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. JRSimmang

    The Fall of Man
    dear man,
    and smell the dawn
    from your comfy couches of incest.
    Your season has ended,
    blistering heat pouring from your mouths,
    created in your bellies,
    scorching the cities and rivers.
    The time has come to recline,
    dear man,
    and smell the dawn of a new era.
    Soon your leaves will wilt,
    your mighty oaken arms will bend,
    and your spark will find no fire.
    dear man,
    and when you do,
    seek not the warmth you have once provided.
    Instead, find the chill,
    the conflagration of frost,
    and smell the dawn of a new era.

  2. Domino

    Windy Season

    The petals in the portico
    swirl and turn
    turn and swirl
    they make me feel
    like a much younger girl.

    A girl who would
    laugh as she
    rode her bike home
    pushed by the wind.

    A girl whose first thought
    on a windy day
    was of a kite
    and that ridiculously
    wonderful song
    from Mary Poppins.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  3. Buddah Moskowitz

    Autumn (for Rachel, who has been in Montana 26 days)

    It was still winter
    when you left,
    and spring doesn’t
    hold out much
    hope for your return.

    I doubt that
    you’ll want to come back
    to the oppressive heat
    and smog of
    a Moreno Valley summer,

    so perhaps,
    I’ll have to wait
    until Autumn
    for your return.

    Autumn has always
    been my favorite season
    but if you told me
    you were
    coming home tomorrow,

    spring would be my
    new favorite season
    of the year.

      1. Marjory MT

        I can taste it now!
        Whenever we come to vacation in Kelowna, BC.
        We go to the Greek Resteraunt!
        WONDERFUL – world’s best lamb chops

        Worth the 250 mile drive

  4. Sally Jadlow

    (NOT autobiographical)


    “Deer season,” he announced
    as he loaded his equipment
    into the truck.

    With a quick peck on the cheek
    he was out the door.

    When he returned home
    he carelessly left his camera chip
    in the computer.
    That’s when I learned his deer
    were the two-legged variety.

  5. Marianv


    Icy reflections of moonlight
    brightens a world subdued by snow.
    4:00AM, I peer through my window
    A young deer – rough coated, with two
    nubby buds, the beginnings of antlers,
    Quietly nosing through
    the ruins of our garden
    Smaller than our dog, I think,
    Then I realize that he is standing
    in snow that rises above his knees.
    No swift flight for him; slowly he lifts each
    leg from the snow, steps carefully-one at a time–

    Where do the wild creatures go when their world
    lies buried beneath a crust of snow glittering
    in the icy moonlight? Listen as the coyotes
    howl at the moon as they
    And all the wild creatures go hungry.

  6. taylor graham


    Today we’re the wrecking crew
    to tear out green grown wild in our garden,
    weeds that take over the earth.
    But wait.

    Morning dew’s cradled
    in hearts of miner’s lettuce. Here’s chick-
    weed with its dainty
    white blossoms, tang on the tongue.

    Imagine all these greens
    in a basin in the kitchen, crisping for a salad.
    And here’s lace-edged purple vetch,
    and filaree—beloved of sheep.

    All these weeds, and others
    whose names we don’t even know—
    might they be the answers to questions
    we’ve never asked?

  7. Joseph Harker

    Channeling some Donovan today…

    Season of the Witch

    Must be this one: a young spring
    whose cathedral sky has been draped low with
    deep blue clouds, the rain beading in checkmarks

    along windows and the sun surprising
    out from behind. A soiled spring rich with scent,
    magnolia turning brown on the branch, alley cats

    wrestling behind the dirty grates, the trash man
    stripping off his jacket in the unexpected heat.
    A spring where everybody’s tempers are short

    and sex drives are high, where winter’s
    monochromatic quilt is giving way to skin
    tone, farmer’s markets, unruly daffodils, laughter,

    whatever color that may be. A rhythmic,
    sensory spring that watches the flower buds
    begin to swell with pleasure, thinks of the ground

    wet with birth, delivering up its treasures.
    Why would a witch wait for jack-o-lanterns
    and frost-tipped evenings to work some kind of

    body magic? Here are the wanderers,
    punch-drunk on the world: tantalized and
    tantalizing, hoping to capture some of this new

    rainbow for themselves, being nothing
    but biological joy, tempted by this glorious life
    which is the simplest, strongest, truest spell of all.

  8. zevd2001

    It rained a lot
    this winter, filling the roots
    down deep, pushing the shoots higher
    moving on and out, from under

    the sidewalk, short shoots rise between
    the cracks. Nothing gets lost here
    where the city loves nature. Most of the time,

    in these here parts,
    come the first warm days everything
    grows all of a sudden, shocks of yellow,
    purple, tropical gardens dropped upon
    a terrace just left there to be,
    every thing green and colorful . . . and I lke it.

    Zev Davis

  9. lionmother

    That Spring

    Spring came offering gifts
    lush blossoms’ fragrance
    filled my senses and
    entwined with the new
    feeling found suddenly
    In my new grown body
    anticipation as if each
    moment should be
    pressed and kept
    the light soft and
    desire bubbling like
    scented oil inside
    urges unknown
    until Spring placed
    her floral hands upon
    my electric skin and
    made me lay on the
    moss carpet of new
    grown grass as I
    succumbed to the
    wrapped myself
    in garlands of desire
    and afterward wept for
    the loss of my childhood.

  10. Marjory MT


    —When I was just a little tyke
    I raced through meadows green
    and danced with floating butterflies
    to a robin’s lilting theme.

    —I wondered down a wooded glen
    where sunbeams filtered through
    to skip across a babbling brook
    that fed a pond of blue.

    —I used a wooden boundry fence
    like a gymnast’s balancing beam
    and acknowledged bobbing daffodills
    that waved at childhood dreams.

    —I marched with lazy bovine herds
    that meandered with switching tails,
    fed wobbly legged, spotted calves
    from special feeding pails.

    —I gathered eggs from hidden nests
    and scattered fresh cracked corn
    for a flock of hens and ducks and geese
    that greeted me each morn.

    —I knelt by tender shooting sprouts
    of tomatoes, corn and beans
    while veggies danced before my eyes
    like Christmas sugerplum dreams.

    —I traced a fuzzy caterpiller’s path
    past half eatten tender greens
    ’til I found him snuggly curling up
    to spin on butterfly dreams.

    —I was so free to leap and dance,
    to race and shout and sing.
    I rompted about with month old pups
    to celebrate the Spring.

  11. Domino

    Sports, Schmorts

    Everyone knows
    football season is in the fall
    And football games from
    all over the country
    are played if you have the
    One can root
    for whatever team
    one chooses.

    And Soccer, don’t
    forget soccer, that
    the rest of the world
    calls futbol or football.
    It goes from August
    through April.
    Games are on
    all the time.

    Basketball season, too,
    is so fascinating. And
    NASCAR starts in the spring,
    along with baseball.

    Tennis and golf
    have their day,
    if they’re not
    preempted by
    some other,
    more important

    And the Olympics
    are coming again this

    Luckily for me,
    reading season
    is all year long
    and though one
    may root for a particular
    there are no
    real competitions
    or time
    unless you count
    the Hugos.

    So while others in my home
    are avidly pursuing
    the sporting life
    from the comfort
    of the couch,
    I am happily
    ensconced in

    1. Marjory MT

      Our little family must be strange
      we do not watch a single game.
      Can’t waste my time to see it all
      be it foot’ – basket’- or baseball
      There;s so many other things to see
      in books, outside and at the sea.

      1. Domino

        LOL Wonderful Marjory!! My current husband only picks and chooses a few, but I was once a sports widow!! It’s okay, though, reading, sewing, so many other things to be done!!

  12. HannaAnna

    Spring Means

    New life… eggs… babies
    New life… flowers… leaves
    Another year of planting crops
    A fresh start for mother nature
    Spring cleaning and fresh lemons
    Summer’s almost here
    The greatest time of year
    At least for the children

  13. New_Writer49

    Winter Wish

    Winter has come with a cold wintry mix.

    First snow falls then ice what shall come next?

    We all wish for a White Christmas, but this is more than we asked for.

    We wanted to make snowmen and angels with wings.

    But with ice packs abound all we got were arms and legs in slings.

    Winter set upon us with a wintry chill.

    I hope that winter moves on more like the run of the mill.

    With snowflakes and temperature up above, all I can wish for is a wintry love.

  14. dextrousdigits

    Season of the Wolf

    City Streets roamed by destitute
    tattered layers of clothes
    pushing grocery carts
    looking for scraps
    sleeping in alleys
    huddled on park benches
    on layers of cardboard
    Looking hungrily for hope.

  15. DanielAri


    and in the late Pleistocene, names for time periods
    related to earth’s passage around the sun formed
    in the cultures of humanity. These names varied,
    but over the ages—into the Holocene epoch—they
    cooled and congealed, centering logically around
    equinoxes and solstices. Names of seasons came
    in sets of four—until the Commercial age began,
    marking a sudden shift, a snap in geological time.
    Seasons bifurcated and warped according to the
    manufacture and dissemination of merchandise.
    In this millennium, we mark the year’s passage:
    Valentines, Mother’s Day, Dads & Grads, Wedding
    Season, Back to School, Pre-holiday, Holiday and
    New Year’s Resolution Season. Lately, the weather
    itself has begun to line up with the new schema.


  16. dextrousdigits

    Vivaldi’s Seasons
    Vincent’s vision
    Monet’s strokes
    Bosho’s pen

    waterlilies and ponds
    scare crows and paddy fields

    Birth, growth, withering, returning to Maya
    treasured reminders
    sacred beauty
    each season.

  17. deringer1

    Winter At Last

    I lived my carefree youth in spring,
    my freedom in summer.

    autumn brought loss, joys fleeing
    like leaves blowing in the winds of change.

    and now, in winter, my will is gone.
    I relax into a wisdom higher than my own

    and wait

  18. dandelionwine


    Greenly growing
    uncoiled seedlings
    buds of breezing
    bending bows
    surging sap tides
    succeeding star arc
    extending cloud bursting
    deluged miry rut
    raking red breast
    robin bobbing earthy
    booty this
    tumultuous high
    seas season
    stealing sun

  19. Mike Bayles


    Buds on bare limbs
    dream leaves
    speckle vistas
    of blue skies
    cloudless clear
    on a spring day
    while fresh smells
    of early morning rain
    stir senses,
    and the sound
    of my favorite song
    coming through an open window
    greets me,
    and I’m forever young.

  20. Anders Bylund

    The Calm Before the Storm
    Early April, and I
    Stare down the barrel of a loded gun.
    Blame the deadlines imposed by Uncle Sam
    And the neverending hunger for relevant and fresh
    Or thank your weary writing talents
    For leading you into this career
    Where fruit hangs low once every three months.

    Either way, the facts don’t change:
    Earnings season begins again.

  21. Lana Walker


    Season five began
    in March
    with truly a
    boring show

    Out of loop
    wanting the scoop
    I watched
    slow, slow, slow

    Don’t get why
    the story and set
    captures such
    huge acclaim

    Is it cathartic?
    Perhaps hypnotic?
    Or a balm for
    the insane

  22. posmic

    Late Winter

    Just when you think
    it’s never going to end,
    it does.

    There will always be
    the last day you wear
    your serious parka.

    It’s like stages with
    your children: One day,
    you’re breastfeeding

    or listening to them say
    that funny thing you think
    you’ll always remember;

    the next day, it’s gone,
    and you didn’t think to
    write it down, mark it

    on the calendar or in a book.
    Nature keeps its own notes,
    is always writing a book

    we can’t read yet.
    Brown slush becomes
    mud on our shoes;

    as quick as that,
    the next chapter
    has already begun.

  23. Paoos69


    Young leaves sprouting
    A fresh green
    A new look
    New energy abounding

    Dead of the winter gone
    New ideas spawn
    As the new season dawns
    With winter descending

    A new conscious
    New resolutions
    Gone are the dilemmas
    New contemplations

    Magic of the season
    Nature’s precision
    Call it science, call it nature
    Call it God’s caricature

  24. barbara_y

    The luxury of being cold on summer

    that unnecessary pain of holding ice too long
    against a tongue alive with sweet and acid
    is an M&M of memory, SourBall shock
    of diving into cave-spawned rock-delivered cold
    clear running water and bobbing to the surface,
    air trapped against your back and legs and face like carbonation
    rolling through the down to rise, silver
    water skins of August sycamores minute
    gray-green magicians fanning shuffled leaves
    and whispering take one. To soak the cold in
    like a beer or orange crush, a bottled self
    the minnows try to taste with small translucent kisses
    like the bites of timid lovers, is to promise
    climbing into sun-baked, dust-limestone-water-honeysuckle
    cashmere summer, sugar smooth.

  25. gtabasso

    Hunting Season

    We grew up eating wild game
    that dad brought home for mom to cook:
    grouse in the spaghetti sauce
    and venison meatballs;
    venison steaks with white wine,
    onions and green peppers;
    rabbit stew, grilled pheasant, frog legs.

    I will never forget the two times
    the house stank
    because he made her cook
    groundhog and squirrel.
    They went into the garbage
    and we gagged for days.

    Now, an old man in a wheelchair,
    he years for the past
    when he could walk for miles,
    climb a tree, sit in a stand,
    drag a deer home.

    He misses the natural world,
    looking into those liquid eyes,
    mumbling a prayer of forgiveness.

    1. posmic

      Great! Very nuanced. Both the necessity — and yes, pleasure — of hunting for food, as well as the gross and violent aspects. I love your ending, with your dad’s strong and ambivalent feelings.

  26. Willy


    Oh, down to the woods I go, hi-ho.
    Down to the woods I go,
    With a camera and blind
    Bobbing over my behind.
    It’s down to the woods I go.

    Oh, watch the jakes preen just so, hi-ho.
    Watch the jakes preen just so,
    But ol’ tom makes the cut
    When he does his turkey strut
    And the jakes’ only preen so-so.

    Oh, when the mating time’s no mo’, hi-ho.
    When the mating time’s no mo’,
    Then the hens begin to set,
    And the boys begin to fret
    ‘cause they’re not safe no mo’.

    Oh, down to the woods I go, hi-ho.
    Down to the woods I go,
    With a gun into my blind
    I’ll call in a gobbler find.
    It’s down in the woods he’ll go.

  27. JanetRuth

    April’s Celestial Shepherdess

    She laughs
    herding her wooly flocks
    to farther pasture’s
    with passionate
    Then she weeps,
    her tears softening
    earth-leather cusp
    Her eyes beguile
    the tightly clenched bud
    She scowls
    An icy stare
    Conceals her mirth
    hope turns to mud
    as restless sheep
    crowd about her…
    trample her skirts, but
    then she smiles
    …sheep scatter
    as tulip rivers
    color the earth

  28. Walt Wojtanik


    Between the winter and the summer
    the lack of spring (sometimes a bummer),
    a time to fix the road destruction
    during the season we call “construction”

    It seems to happen every year,
    every where when the weather’s clear.
    Roads with potholes and far worse,
    the annual infrastructural curse.

    If it’s mangled, they can mend it,
    if it’s straightened, they will bend it.
    So, don’t expect to rush around,
    this season’s made to slow you down!

  29. Sharon

    Season of Change

    Is it good, this thing called change?
    Yesterday I was free,
    today caught in some
    dark void
    neither one thing
    or another.

    And then change comes.
    flying into the day
    wing color like
    jewels in the sun.
    this thing called change
    is good.

  30. Walt Wojtanik


    Hewe it is anothew season,
    to kiww the wabbit wiffout weason,
    Kwite the wascaw; he a nut,
    a weal pain in my Fuddian butt.

    Ducks ow daffy, wild and weirwd,
    in cohewent, so I’ve hewed,
    but wabbits ow what weally bugs me,
    at the howt stwings it does tug me.

    Hunting does wewax my mind,
    shooting cwitters that I find.
    Twacking over diwt and mud,
    have wifow will twavew, I’m Elmew Fudd!

    Heh, heh, heh, heh,
    be vewy kwiet, wew witing poetwy!

  31. Michelle Hed

    Spring Waltz (Rondeau)

    Waltz with me, beneath the boughs of trees
    just budding now in the springtime freeze;
    I breathe the fragrance that fills the air
    and sneeze not once, but twice through my hair –
    As springtime struggles to find its ease.

    Through the forest move the lazy bees
    trying to wake, new season to seize,
    thankful the insects are not quite there –
    Waltz with me…

    Bending low, in fact brought to my knees
    by glimpses of flowers first spring tease.
    Their dainty blooms catch me in their snare,
    with their beauty and delicate flare.
    I will gladly pay the sneezing fees.
    Waltz with me…

  32. competitivewriter


    The start is tart
    Early berries
    Basil and Cilantro and Mint
    Flirt with other greens

    Then begins the feast
    The salty tang of brats
    Charred edges from the grill
    The buttery kernels of sweet corn
    Cooled by crisp lemonade
    Swim through watermelons
    Stick to cotton candy
    Sweat from jalepeno spice

    Fall into the richness
    Of clove and cinnamon and chocolate
    Pumpkin and sweet potato and other roots
    Simmer in savory of stews
    An apple cider bubbles
    While the fireplace crackles

    Finally the ending notes
    Sugary cookies and candied nuts
    Slow roasted meats and
    Citrus surprises

  33. Catherine Lee

    Season of Learning

    Madame says it is Printemps
    In France as if we are in a separate
    Hemisphere from that place
    She’s never been,
    Where red is rouge
    And blue is bleue
    (Close enough)
    I forget what white is,
    And where five vowels,
    Yes Madame, cinq vowels,
    Are allowed to stand together
    In mocking silence, daring me
    To pronounce their existence
    Into réalité.

  34. Margot Suydam

    White covers

    rusty pickup trucks
    slanted sliding down
    heavy in oily labor

    where dog walkers
    leave their mark
    where the weary

    of not working go
    home to tilting
    shabby houses

    Yet snow persists
    slips down the hill
    straight to old town

    square dotted white
    The church steeples
    bleed the clouds

    and I feel clean
    in a room ardent
    a blanket warming

    draws me down
    these bleached walls
    where I scribble

    in dark chocolate
    so not to forget
    testing August heat

  35. De Jackson


    This too shall pass.

    She knows this.
    This tumblestumble of words
            and will and way
    This ebb and yield
            and wither and fade
    This decay
    This brown and orange and gold
            and looming gray
    This spilling of herself to sky
    This goodbye
    This crunch of autumn
            under mournful feet
    this grieving
    this leaving
            pieces of herself behind.

  36. Beth Rodgers


    Freshly mown grass
    Permeates my nostrils
    Instilling the feeling
    That spring
    Has sprung.

    It is hardly an antiquated concept
    To pass the seasons
    Rather than hibernating
    In more inviting climates.

    Spring is the kindest season
    When flowers bloom
    Birds chirp
    And the wind cradles butterflies
    As they live out their journey.

  37. Kevin DeRossett

    Ok, so I actually wrote this in response to the haiku challenge back in the fall, but I absolutely love this collection of haiku and wanted to share it again. Hope you enjoy!

    A Haiku Collection

    Chlorine smells like June—
    The green hair of the swimmers
    Never washes clean.

    The cicada sings
    His song, a deep-throated chant:
    Cigarettes, porch swings

    The lake level down;
    The shore twice its length:
    Come, rainy season.

    Watching the dance of
    Will o’ the wisp fireflies—
    The child within.

    August, a lost month.
    Forgotten in the hot nights—
    Many memories.

    The heat is still there.
    I watched the first leaf falling—
    Please make up your mind.

  38. laurie kolp

    When Tears Spring to the Sky

    Sometimes I feel like crying
    for no other reason than your
    cheeks as silky as the petals
    of a rose which I caress
    with the back of my hand
    up and down, so slow
    I could freeze
    this moment in time
    reach out and grab this memory
    forever draft and store it
    in the back recesses of my mind.

    Sometimes I feel like crying
    for no other reason than your
    laughter filling the stagnant air
    taking off to the boundless sky
    like a helium balloon on a warm spring day
    where tulips as yellow as the sun
    line the path of our existence
    with serenity, ecstasy
    and we float away together
    to a place no soul can locate
    leave behind the bitter load
    which lays us down.

    Sometimes I feel like crying
    for no other reason than you.

  39. Catherine Lee

    Autumn in the Piney Woods

    I am unbidden in this other world,
    A fragment of a something cold and gray,
    Small among sentinels who carry
    The sky burden upon their boughs.

    My presence is betrayed
    By the sound of lusty crunches,
    Each foot fall tamping shards
    Of leaf glass and green.

  40. De Jackson


    Oh, April.

    Later today
    your angry winds will stir
    and rise and whip their way
    into our lives, causing need for
    hair bands and Claritin and
    anger management.

    But for now I’ve got
    this innocent breeze
    these gossiping trees
    a comfy chair
    behavin’ hair
    and a sunny spot
    with my name on it.

  41. Charles Cote

    For yesterday and today:

    Early Fall

    Above the forest ravine,
    a chaos of saplings,
    below, roots like veins
    on the back of our hands,
    and everywhere, branches
    to the sun, our life
    in these limbs, entwined,
    bark like scales,
    the season’s weight.

  42. Jackie Casey


    Morning and pink glows her first blush of day;
    like a dainty bride, she powders her face.
    Morning’s blown fiery, blazing dewdrops
    upon happily wedded, blissful scene.

    Mischievous rays turn blossoms-in-waiting
    to blistering, brilliant hues of blue-green,
    while gloomy grooms huddle in a black slouch,
    hearts bleeding for warmth of the bridal-couch!

    Oh, heaven must wait, as Spring, she will preen;
    often she glitters and wants to be seen.
    I wait in the shade, in awe of her view
    as glorious springtime makes her debut.

    (bridal couch refers to the bride’s breast)

  43. Dare

    Tourist Season

    Love – Hate

    Traffic Trauma
    Price Inflation
    Culture Clash

    Cheerful Outlook
    Thriving Commerce
    Fresh Perspectives

    Hate – Love

    Grudging Gratitude

  44. Nancy Posey

    Spring Surprise

    In the foothills, the seasons tease,
    flirting from the mountains
    outside our window,
    a ten-degree drop
    just an hour drive away.
    As each tree unfurls her colors,
    flowering cherry
    then Bradford pear
    in puffs, our dogwoods wait
    for Easter to bear the print of nails.
    Daffodils and forsythia bloom
    in spite of ill-timed snows,
    defiant, a butter yellow promise
    of change. We find hyacinths
    first by scent then sight
    before tulips push through the soil
    to take their turn. In spring,
    forgetfulness is a blessing,
    each new burst of blossom
    a fresh surprise, as the flower beds
    explode with color demanding
    to serve as backdrop
    for photographs of children
    who can’t help themselves,
    picking bouquets for us,
    so lovely they know we won’t scold.


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