words?
Once
in still water
opus blossom
Upstream
Hot-wired for return, even those who never
made the trip are led by need to spawn
up streams against the current, past
predators—birds, bears, men with nets
and lines, so many snatched away for
someone’s dinner, while the others
continue, single-minded, against
incalculable odds, dreaming of pools,
calm shallows, peace and survival
of a new generation of their kind
the most important thing
they’ll ever know.
survial swiming strong – smiles for all those moving on and on
Hi jane this is quite a beautiful “little” epic!
..and against leviathan odds, it puts me in mind of watching the salmon in Alaska
Thanks, friends, for the comments. Pom, me too.
~EVEN THOUGH~
Door to the shed,
Its shining in the sun
Swinging subtly
Prompted by
a slight breeze.
Gray with weather,
Void of paint
Streaks descend
From the hinges.
I can hear them playing,
Swings creaking
Church bell sounding
In the background.
I can see somber graveyard
In the distance, awash
With mid-afternoon glow.
Luminescent stones
Speak of loved ones.
Trees sway
Displaying vividly
Last of their leaves.
Remaining bell rings,
Last leaf falls,
I can taste snow on the air.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To EVERYONE: This has been such a joy to me. I’ll treasure all the words and conversation that we’ve shared here. It is truly inspiring to gather round and breath of this poetic life we live individually and collectively. Thank you so much fellow writers and to Robert, a super cyber-shout going out to you; I appreciate all that you do to make this possible.
I’m sure that against all odds we’ll meet again and share the beauty of pen! Warm “Hannah” smiles to you ALL!
Thank you for the smile, ina! It has been a pleasure reading you this month too!
Hannah: Nice tribute–”Lest we forget” even those who have gone on before. You have always been a favored one. RMA
Thank you for the comment, Richard!
Unlikely
wound
of night
stroke attack
bound by silence
paralyzed movements
gauzy mentality
unfamiliar surroundings
dreamtime lost to red siren squall
white coats, soft voices missed notes until
dawns golden stream lay warm on that window sill
beyond cold shivers stalled beneath those quilts
his frozen stillness, resting, waits for
a hand to extend, draw a line
thick enough for life to walk
stumble, stutter, stumble
against gravity
until his own
smile dispels
dark of
day
Jane Penland Hoover
November 30, 2011
Prompt: Against all Odds
PAD #30
I love the contrast of this line “dawns golden stream lay warm on that window sill,” with the rest with cold and still. Great poem, Jane!
This is really well done jane. I like the shape of it a lot too.
Thank you, Dan. I wrote it centered but of course that format wouldn’t post – still the effect is here.
Timing
He threw the rock that missed the dog
That dug up all the herbs and flowers,
The rock that skimmed his neighbor’s car
But somehow landed straight into
His mower’s blade, and bullet-like, it shot
Across the lawn into the glass patio door
Just as his wife was opening it, carrying
Steaks and veggies for the grill when
Down she fell, making a spill of food
On glass shards, and she, bleeding,
wonders where the shot came from
In a quiet neighborhood like theirs
And why her husband had a guilty grin,
That stray dog dashing in for free steak.
Fun. The perfect (poetic) crime!
Thanks, Alfred. The dog or the husband? Cheers.
Another Brilliant poem, Jane!
SNAPSHOTS OF SISSY
Mama’s porcelain doll
in pink-lace flounces, posing
on the shelf – then
turned to rubber, distorted
mockery of herself –
soporific dreams of life
on the half-shell – Then
a wish for liberty?
Diet, exercise – how tough
to get in sync! Push-
ups, jumping-jacks – we
bet she’d quit. But
look! she learned the steps.
Just see her now,
an elf in magic-shoes,
a flight of butterflies
moving freely, for herself.
the way this moves from still to full of motion is so in sync with context – oh yes – move and moving poem
I’m sorry this is so long, but it’s true, if that counts for anything.
Odds Are
(for Vladimir)
Neither of them plan to marry again,
once being more than enough.
Neither speaks the other’s language,
communicating in fractured Chinese
in their foreign compound in Shandong.
Soviet and American meet at a Chinese
piano, sharing music, then meals,
traveling, courting unintentionally,
he, tracked by KGB, and she, free
to be and see and disagree.
What are the chances that two such
people could make a life together?
Back in America, she hires a visa agent
to help her get him out or her in.
Back in Uzbekistan, he sends her
official invitations for entry, but
neither receive the other’s posts.
Nothing comes of it. What
are the chances two such people
could make a life together?
He puts on his best suit and hand-carries
her papers to the Moscow airport, seating
himself near a flight to New York, and
strikes up a conversation with an American
returning home, asking him to mail
these papers from New York.
The man is reluctant, suspicious,
so he tells him the story of a woman
he loves, an American he met in China,
a woman he may never see again.
He is teary, persuasive. The man asks
where she lives and he says North Carolina.
The man smiles, then laughs and offers
his hand, wanting to see these papers
he will carry home. I’m from Charlotte,
he says. What are the chances?
It takes a few days and money for her
to get the visa and plane ticket, a new set
of papers for him, and a bag packed
with gifts for family that will be used
as bribes for his permissions to leave.
They marry in Bukhara, plan his exit
interviews, but she has to leave him behind
to return to teach. When he should be
talking with the US Embassy, tanks roll
in the streets of Red Square, and he is trapped.
What are the chances two such people
could build a life together?
She prepays his one-way ticket, and
he makes it to the airline, taking little away
with him, his plane touching down in
Charlotte, where she waits for him,
he waits for her,
and they start a life together.
To this day, no one thinks it’s funny
when she says she was the victim of
Soviet aggression and he says he was
held captive by American imperialism.
Their families know that against the odds
their vision of a future was blessed, lucky.
Now he sits reading Arabic, Italian, and German,
ignoring her as she writes poetry and ignores
him, sometimes looking up and shaking
their heads, smiling. He has taken to playing
the lottery and she still relies on work and
vigilance. What are the chances that such
a story would be funny, loving,
boring, even heroic, with time?
so glald I took the time – great story and well constructed poem – who would think that this could be? me
Thanks, Jane. This is twenty years and counting
the sense of authentic was so present – no need for the “aside” before – the poem here is doing the work you mean to be doing, as it should..
What a great love story! I’m so thrilled to read this Jane. It is beautifully written and an enthralling read. It’s funny, exciting and warms one’s heart all at once. Some things are just meant to be. Great poem, great story.
Thanks, Jane and Dan, for such kind words. We’re not a very romantic couple, but the story is good.
When we’re on one another’s nerves, it helps to remember that we went to a lot of trouble to be together. Ha!
Great poetic story, My wedding will be in Odessa Ukraine on Feb 14, 2012, Hope we won’t have too much of a hastle to accomplish the goal. She is from Moldovia, but with a Ukraine passport and 4 grandparents who live in St Petersburg Russia, thus 4 countries involved. Russia Ukraine Moldovia America. Which one will give us the hardest beaureaucratic time to immigrate and settle down so that we may have 20 years and counting?? Great inspiration from your poem to know it can happen successfully. (P.S. I was in Uzbekistan a few years ago, they are still under a tyrant’s rule there thus more difficult there i presume. I wonder what the KGB thinks, or will do, in regards to a 30 year career intelligence officer going through the scenario you describe. I flew hom elast week from Odessa via Munich and CHARLOTTE–back to Tampa Bay! Small world. And to think–I was called a terrorist in a poem earlier this week—like yesterday—in an appeal to seek the return of a liberal. Even though I spent years on the American military counter-terrorist team of intelligence tracking REAL terrorists around the wolrd to keep America safe and FREE —so they can write what they want to write in forums like these!! Interesting world. !! Not even safe to be a Christian in the heaRTLAND when itcomes to being a poet.
The Soviet Union is no more, so no KGB as such. I hope you find immigration and starting your new life easy and joyful. As for hurt feelings, let them go, so you can concentrate on joy and write from that place. I wish you well.
Defiant
Here we are, still
Breathing, walking,
Loving, laughing,
Giving, even though
Toxic air and hate-filled
Words swirl around us,
Bombs drop and bullets
Whistle through the dark.
Belly grumble and spirit
Near to broken, yet,
What we can, we choose,
And stand roots deep,
Against all odds.
like this – hear the whistle threats so near
very nice.
I guess something about a rubber tree plant would be inappropriate.
The Fiddle Leaf Fig
Who knew a plant
could have so much sentimental value?
This one did, this fiddle leaf fig
given to me by my father so long ago;
it survived harsh winters, several moves
from full-sun to half-sun from east to west
even across town from apartment to first home.
Who knew an arctic blast
would be its last?
Out of the blue
frost bit this fiddle leaf fig
given to me by my father so long ago,
and when spring showed its floral face
no green appeared within old clay pot
sitting in the corner of our backyard
out of sight, but so not out of mind.
Who knew a year later
one Charlie Brown sprig would emerge
through the weeds and dirt
of this old clay pot
one fiddle leaf fig
given to me by my father
so long ago?
The circle of life beat the odds, why can’t we?
Really enjoyed this piece, Laurie, especially the opening: Who knew a plant
could have so much sentimental value?. Great stuff. I’m a sucker for strong openings and closings. This one has both.
I agree with Mike. A very strong piece.
Thank you!
Ah a fig leaf from a father right up there with a cardinal outside your window. Lovely poem Laurie.
Thanks, Robert, for providing this venue and the month’s worth of prompts!
Places To Go, Things To Do
They said she wouldn’t make it
that the chances were two percent
but she said, “I’ll take it”
and fought with all her strength
Eight years later, she’s still the best
that happened to my life, it’s true
Against all odds she told them,
“I’ve got places to go
and things to do.”
Faded Pages
The final page of a manuscript brings mixed emotions;
relief that it’s over, that the characters within
have fought the odds and won through to victory,
or at least the end of the novel. Plot arcs concluded,
loose ends tied, conflicts resolves and maybe a hook
left to tantalise the reader. And then what happened?
There’s sadness there as well, a twist in the gut
over the ending of a regime. We’ve lived for months
and sometimes years with the characters traipsing
from here to there, fighting battles and loving life and
the other passengers therein. And they all lived…
Trepidation. Will other people like it?
Will an agent? A publisher? An Amazon reviewer?
What if it languishes of a hard drive
or in hard copy on a shelf somewhere
for years to come until the pages fade away?
And they were never born.
BEAUTIFUL AND AUTHENTIC!
Expectations of a future
When I was a child, a great and terrible
war ended unexpectedly with the dropping
of a powerful bomb. This atomic bomb,
we were told, would end wars forever.
No nation would dare drop it on another
because then they would drop the same thing
on them. This terrifying weapon would
cause all nations to live together in peace.
Did people really believe this? I ask now
because at the time, I believed everything
told to us by the adult world. It was promised
that no more young men would die in battle,.
If nations had disagreements, they would take
them to the United Nations who would solve
everything. Peace and prosperity lay ahead –
my generation would be the last to remember
a world at war.
Today we stagger into an unexpected future.
Perhaps the leaders of sixty years ago did not
really believe what they were saying. Perhaps
everyone was so tired of wars and depressions
they wanted the re-assurance that their
children and grandchildren would grow up
in happier times. I cannot really say
that the world of today is unexpected. The
most unexpected thing of all may be that we
are all still here..
Absolutely genuine and beautiful!
Mad, crazy, gorgeous and gooshy love to every every body body here on The Street including but not limited to RLB, de, Andrew, PKP, Amy BL, Joseph, Marie Elena, Hannah G., ina, Michelle KH, Barbara E., Linda Goin, NIkki Markle, Banana, Walt, Bruce, Michele P., Claudette, Mike Grove, Jane S., Iain, Sara V., Elizabeth, bluerabbit, Karen P., Taylor G., pomodoro, Sara McN, Connie (who keeps whupping me at Words With Friends), J. Lynn, Domino, RobH., Sibella, Apeetha, Penny H., and YOU, yes YOU!
FINISH LINE CELEBRATION!
***
“Chancing that you might understand”
Even one plus one
can sometimes surprise you
by yielding something true
that is not two.
If you’re certain,
run against your own grain
and you’ll ascertain
the pinholes in the fabric.
If you are interested
in beating the odds,
embrace them.
To be specific:
nothing’s odd
that’s held close,
and nothing’s true
that isn’t false.
Where you’re stuck,
take leave, and what
you can’t believe in,
believe.
I love this, Daniel. A fitting final offering with wonderful ending lines.
Truly, it has been a joy poem-ing with you, Daniel! Thank you so much!
What a wonderful finisher, Daniel!
A worthy conclusion and celebration.
Thanks Daniel. I certainly enjoy “hearing” your voice here!
Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! For the mention, for this fabulous poem, and for writing poetry that stretches me as a poet and as a person. You totally ROCK, Daniel.
Daniel thank you for a delicious quirky unique poem as usual and for the lovely mention
Bright blessings to you Daniel! ^_^ I love the voices here at PA too. And am feeling a bit lost now that the November PAD is over… I guess I’ll just “see” everyone Wednesdays, then!
This is a great sentiment, sweetly rendered. Thanks.
And thanks for mentioning me! If you want someone to vanquish in Words With Friends, look for me on Facebook. :^)
Pamela Murray Winters
It has been a fantastic month, a journey I’ve enjoyed with my poetry. Found some wonderful writers out there, some I’ve followed and hope to read more of them in the months to come.
Here’s my last offering for this PAD: Against all odds….
Thank you, RLB for all the inspiration this month, and looking forward to April PAD
Love today’s poem!
(Personal note: Sincere thanks to everyone who read my writings this month, and even more love to those who encouraged me with your kind words. Also, to Robert, thanks for your dedication and encouragement. – Buddah Moskowitz.)
Against the Odds
Against the odds
I still watch falling objects
and secretly wish
they stay suspended
in midflight
and imagine dinosaurs
climbing over the mountain range
as I stand watching
in rapt awe
and sheer terror.
Against the odds
I sit at the piano
and hope that my fingers fall
into a beautiful random
melody,
and peck at the keyboard
praying for an idea
I haven’t had
a thousand times before.
Against the odds
a tiny flapping bird
takes on the endless sky
trying to make its way home,
as all living things
resist the weight of gravity
and reach ever
higher and higher
to the Sun.
Against the odds
every morning
a former atheist
puts both
the Mogen David
and the Cross
around his neck
and remembers
he is both
an agent for the Christ
and a temple for
his Jewish soul.
Against the odds,
I believe
and love
and persevere.
You inspire me. The first two stanzas remind me of my daughter:)
Persevere on, B. I love reading your work.
I always seek yours out Mosk. This one speaks volumes. Very well done.
Really nicely done.
Oh Buddah … I am reading this through tears… so beautifully written and wrought. Goodnight:)
Oh, wow. Altogether lovely and inspirational. WOW.
Unbeatable
The odds at the start of my journey
were not discussed –
Not enough information,
needed to wait and see
how well I responded to treatments.
There were lots of highs
and an equal number of lows –
but through it all there was
a spark of spirit that never burned out.
Weak or strong
but never gone –
The spirit to live
marched on.
Whether you are a survivor,
or facing your final days,
or recently received the news –
Know that you are not
and will not
be forgotten.
There is no guilt in living,
there is no shame in dying,
there is nothing but love
surrounding you from those
you’ve met and those you’ve
never seen.
Weak or strong
but never gone –
The spirit to live
marches on.
Unbeatable
Inspiring! Onward! Thanks – B Mosk
You are your poetry are a great inspiration to all. Thank you.
This is really wonderfully written. Inspiring and moving
2011 November 30
Against all the odds
twenty eleven challenge
poem-a-day done!
Best to All!
Robert, our prompter and leader, thanks for another wonderful challenge month. These inspire me to keep poeming, to keep up my other writing.
Thanks, fellow challengers. I haven’t been able to read many of your poems this month, but what I read, I loved. Your creative efforts and your encouragement to everyone else inspire me more than you can imagine.
Day 30 11-30-2011
Write an “against all odds” poem.
What Were the Chances?
What were the chances, after nursing her husband
through a rare cancer that doctors said he’d never survive,
that he would still be there, years later?
What were the chances, two and a half years ago,
that she’d be diagnosed with breast cancer,
and he’d become her caretaker?
What were the chances, right before Thanksgivint
that same year, that he’d walk into the house
from a store trip, and collapse, dead of a heart attack?
What were the chances that her aging mother–
after all, she was in her sixties–and her granddaughter
would move in to lighten her load?
What were the chances infection would linger for months,
while grief and self-pity alternated with faith, hope, joy,
glowing within from the Lord, shining without from friends?
What were the chances that now, she’d write a study
on surviving with humor, after spending entire days blubbering,
and all along from Day One, journal from a real place of pain and faith?
Nothing by chance. Her chances are good,
because she puts them in the Hand
that fashioned hers and held on through the pain.
POwerful and moving – thanks – bless you – Moskowitz
WOW, beautiful Katen
“Against all odds.” Hasn’t been translated per se into the poem’s subject matter. Although the event being described would fall into that category.
Instead, I took four haiku and turned them into a single cleave poem.
What’s a cleave poem? In its simplest expression a poem of X number of lines that one reads normally as a single poem. Then divide each line into two parts and read vertically: the left parts should form a coherent poem, the right parts also.
Here, because of long line lengths I would have written had I remained true to the visual form of the poem, and because today is traditionally Haiku Wednesday, the haiku form is hidden within the Cleave poem. So the first, fifth and ninth lines read as a single haiku; as do the second, sixth, and tenth lines read; then the third, seventh and eleventh; and finally the fourth, eighth and twelfth lines read as a the final haiku.
AND, I’ve added additional rhyme to each stanza of the poem.
Happy Reading:
/////
he sings his last song
a lover’s bouquet
dispersed in a maze
sweet hearts gone astray
weathered by icy waters
melted souls in april’s plight
icebergs crack in dissonance
quickly freezing sound and sight
all harmonies fade
from emotion’s breath
midnight darkness shrouds
the silence of death
the troubadours’s final flourish
[2011.30.11...a]
For those readers in a hurry, here are the four Haiku:
he sings his last song
weathered by icy waters
all harmonies fade
/////
a lover’s bouquet
melted souls in april’s plight
from emotion’s breath
/////
dispersed in a maze
icebergs crack in dissonance
midnight darkness shrouds
/////
sweet hearts gone astray
quickly freezing sound and sight
the silence of death
This is very clever. Thanks for sharing and well done!
Haiku Wednesday? We could have written haiku every Wednesday? Now you tell me!!
I’m new here, but that’s what I seem to remember reading other posts.
Alfred …. and you commented that my little poem was “staggering?” No, dear sir this is staggering in form in content … Simply a WOW!
Simply a bit of hard work putting it together. I love the challenge of form, but prefer the freedom of saying what I want without restriction.
That you for your compliments.
personal note: Was anyone else here TERRIFIED to step onto this platform. I was.But oh, what a fulfilling experience it has turned out to be. I apologize for all the comments earlier in the month which went un-noticed/unread. It never occurred to me that anyone would comment and we were well into November before I realized there were comments to some of my poems…and I would like to thank of all those who took the time to encourage the poets here. Thank-you to the poet who told me how I may comment as well..thank-you Laurie K. I can be so blind sometimes!!
Thank-you again Robert, for everything.
I wish you all a happy, healthy and blessed Christmas.
Thank you, Janet, and Merry Christmas to you too.
Janet- Your welcome! I always look forward to reading your poetry, and I appreciate your support on mine.
Don’t be terrified. We are all just peeps. I have peeked in over at your blog too. You are very talented.
JanetRuth it has been an absolutely delight … and I echo the other sentiments here – you are both very talented and very kind, taking so much time to read and comment. Adieu for now:)
We’ve Found Our Place
Surrounded by talented
intelligent professionals
people I admire
am happy to know,
I listen intently
and find that my story
is not alone.
Raised in the broken glass aftermath
surrounded by empty bottles
in the trash
moving from one place
to the next
when we can’t pay the rent
a hotel
a house
once a tent
never once a picket fence.
But, there is no such thing
as the perfect life,
most deal with an
incredible
amount of strife.
Hurt, betrayal, loss of
love.
I must remember I’m not
the only one.
Each of us able to rise above
despite the conditions
we found when love
was supposed to
keep us safe,
at least now
we’ve all found our place,
living life with poise
and grace.
This is beautiful…and yes, your last word..Grace, because of grace..WE CAN!!!
I second this! GRACE defines and provides. This one is beautiful Shannon.
This was beautiful and profound. Keep writing, you’ve a great talent, Shannon. – Buddah M
The Poet
Against all odds
We push beyond ourselves
For the love of the written word
We unclench our souls
Press courage to our fingers
And write…
Love the last two lines.
I second Shannon’s sentiment.
Very nice. I (being left handed) certainly find a difference in writing with fingers wrapped around a pen as opposed to fingers on a keyboard. Congratulations on your great month!
i can’t believe it’s the last day!
i want you all to know how much i admire and enjoyed your poetry! it’s been a pleasure! and my final poem is dedicated to you all!
I Write Against All Odds
All around, above and below
Poets abound, writers that glow.
My simple words I humbly submit
Less eloquently, I have to admit,
Than bards of the past and those in the present
With talent so fair and imagery pleasant.
But I’ll ne’er give up on my writing dream
I’ll keep at the craft, improving with steam.
HEAR! HEAR!! Thank-you. You express my parting thoughts PERFECTLY!
This captures exactly how I feel:)
Amen and onward! Keep at it – you’re fun to read! – Moskowitz
Yeah! The kind of poem I wanted to write! A++++
VISTA
Against all odds to
Gros Morne Mountain top they climbed
Newfoundland revealed!
This is from my nano character’s pov, and mine!
Against the Odds
Many people said it couldn’t be done,
or it shouldn’t,
that I had too much going on
to take on something so big.
Obstacles blocked my way,
but I overcame them. I grew
Doubtful
Distracted
Diverted
Discouraged
Disillusioned
I almost quit,
but I kept going
and I finished.
What did I gain from it?
A story worthy of a novel
and about ten pounds.
Congratulations, Connie! This one made me smile. A story worthy of a novel is worth far more than ten pounds!!!
Cheers! Celebrate today. I admire anyone who accomplished this. Well done. Be proud.
<3
♥ (I meant to make a heart above)
Congratulations and well done! – Mosk
Thanks all!
Hurray for you, Connie!
Lets here it for gains Connnie. Here’s to a great month!
Having trouble posting today – so please forgive me if this turns out to be a triple-helping of AK! It’s been a month of monchielles for me, it seems – and of stretching the prompts to breaking point, guilty as charged. Thanks to all, as always, for your companionship and inspiration!
Reading this last poem over before posting, I notice it has weird echoes of the “play nicely” theme from the past month. That was not my intention, though perhaps it was in my subconscious. I was writing as a clueless father more than anything. Still, it feels true to me that even the strongest Moral Compass must be held with an equal humility. Peace to all!
Weather vane
Perhaps the weather vane
is all I am to them
right now. Old and rusty,
they think: on a good day
I get their lunch right, or
perhaps the weather. Vain
to think that I could shape
their lives by word, or deed.
They have no patience yet,
convinced of what they need.
Perhaps the weather vane
embodies paradox.
It’s possible to know
true north, yet not predict
just where the wind will blow.
Perhaps the weather vane
is what I need to be.
Against all odds to show
a compass, yet not fixed
on how each life should go.
Great analogy for how our children view us. They may act like they are not listening, but they are always watching. The way we live is really more important than what we tell them. A good read, thanks.
Now *that’s* a great metaphor! Good writing, thanks, Moskowitz
“It’s possible to know true north, yet not predict just where the wind will blow.” True and wise. Thanks, Andrew. You’ve written some gems this month.
Loved this, Andrew!
Against All Odds
I took pen in hand
Stared at emptiness,
Put words on a page
And ended up with a poem.
Or, at least so it seemed –
Nor, mind you, did I say ‘good’.
More surprising still is
That the next day…
I did it again – twice!
Thank you Robert for this site and event. I am glad to have discovered it; so many incredible voices here. And thank you to all who make the ‘noobs’ like me feel welcome.
Love it, Mark! Don’t quit, just because November becomes December!
I was a ‘noob’ too. It’s kinda addictive, isn’t it?;)) I echo your sentiment.
This was great, Mark – keep at it – you’ve a real talent. – Bud the Mosk
Great! Now, every day, add one more until New Year! Glad you joined us, Mark.
Stick around, Mark. It’s always lively on this site!
Yes, Welcome aboard Mark.
Stand Firm
If you believe what you believe
With conviction and peace in your heart
And the whole world stands against you
Stand firm
If you are on the right team
The team that cares, loves, and forgives
And you are connected directly to the Truth
Stand firm
There are those that will revile you
Those that will spit in your face
Those that hate you passionately
And those that would kill you
Just for what you believe
Stand firm
Your reward will be great
Ditto—Hold on, the best is yet to be.
bet on falling leaves
or the number of breaths
in a campaign speech.
bet against yourself, to beat
yourself.
I love the simple truth of this. Mosk
The Odds
If I were a 10
I’d be surrounded by odds
Odds that are determined
To bring me into their group
By adding me to one of them
I will not let that happen
It’s the even life for me
Odds are an odd bunch
They can’t get together
In pairs or
Even numbered groups
For if they do
They will exclude themselves
From their odd bunch
The Primes live in Oddville
All the Primes except 2
She was exiled to Even Isle
Something about her place
In the order of things
Very odd, wouldn’t you say
Nicely done – thanks, Buddah Moskowitz
Oddville Directory
1 lives on First Street
3 is still getting ready
7 is a lucky guy
13 is down on his luck
21 just moved to Vegas
31 owns the Ice Cream Parlor
45 is a on target
55 can’t drive
57 hangs around Heinz Plaza
65 just retired
301 is a master at darts
411 will fix your telephone
501’s alias is Levi
911 handles all emergencies
999 is the homicide investigator
Clever, Earl.
Antagonists
What
they were up
against was obvious
but at some point near
the muddled middle of it all
she forgot what they
were fighting
for.
You just wrote a one-act play in 25 words. That’s genius to me!
Mosk the NVS
a perfect poem, de.
Against all the Odds
I have reached the end of this challenge
having missed not a single day.
Hard though it was, I wrote for each prompt
the best that I could, come what may.
Now poetics are jaded,
all eagerness faded,
yet words I have scavenged
in response to the challenge
to find poetry not quite degraded.
A lull I have reached
to reflect, hone and edit,
choose a few to submit
so Robert can say ‘
Now I’ve read it.’
Swimming Upstream at High Tide
Against the clock
against her doubts
against the noisy, restless crowd
against the headwinds and the cold
against the fact she’s growing old
against the silence in her soul
against these things beyond control
For all the right reasons
(and the wrong ones, too)
for the sake of ache and
for want of clue
for her sanity
for heaven’s sake
for humanity
for the love of phrase
she rises up
against her rage
to press these words
against this page.
I love the idea of pressing (reluctant’)words against the page. That’s just how I feel right now!
I kept reading to see who/what? PERFECT!!! Thank-you so much for all you shared to inspire and uplift.
Wow!
Again, lady, I ask – when is your book coming out?
Your writing is a pleasure, even when the subject matter is not.
Your fan, Buddah Moskowitz
De you always give us something to press into ourselves, to open out into humanity
Dare I say Poet Laureate? Awesome work, as usual! <3
Just perfect, De.
I loved this one De. I think every poet can relate to this one.
Great wind up with the for/against play. And I love the way you ended it.
Thank you, Robert.
For this poetic ride,
though I scrambled behind.
This space is the place,
Poetic Asides!
Fly Boy
He wanted to fly
Nineteen years old
Clouds called
He wanted to fly
Just a quick BP test
revealed his secreted
suicidal heart
thrust him fast
toward those
who sawed his ribs
opened his heart
and saw they could
do nothing
zipper stitched his
smooth chest as he
in morphined misted radiance
blissfully buoyantly bounced
to his now tenuous life
time parceled in months
Nineteen years old
He wanted to fly
Now lucky to see
Twenty two or three
Against all odds
At sixty still
He wanted to fly
When the clouds
opened for him
in a quiet bedded
room above the gentle
whir of oxygen
heard clear the nearing
roar of a readied engine
as he sighed
smiled and exhaled
himself beyond
the held horizon
lift off
PKP you have excelled yourself. I am mopping tears!
Ooooh thank you Viv….I am moved to my own tears ……to know I have touched you….thank you, so deeply appreciated
Pearl, once again you fashioned a character in your words!
Thank you, thank you. Now I am teary
LOVELY.
Thank-you God, for true poets. Breath-taking. Write on!
No, today I didn’t cry. I smiled a big warm smile.
This is what life is all about; having a dream and not letting go of it.
This is beautifully penned. Its simplicity is staggering.
And I bow to your talent.
Liked the narrative of this – also the pace – thanks Moskowitz
Well said, poster Alfred “Well said. Staggering in its simplicity.”
I agree completely.
Pearl, you have done it again!!
Oh, Pearl, this is powerful and simple at once. Lovely job.
Oh my … just back to read a bit before proofing and these wonderful responses… I am truly moved that poets I so admire have been moved by my words
THANK YOU
Hope to see you Wednesdays!!!
A true Peal indeed. Vivid. I’m floating on clouds as I reminisce my “Fly Boy” Days as a Major in the U.S. Air Force. And once again as a cancer survivor in his 60′s at the VA Hospital–release into remission to FLY once again! RMA.
You have “Brought it” Pearl. Fabulous!
“He wanted to fly
When the clouds
opened for him”
Great lines. Bravo, Pearl.
So beautiful Pearl. Excellent work.
Dear Fellow Poets – What a lovely way to end the evening … I came on to read for a little while after a very long day and here find these extravagantly gracious comments that moved me to tears, once again. I find that I, who usually have no difficulty finding words, am simple speechless. This poem did come from the heart and I am truly humbled that it flew into yours…
Thank you Viv, Patricia, Ina, JanetRuth, Alfred, Buddah, MarianV, Jane, Michael,mike and Dan. It is always a little poignant to come to the end of these November days. Thank you again for taking the time to comment
Against all Odds, The Mighty Sword
The jeers and smears of snickering voices,
scathing whispers from distant past mingled
with cutting sneers from present peers,
lend constant daily stings of mockeries.
These awful odds we strive against—
with the mighty silent sword of deadly words
we rend them, united—we, venture ripe in pen intact,
in tact, we breathe and go at it again, we’re freed.
far beyond decency of expressionn if in regards to Earl who spoke truth in simplicity and was burned at the stake for doing so–but then again–I’m the “other black sheep”–as expressed by J.H. in his comments regardng himself in a different light.
I beg your pardon, Sir, but I hardly know anyone here to mean to offend someone. I merely started visiting about a month ago and thought it a cool, welcoming place to stretch my writing muscle for free. But thanks for noticing my poetry, ’tis better than being passed over. If you get a chance to read my writings, most of them allude to my past and present hopes and demons. As a victim of bullying, I still suffer from these voices that I refer to as “present peers”, whereas J.K. Rowling might call them dementors, and indeed, my hope, brush, and pen help me deal tremendously, like others like me. I am much too busy to get involved or dragged into such petty things. But pleased to make your acquaintance, as well as everyone here. However, I honestly don’t know the story behind the conflict. —Amica Paige
thanks for the clarification. Since 25 Nov onward 2 of us have been attacked and others sought our banishment over misinterpreted poetry and wild commentaries. It seemed this was an addition to the rhetoric, but mistaken interpretations do occur. Success to you, and happiness.
Against the Current
The present day nature of humankind
Is slowly turning in the wrong direction
Or at least I feel that way
For the longer I live by His rules
The more I am reviled
The more I am shouted down
And the more I am ridiculed
Nonetheless
I love everyone
I respect everyone
I care for everyone
And I care for their eternal souls
That’s where the wheels fall off
That thing about the eternal soul
It’s a matter of great contention
Although I don’t understand why
Our souls will never die
The evidence is clear
What’s missing is the evidence
Of where it goes after we die
And what’s odd about humankind
Is that far too many don’t seem to care
That is a dangerous attitude to have
For eternity is a very long time
That’s why I remain determined
To let the world know the Truth
That’s why I will continue to swim
Against the current of human thinking
So that those that hear can make the choice
The most important choice they can make
The choice that will determine
Where their soul spends eternity
There are three ways to choose
We can choose right
We can choose wrong
Or we can choose not to choose
Either way, we will choose
Choose wisely
Against all odds
Hard as it may be
I continue to hope
That you understand
This is not the venue
For spreading “The Truth” that clearly you see
Telling folks that they are “wrong” for who they are – condemned for eternity
Drips not with loving warning but is hate speech
Poorly wrapped in the misnamed garb of “Christian” civility
You have a stated mission beyond sharing poetry. This is not the place for “spreading Truth” and warnings of eternal consequences. It is this close- mindedness and hate filled judgment and villification that is reviled and rejected. This site is a place for peaceful poeming not preaching.
I believe you have lost your way. This is the final day of the Challenge I plan to poem!
Against all odds I do hope you understand that you are not helping further your cause.
Poets here want to poem not be involved in endless religious, or political debates. It troubles me that indeed, you are not simply writing passionately, as I against all odds hoped, but have taken on a “mission” I believe what lingers on for eternity is the good we do for others and the love we leave and for poets, the poems, here always first and foremost the poems.
If you can’t put yourself in the poetry, then what’s the use in writing? I don’t deny others the right to write from their hearts; and there are particular poems that have been written that go against what I believe. In fact, there have been a few that were downright offensive to me, personally, But, that is their right; and I served for over 20 years to ensure that that right continues.
I did not mention Christianity in my poem, nor did I mention condemnation. In either case, I gave you no reason to leave PA. You stay. I’ll leave. I don’t want to offend anyone with my beliefs.
PKP – I so appreciate the time you have taken to compose this throughtful reply – and against great odds ppray it might be recieved as offered. There is a place, a time, a way for missions and the mission here has been clearly stated by Robert and reflected well here. Now back to poetry for me. Thank you
Earl YOU are not alone. Poems without substance, with no heart, and ephemeral feelings of CENSORED “forced political correctness” are contrary to the nature of poetry itself. I saw NOTHING in any of YOUR poetry, or of mine, sent as a missile of hate, or any derogatory stance to belittle anyone. Yet some voices not only speak LOUD and CLEAR–”their views” but also get a large CHORUS of response from a favored Choir. To say “I leave, I quit” is a ploy to say it over and over again until multiple sympathies accept only ONE point of view and banish all others. If we are BANISHED to separate isles perhaps we should send a NOTE in a BOTTLE in hopes of favorable tides for our poetry. i.e., In response to AMY and her attacks against me (totally unarranted by foul misinterpretations-and a call for my banishment) the greater hurt was espoused in a poem that was written to appease her, wherein I was referred to as a “terrorist” and this was acceptable to this community. Yet I spent 6 years of my 30 year career in uniformed service of our country on the US Special Forces Intelligence Counter-terrorism Team (out of the Pentagon) to defend others rights to speak as they wish, and to be who they wish to be. So much for justice. It’s a different wolrd than the one we knew–and the one we have protected with our own LIVES—not just by the pen. SOrry to hear and see the onslaught against YOU so unjustly, but I KNOW the FEELING. Keep the Faith, what part you don’t keep–share wth someone else. Read: Bible, New Testament, Romans 1: 16-32 for enlightenment. My closing poem is in the making to be posted obviously later since it will take time to write. Out of compassion-the title is Animla Farm. SMILE
Just got home after a long day at the hospital with my father-in-law. He gave us quite a scare, but is doing fine now.
I have to admit that all I have read so far at PA today is Earl’s post on “The Truth,” and succeeding chastisement. Friends, this disappoints me greatly. Does Earl have an agenda? Absolutely. But didn’t most poets throughout history? I looked back at Robert’s post from yesterday, and I see nothing keeping us from writing with passion about our beliefs. The problem is hate speech, people, and if any of you can read this particular poem of his and get any hate vibes from it, you have far keener hate-sense than I. Let’s please be very careful not to swing the pendulum to the other extreme. This is not hate speech, and it pains me that he was attacked for it. You know Earl writes passionately about Christ and his interpretation of the Bible. If Christianity in itself offends you and you don’t care to be “preached at,” I understand that completely … simply skip him (or whomever), and move on. But please, please let’s not attach “hate speech” to his religious poetry, simply because it is religious.
Thanks for shedding a bit more light on this matter, as an innocent poem of mine got caught in the mess. If we can’t pen our voices, without malice against each other, then poetry is nothing more than just puff, vanity of vanities, rather than our souls’ deep utterings that we try to preserve in words the best way we can, or so I think.
I agree. Thanks for putting this so eloquently. And sorry about your poor poem getting “caught in the mess.”
Marie- I couldn’t agree more. Thank you for speaking up.
Live and let live, fellow poets.
Thanks Laurie. And yes, live and let live.
Ah Earl – I despair …
Well said. Have hope against the hopeless tide. The lighthouse still remains.
SUCK A PIANO INTO YOUR LUNGS
You are too two-dimensional,
with an unconventional knack
for hacking the shit out of anything
you touch. It’s not so much
the destruction, it’s your compunction
to try your hand at whatever suits
your curiosity. It’s your pomposity
that makes you so annoying.
Quit toying with the rest of us
and if you must, go sell your crazy elsewhere.
We care far less than you’d want
and you can’t suck a piano into your lungs.
(Although, I’d pay just to watch you fail.)
Walt, this is an incredible image! It’s stayed with me all day.
Too much fun. I love the raucous nature of this poem.
Now THIS I loved!
Swim Against the Current
The currents flow so swiftly,
with a gripping mighty power.
You are faced with choices
every minute, every hour.
You can’t get where you’re headed
if you don’t know where to go.
Is the destination upstream?
Or somewhere down below?
The easy way’s a choice
with consequences, it would seem.
You could lay there on your back
and drift gently down the stream.
No, that is not the journey
you envisioned in your mind.
Swim against the current.
Great rewards you will find.
By Michael Grove
Stellar, both the flow and the wisdom! thank-you for all the wonderful poetry you allowed us to enjoy this month!
Inspiring! Great job – moskowitz
Thank You Janet Ruth and Mosk. Janet, I have enjoyed reading you this month and Buddah, you know I always appreciate and admire your work.
yipppeee !! I made it to the end *dances a little* Ok, here’s the poem for today .. a loop poetry
Against all odds
The odds are high
high as you make;
make if you really wish,
wish for undying desire;
desire to jettison fear -
fear of being left,
left unread or unheard;
unheard are the words
words that can not;
not mob their way out,
out on paper or text files;
files that find ways
ways to behave as they will;
will you still not write,
write your heart and mind ?
Nimue, I just simply marvel at your talent. I am a ‘baby’ in learning poetry form and WOW! you inspire. Thank-you.
Dance a lot – you’re a fine writer indeed. Thanks for sharing your talent. -mosk
Love the “loop!” Will have to try that some time. I agree with the others; I enjoy reading your work. You always put a spin to it–cool.
*blush* i did not know I was read !!
thanks a ton <3
Dancin’ with you, Nimue…great poem! This is a form I have never used…have to try it!
Graduate
The climb seemed unending
as you struggled to learn first one language
then another.
You fit study in between the duties
of keeping house, making a living
and staying sane.
Your tenacity paid off in the end,
you reached the summit – against all odds -
rising above the obscurity of those
less fortunate, less determined and less able.
Diploma in hand, you stand
Champion of the Moment!
Go now, share your dreams-
offer your hand to those you past
along the way – helping them to
reach the summit – against all odds.
Yes. Courage is the first step to endless possibility! I feel the celebration!
Wonderful!
That’s exactly how I felt last June. You’ve put it so well. “passed” not “past” Oh – those wretched homonyms!
“Center”
That I sit here
surrounded by
crayon drawings
of big headed girls
(she’s in her big head phase)
and photographs of family
sometimes startles me,
as
looking back,
I identified with
(then) planet Pluto.
The smallest
furthest away
speck of a world
and I marvel
at the collisions
which brought me
here.
Center.
If anyone is interested, the post on my blog for this poem has a scanned image of one of the big headed girls. — Jerry
Jerry – this reminds me of my grandbabies. Love those drawings. I can’t help keeping each one!
Neat!
So, when are you gonna compile your poetry into a book?
Your work here has been nothing short of inspiring, and I nothing short of envious.
Best wishes, Moskowitz
Hah. Who knows. I thought about maybe doing something after I submit my entry for this November PAD but . . .
Thanks for all of the support.
You should. Your pieces are great!
Second that!
Jerry… I just went on your blog and read as far as four poems and I am loving all the words. What form is that for “Once Upon a Sidewalk”? I love that piece the most.
Thanks. I really liked how that turned out as well but I’m afraid I have no idea what the form is. Robert used it on day 14 and I just sort of copied it. I don’t even know if I did it correctly. Robert, is there a name for that form?
So inspiring writing along-side you this month, Jerry. Thank you for sharing here! smiles
Still playing catch up on this last day, but here I am and here is what
was supposed to be for yesterday’s…
I’m sorry to hear that offenses were thrown here,
hope I didn’t pitch one at any point, except an honest poem.
Morning dawns…Evening draws…Morning dews.
The Sun enthroned…it dawns and calls
your names and says, ‘Awaken!—all
ye that seek thy morning freedom.
The eARTh is christened, hues proclaimed
the trees adorned, their crowns sprinkled
with heaven’s dews, like hopes in drops…
Each day your hopes reflect the light
from it…from me…the Sun…the Son.’
‘Open your mind and drink from it…
the eARTh…my cup, and early plant
your seed…and seek in me the tree
that guides an honest quest to see…
A flower blooms its gayest gown
by the warmth of its maker’s hand,
while birds find in their daily grind
the bread that swarm my blessed ground.’
‘Fear not the rain, my child, tonight
barren land, shall I water thee…
All actions take the heart’s dictates,
while spirit feeds on choices made.
Though evening draws its curtains near,
the dews each day the morning brings.
and hopes in you reflect the light,
the western sky extolls its King.’
SISYPHUS SHRUGGED
(The Uphill Scenario)
Emmence dimensions;
the weight of the world
at your feet to defeat
any notion you may have had
that said life would be easy.
There’s a queasy feeling
in the pit of my heart
as I start to question
my sanity. All humanity
would kill for what has been found
on the ground at my feet.
So I gird my loins and
join my heart and head
knowing instead that what
seems impossible is merely
a difficult chore. Rubbing these hands
together; sweet friction and
a conviction to roll my stones
up whatever obstacle stands before me,
let the world ignore me, for where it leads
feeds this heart and soul. The control
I thought to have is waning and the gravity
of the situation is gaining on me.
See, it’s true that it is an uphill climb,
but I’m determined to stand defiant
reliant on only love to pull me along.
Her hold is strong and I long for the
power she provides. Inside my passion boils,
and my toils are lessened. My lesson?
Don’t sweat the small stuff, love is enough.
And when I struugle to reach the summit,
it becomes all downhill from there!
Love is enough! Thanks for the reminder, Walt!
The scaly hard shell
crept steadily past the whirling
dervish of running
against all odds….
Like this…very clever!
I would like to spend more time developing this, but can’t today! Here is my offering for the “against all odds” prompt.
The Great Ones
by Rachel Hyde
Some miracles are impossible
to ignore—celebrated, fated
and flashing from the brook
of history;
not so the everyman’s—
not so the everywoman’s—
you who might chose to flame
out in glory, if only glory
was more available.
You will rise each day,
and rise again,
tired and pained with small things
of which no one sings,
and you will do them with heart
filled with uncertainties, not prophecy,
nor shining vision. Your god
a wisp that you conjure by
breaking back at the bellows of diligence.
Well done…I like “the bellows of diligence” Great image!
reminds of the invisible ones who live and live even in the face of notknowing – like the tribute this is to them
Persevere, baby, press on! Great!
Just People
We’re just people…
Without God allowing it
There is nothing we can do
We’re just people
I am me
And you are you…
And we need each other
Oh, it’s true
Because when we need each other
It’s amazing what
‘Just people’ can do
When we put an arm around the grieving
Share with them a mutual tear
When we love without condemning
We draw bits of heaven near
When we walk a second mile
Alone and in the rain
Knowing somewhere angel’s smile
Because we share another’s pain
When we touch the little child
And sometimes let them lead the way
When we forgive and reconcile
When we pause to pray
When we give and no one sees
But the Father up above
When we get down on our knees
And sit with those who can’t stand up
When we seek the others best
Never thinking of our own
Knowing someone will be blessed
By the little love we’ve shown…
When we join hands in unity
And lay aside our strife
To be all that we can be
In this little thing called life
When we love the way God loves us
Never mind our shape or skin
When together we join forces
Then together we will win…
We’re just people
Yes, it’s true
I am me
And you are you
But we need each other
Oh, this is true
Then oh, it’s amazing
What ‘just people’ can do
Janet – this is a wonderful reminder. The examples you list are tenderly written. Thank you!
when we read a poem like this
we know the world is not amiss
and we too make make a move that honors this
Jane-lovely. thank-you
Linda,, Thank-you as well and I hope to ‘see’ you both in other ‘gardens’
Merry Christmas!
Lovely verse indeed.
JanetRuth: The tenderness of YOUR heart shines through in all of your poetry, but none so much as this one. RMA “Obi-wan Merlin”
This is beautifully written. Your poetry has been a wonderful and welcome addition to Poetic Asides this month. Thank You.
Hear, hear!
Karma in the End Zone
Against all odds
A men spirited end zone jig
Responded to by a touch that
Into the dancer surely did dig
Karma in the end zone
Smiled on green
Very clever!
Thanks whoops should have read
“mean” spirited end zone jig … duh that was the point …
Great start! Robert …mhmmm
Good grief–its not right for the first post to be a lame ‘catch up’ one. I have five more poems to go. I have been snagging the prompt, writing at odd moments through the day, but putting my keyboard time into nanowrimo. (3900 word to go before midnight)
day 22 fruit or vegetable
PLUM
Though I stick in my thumb like Jack Horner,
it’s seldom a plum that comes out.
Boldly I prod the crust of life
until what once was beautiful
looks fit to be pitched in some corner.
day 23–travel poem
TIME TRAVEL
She’s free now to go when she wishes–
sixty tow is a favorite haunt–
nobody’s dead yet, and she’s still
young with legs that run, knees that bend.
Fifty six was a good year for Chevies,
but she steers clear of sixty three.
It feels way too dark, much too heavy,
unlike forty five where she is two,
and folks dance in the sun drenched streets
because the war, at last, is through.
day 24 a gathering poem
THE NEST
She gathers around her
myriad bits and scraps–
crafting a cozy nest
of all her memories.
She’s not a mad hoarder.
It’s a sadly small nets–
a box under the couch,
a small stack on her desk,
neatly piled, with a glass
dog perched as guardian.
A scrapbook by her chair
with her reading glasses.
An album of pictures
of children grown and gone,
who seldom call or write.
If she could learn to text–
whatever that might be–
but no, the nest is built
and she, with aged wings,
is scared to rise and fly.
day 25–consumption
GONE
He is being consumed.
Inside his skull
death grows bigger
and will claim him soon.
Don’t be fooled–
you who love him,
when this monster
crashed in the door,
he fled out the back
and is safely
sealed in the arms
of his Lord.
Actually, Penny, the first one was definitely against all odds, but as I wrote it, I realized I should have written my tribute to her too. I just lucked up being first to post. It’s definitely fresh.
yep–I was glad you made it to the top before me–it really did seem very lame for the first post to be a catch up . Loved yours, by the way.
Penny – The Nest nearly brought me to tears. The images are so real and so true. Well done!
so glad to see these three – the images and sense will linger as I ponder against all…
poignant sense evoked in each
Time Travel is simply brilliant! Good job Penny!
Good grief–its not right for the first post to be a lame ‘catch up’ one. I have five more poems to go. I have been snagging the prompt, writing at odd moments through the day, but putting my keyboard time into nanowrimo. (3900 word to go before midnight)
day 22 fruit or vegetable
PLUM
Though I stick in my thumb like Jack Horner,
it’s seldom a plum that comes out.
Boldly I prod the crust of life
until what once was beautiful
looks fit to be pitched in some corner.
day 23–travel poem
TIME TRAVEL
I feel your struggle, Penny. I have mostly kept up with the prompts, but I have often been late to the party. Keep on poeming!
How foolish of me. Now I know to whom I should have written my tribute:
Against All Odds
(To Shonda)
I should blush to complain about my bad luck or bad day,
when I see your example, the stuff that nightmares are made of—
abandonment, abuse, homelessness, moved from family
to family, school to school, never staying in one place
long enough, never having anyone care enough
to get help, to overcoming learning obstacles,
problems that appeared only after the trauma
no nine-year-old should endure.
Somehow, against the odds, you’ve made a life
for yourself, for your children, showing them love,
working harder to keep them clothed and fed
that I’ve ever had to work to keep myself
and my own family content, satisfied.
How can you gauge your success? By your children,
who ask to work at soup kitchens, who give
their own gifts to school friends
who’d otherwise do without,
who come to you with their problems,
real problems, curling up with you—
even at eighteen—to let you cry with him;
at thirteen, to tell you the truth about what hurt her.
Against all odds, you’ve become
a strong, independent woman, no longer
the scared, homeless teenager who entered my life.
You humble me when I see how you’ve made so much
of so little, and always, you’ve been grateful,
so weary, but such an embodiment of love.
Powerful, loving tribute Nancy! The story behind it reminds me of many of my students. They are my heroes!
this opens our hearts and let’s us yearn to stand side by side – then relases into er smile
Yes! Thank you for this, Nancy.
What a wonderful tribute of love, hope, sharing, and caring. Beautiful.
Man, Nancy, you reminded me of so many students of yesteryear who overcame the worst life can dish out and still remained kind, strong, and true. This is a lovely tribute and a great start to today.
A wonderful start to the poeming and prompting. I am reading late in the evening but am not enjoying any less. Bravo.
Nicely done, bravo Nancy!