2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 11

For today’s prompt, pick a season (any season) and make it the title of your poem; then, write your poem. For instance, your poem might be titled “Winter” or “Spring” or “Rabbit Season” (if you have a sense of humor and like Looney Tunes cartoons).

Here’s my attempt:


even leaves
pretend they don’t care
from their trees
and letting the wind take them
wherever it will


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446 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 11

  1. mschied

    My Discontent

    Grey fog permeates
    the ocular membrane
    to swirl into depressing

    Icy chills creep
    under the skin
    to ensure emotions
    remain frozen

    Leaden snow
    buries deeply
    all that once was

    with no spring to thaw
    a heart
    an imperfect crystalline hollow

  2. Pat Carroll Marcantel

    Snarky Season

    Lewis Carroll unleashed the Snark,

    and I’ll expose him to the fullest,

    as I know for a fact he’s kin to the Quark

    and they’re both on a path to collude-us.

    I have friends to whom I can turn–

    They live and work on Mt. Palomar,

    Amid the great eye that nightly yearns

    To catch this pair before they go far.

    Oh, I’ve known about them for many years,

    I have solid proof of their evil intentions.

    Their sneaky, snarky, evil sneers

    As they zoom around defying convention.

    They went into my office space

    Careening, carousing, a frump of a pair,

    Seeking all they could deface,

    Scattering papers into the air.

    Because it was the witching hour,

    I only stood outside the door,

    Listening, trying not to cower,

    I heard them say, “It’s done, let’s soar.”

    Through the window they made a retreat,

    While I, now brave, entered the room.

    Who would believe that I had been neat?

    Alas, my reputation might be doomed.

    What if no one believed this tale

    And thought my habits were deplorable,

    And proved the Snark did not prevail–

    It was just me, no longer adorable?


  3. Marian O'Brien Paul

    Maybe it’s Spring

    Mixed up seasons for some reason
    this year. Maybe it’s the new sunspot
    cycle just beginning or global warming,
    but it wasn’t March that entered like
    a lion roaring and I’m not sure which
    month left like a lamb. May’s flowers
    re-scheduled, arriving earlier, in April.
    And summer’s been commuting since
    February, unpacking 80 degree temps.

    Today brought balmy spring weather
    and a hefty wind. Tommy, not quite
    three, scootering home from the park,
    hit a bump: a tree root hefting the walk.
    He tumbled flat and scraped his hands.
    Back home during lunch, when asked
    “How are your hands?” he held them
    up for me to see and said, “See? They
    okay. The wind blew the hurt away.”

  4. Jolanta.Stephens

    My Autumn Years

    Leaves, not as fresh
    Slightly dry and crinkly
    Not as bright
    As they were in spring.

    Trees, A little bare
    More worn
    By the picking up winds
    Violently shaking them
    As Autumn leads to winter

    The Earth, A little more damp
    A little more cold
    Not fruiting as effectively
    A bit more barren
    Than last summer

    The air, A little colder
    Raindrops starting
    To spot the windows
    Constipated clouds
    Hover menacingly
    Ready to break forth.

    Turning away from the mirror
    Sheet over my head
    Is it really time
    To confront my ‘Autumn Years’?

  5. Lynn Burton

    Italian Seasoning

    I’m not much of a cook
    and he doesn’t much care
    as long as I wear his favorite apron
    and a smile.
    I’ve ruined plenty of dinners
    taste testing from his lips,
    adding too much spice,
    and setting off the smoke alarm.
    He prefers a long simmer to a
    fast boil, and we pour on more
    Italian seasoning.

  6. Arrvada


    Something happens to me in the spring
    As if a switch is flipped
    A light turned on
    The colors flash and flare
    Bright and bold my thoughts alive
    I think, I feel and know so much
    Coming awake along with the earth
    I am me, alive and well
    Smart and creative and beautiful
    I see the orange of the poppies
    And smile
    I am me
    I am spring.

  7. ceeess


    it’s almost opening day on my first senior spring
    hunting season for discounts, special shopping days

    my Scottish ancestors cheer me on
    my English ones chant “stiff upper lip”

    as I notice more experience lines
    showing in the morning mirror.

    I should focus instead on the simple
    joy of being, peace and wisdom:

    here still and not there—there
    some nether place where darkness

    holds sway, blocking out the light.
    Spring. Season of renewal, new life begins

    and hope springs in its eternal feathers.

    Carol A. Stephen
    April 11, 2012

  8. Janet Rice Carnahan


    Born in July,
    When the sun is as hot,
    As the highest fireworks,
    Blasting through a darkened sky,
    Beaches are crowded,
    People glowing,
    With suntan oil,
    Latest creams being put on,
    With the intent,
    Of being noticed,
    More than to be affective,
    Running with friends on the sand,
    As the only way to not get burned,
    While dashing wildly,
    On the way to the raging surf,
    Still looking cool, of course!
    Birthday parties,
    Were always in the sun,
    At the local amusement park,
    Children all running to each ride,
    Screams filling the air,
    Mostly in delight,
    Unless their swirled ice cream cone,
    Has fallen in the sand,
    Or salt water taffy,
    Accidently got in their hair,
    Summer after endless summer,
    The summer joy of July came and went,
    Until she had her children,
    When the cycle began all over again,
    With her watching their play now,
    Grinning up close while they laughed,
    Playing and enjoying their summer,
    Year after year,
    While they became adults too,
    And before they’ll have their babies,
    She will once again,
    Watch the smiling action,
    Nearby yet slower now,
    Remembering how amused she was,
    Laughing and running with the wild surf.
    In among her sun memories,
    Now as she ages on,
    Year after year,
    With a quieter summer house,
    Just holding her husband’s hand,
    Gazing out the beach house window,
    Watching the summer rain,
    Dance and laugh as it falls hapless,
    In no pattern at all,
    Slowly erasing,
    The fun beach memories,
    Yet as it waters the sunflowers,
    She smiles gently,
    As it reminds her,
    For each day of summer’s sunshine . . .

    A little rain must surely fall!

  9. TezfromOz

    Times and Seasons

    Work hard play hard live hard hard life hard wife
    Mow lawn pull weeds paint door fix bed clean shelf
    Less of these more of those eat right eat out not tonight
    Volunteer help friends visit Mum
    Go to work go to church go to school (going nuts)
    Time with kids time with wife time for self – when?
    Sleep less rest more bed late wake early set alarm
    See doctor plan trip book taxi catch plane
    Get car fixed get house clean get yard tidy
    Make build repair plan think decide do


    There is a time and a season for everything

    1. Make to don’t list
    2. Follow through

  10. cajun75


    Fresh mown grass
    Daffodils and tulips
    Easter lilies and amaryllis
    Blooming profusely
    Cool nights
    Warm afternoons
    Sun in all its loveliness
    Gentle breezes one day
    Strong winds the next
    Oh the beauty and blessedness
    Of spring

  11. cstewart

    Any Season

    Any season will due when you are happy.
    The summer is never too hot,
    Nor the winter too bitter cold.
    The new foliage of spring is so delightful
    When you have spring in your step.
    And the Autumn is twice warm and crisp
    It is hard to believe, – at the same time.
    And life is good and sweet in all seasons,
    When you are happy.

  12. carolecole66

    Florida Spring

    Spring doesn’t come
    to South Florida I’ve been told,
    just summer, then summer,
    then some cooler days of summer.
    But in April the gold tree spills
    yellow blooms and winter dry
    turns emerald.

  13. mlcastejon

    Scissors Season

    this way come
    like an earthquarke
    will be upside down
    inside out.

    For that, you must be prepared, my little child
    to listen to your voice and follow her anywhere.

  14. Jannelee

    I try and try to write in rhyme
    Again and again on the paper
    I dash word after word in vain
    my noggin has nothing but vapor
    pushing and drilling my exhausted brain
    Maybe I’ll be able to write in time

    Now my little grey cells are vacant
    searching furiously for fine words
    sifting through my dull, jaded mind
    for nouns, adjectives and verbs
    but no eloquent phrasing I find
    between my ears remains dormant

  15. Katrin

    Puzzle Season

    The week at the shore
    in another’s beach house
    full of decades-old spined digests,
    travel guides to Nowhere,
    the American Heart Association’s earliest cookbook
    and a pop psych tome

    And when the rain arrives
    as an unwanted guest,
    we reflect, in this intermission
    from on the hop,
    upon how the
    unexpected is woven
    into every moment
    We should know the pattern,
    but so often forget to factor
    in Uncertainty in the formulas
    of Holiday

    So we reach for the puzzles
    the game of chaos control,
    and, piece by piece,
    we take this time to press
    order back into our lives,
    one knobby embrace at a time
    as the rain pounds the land
    in a suddenly predictable pattern
    of soaking stanzas

  16. Yolee

    Spring in the Deep South

    And already the air feels
    like it has tumbled too
    long in a dryer.
    Seasons imply
    surroundings are temporary,
    but summer arrived early,
    like a favorite aunt with a big
    floral bonnet and a wink
    in her stride resembling
    a beachgoer who seeks
    to plop on the perfect spot.
    Her purse: the horizon,
    set on the Sea’s table
    contains tools to fountain
    nature’s pen, compact
    mirrors formed by
    raindrops and peppermints
    for memory’s mouth.

  17. Rosangela


    Comes early, right when
    I am still getting my tan.
    Expels the festive heat
    turns away the sandals,
    and the minis. Sun is down
    and the cold blow reminds me
    of pea soup.

    It’s leaf-blower season.
    Noisy, obnoxious tools
    What’s the reason
    of leaves moving,
    and not removing?

    Maybe they need a leaf-vacuum-cleaner instead
    No, I am not mad!
    I just like the leaves there
    I think it’s fair.
    It’s fall.
    Yes, it’s getting cold, season loop
    after all.
    I’ll make pea soup!


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