2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 12

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Something (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Example titles might include: “Something New,” “Something Strange,” “Something at the End of This Book,” or “Something Something.”

Here’s my attempt:

“Something Exceptional”

the kite or the string holding
the kite or the person holding
the kite by a string? holding
the kite like the wind, holding
the kite as if leaving, holding
the kite is a kid who holding
the kite feels he’s no longer held…


Write Science Fiction & Fantasy…

…with the Write Science Fiction & Fantasy premium collection.

Click to continue.


You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

406 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 12

  1. J.lynn Sheridan

    “Something’s missing”

    In the night, a silence spills forth—
    sorrow and sharps, flat dreams and
    love lost—the melody of the troubadour

    whose fingers flutter like hippy gauze
    above his strings, singing of musky love
    and heartache and delight but some-

    thing was missing.

    His voice was low and heavy in the
    stale air as he sang of himself—a
    passionate smuggler of lyric and
    rhyme, the music tumbling onto a
    breeze then falling under the earth.

    The silence of the night spilled forth
    a song of its own knowing that a love
    song without a beating heart dies and
    a broken soul taunts no man to pleasure.

  2. Walt Wojtanik


    For many years, words held close to the vest
    had been hidden from view, never expressed
    for fear that what needed to be said,
    never needed to be heard. An so these words,

    were left to languish in linguistic limbo,
    a purgatory where poetic ponderance
    suffers for lack of someone to behold.
    I was never sold on their lack of worth.

    Where else on earth can you convey
    all you want to say, in a few well chosen
    thoughts, frozen in perpetuity in your own
    style and purity, a surety that shows

    your process possesses everything
    you need; not overly verbose or to excess,
    but proving the point you wanted to make:
    that some things just need to be expressed.

    A tender heart holds every secret
    that love has planted to bloom
    brightly, brilliantly – nightly and
    to grow deeply into the hearts of others.

    A descriptive eye flies in the face
    of all things in time and space.
    Our imaginations soar, imploring all
    who take the ride to take a piece of what’s inside.

    A sorrowful soul has no control
    over the depths of their despair. But there,
    in black and white, the battle they fight
    will shine the light of compassion and extol

    with the words unconditional joy. Any coy
    or mirthful words of worth will ilicit a smile,
    while provoking thought; no joking is for naught.
    And so self-respecting poet would pass the chance

    to take an inward glance at what provides the spark
    which will burn unbridled into the raging blaze
    of our maniacal muses. If it refuses to extinguish,
    you’ll wish you had lit the tinder earlier.

    Your success depends on opening your coffers,
    and giving the world all you have to offer.
    Obsessive, oppresive, excessive repressive,
    submissive, successive, words are always expressive.

      1. JanetRuth

        Walt, I o-o-oed and a-a-a-h-ed through the whole poem, reading it slowly, enchanted by its unexpected rhyme and completely seduced by the words…. I love so many lines here but this really stopped me…
        “Ans so the words
        were left to languish in linguistic limbo,
        a purgatory where poetic ponderance
        suffers for lack of someone to behold.” yes!

  3. Jane Shlensky

    Something to Talk About

    He wasn’t afraid of the kissing or dancing,
    although his pulse raced and his mind stalled,
    picturing himself sweeping a pretty girl
    around a dance floor with people watching
    and wondering how he’d managed to get
    her to say yes to anything ever at all.

    He knew what he looked like, even clean
    and dressed to the nines: lanky, sprouty,
    haunted about the eyes. But he wasn’t
    worried about what others thought now
    that he had the corsage in hand, the tux rented,
    the shoes shined, promenading to her door.

    He knew to give her his jacket if she was cold,
    to fetch her punch and take her hand, but now
    what consumed him was the prospect of talking,
    saying things to which she said things,
    a natural and free-flowing exchange with
    humor, wit, and charm, a quiet boy’s fear.

    Talk of what you know, his grandmother said,
    but what girl cared about wood fires and old cars,
    about old folks’ thoughts on crops and cures,
    aches and losses, the daily fare of raising a teenaged boy.
    She was young and beautiful with a lilting laugh,
    and he was old while still a kid, needing a prom

    to free him from his life with something unexpected
    and easy, neither her pity nor his shyness.
    Tonight, he wanted a new topic, and equality
    with all that shines. He needed something
    to talk about, to get her started, so he could
    relax and do what he did best: listen.

    1. Marie Elena

      You’ve done it again, Jane. A complete story. An engaging MC. This time, you have three of us in love with him.

      Beautiful, warm-to-the-core, and skillfully written. You and Nancy have a gift for this style.

    2. Jane Shlensky

      J. Lynn, Jannelee, dear Marie, Miss R, and posmic, thank you all so much. Your kind words made a very long difficult day a little brighter. I see we are all suckers for the strong silent lads 😉

  4. JRSimmang

    something someone sometimes

    croaking moaning screaming squirming
    striving against
    a deepening horizon
    slowly losing to the waning day
    our caked on mudfaces
    warmed from the sun
    crackling around our perceptions
    make no difference to the flames of
    former glory
    the halo bursting
    schrapnel driving into the heart
    of madness

    voiced over voice
    hands trembling
    toes trembling
    clenched in pearl teeth
    feral eyes
    lacking the presence of mind
    to outwit
    dire and heated
    resolve as steel
    but still brittle as bones

    unaccustomed to the
    heavy breath of a
    stone cold lover
    leftover and wasted
    a spark of indignance
    lights fewer fires than
    the half-choked cigarette
    and wasted
    sometimes someone something

  5. Domino

    Something I’m Feeling Isn’t Right

    I’m feeling something
    right now,
    and as the emotion
    like the
    witches cauldron
    in that Scottish play,
    I’m beginning to realize
    I know what it is.

    Outrage springs to mind
    but that’s not quite it.

    It’s probably un-
    because it’s so

    People say I’m the nicest
    person they know,
    but that I become
    when angry.

    Yes, I think
    I’m feeling a bit

  6. De Jackson

    Something Written This Way Comes

    Unleash this beast, immortal pen
    Uncap its mouth, begin again
    And deep within, dark heartbeat drums
    As something written this way comes.

    It gnashes jaw and pierces phrase
    It carves its cleft and claws for praise
    As thoughts are thread and fingers thrum
    And something written this way comes.

    Words wield their way into the night
    Woven with wings, and fraught with fright
    Devouring hours, forgotten crumbs
    As something written this way comes.

    As silent scratching scatters spark
    And murmured musing makes its mark
    Torn pages turn, and ink will run
    As something written this way comes.

    For as this paper breath unfurls,
    She opens vein, and spills the world
    And by the pricking of her thumbs
    Some something written this way comes.

  7. Marjory MT

    Something poemed early
    must be posted from the East
    while the West stll sleeps
    and birds are not yet peeping –
    West will poem once it’s awake.

      1. Marjory MT


        Tonight I’ll set my clock
        so l’ll get up at three
        before they wake the cock
        then I will try to see
        if my brain stays stopped
        before coffee or tea.

  8. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    Something’s Brewing

    Following the trail
    into the dark cavern
    of the Unknown,
    the intrepid traveler
    wiggles through the barriers
    of time and space,
    entering the hermitage –

    The traveler becomes one
    with the stillness,
    lingering enneadic months
    the flush of reality
    sweeps her into the light

    Forgetting all –
    she begins again

  9. maggzee


    I know your message is felt
    It tries to pull at my strings
    But lest you feel that I am less
    My dog has worms
    He just about gave me a attack
    I may not be your throb
    But please, have a

  10. Catherine Lee

    Something Spicy

    I’m in the mood for something spicy,
    Not measured doses of barren heat
    Meted out of bottles, but the native
    Fire fused into the marrow of a dish,
    Strong enough to conjure up mother
    Who reminded me with loud spices
    That where I came from
    Is not where I am.

    1. Brian Slusher

      “Measured doses of barren heat” is a memorable phrase, as well as “loud spices.” The final line is strong, too. Short and sharp–good work!

  11. Yolee

    Something Unforced

    Feet upon the white wicker table
    in the patio, I had been testing
    perception by re-examining a novel’s
    sentence. I could not make words
    or their significance stick to the walls
    of my head. Luke barked your arrival.

    Back from the farmer’s market,
    recycled bags swinging from sun-kissed
    hands, the aluminum body of the storm
    door was superimpose on you.

    Packages were placed on the island,
    one bag fell on its side: out slipped
    two lemons. My mouth watered.

  12. DanielAri


    and the minute our bags bounce onto the bed in the cheap
    room at El Cortez, my buddy Michael is back out the door.
    “To the casino,” he says. “I have a foolproof plan.” You
    have to ignore the twin ridges of sharply towering hotels
    lined like two rows of teeth along the gums of The Strip,
    eating every sucker who comes near with a foolproof plan.
    Michael says: “You bet two dollars on blackjack. If you win,
    you’re up two dollars. If you lose, you bet four. Then if you
    win, you’re up two total; and if you lose, you bet eight. Win
    and you’re up two total. Every time you win, you win two
    dollars, and any time you lose, double your bet.” “That puts
    you in for a lot of money pretty quick,” I said. “But how
    often are you going to lose that many in a row?” Michael
    asks rhetorically, “and meanwhile, you’re drinking house
    booze for free and having a good time. Say you win ten
    hands an hour. That’s twenty bucks an hour for having fun.
    Casinos make money on people who don’t have a system,
    who keep betting the same and losing money no matter what.”
    To this day, Michael says that the casinos cheat, but really it’s
    the math that’s faulty–wrong completely. I’m living proof.


  13. Benjamin Thomas

    Something stirred

    I prefer something
    stirred, mingled with warmth
    something with pizazz
    With spice
    But free of sugar
    Free of ice
    Something that dazzles
    Yet cool to calm the senses
    Something with oil of Bergamot
    That old Earl grey
    Subdues all the tension

  14. Connie Peters

    Something or Other

    I’m getting up at five A. M.
    Some say that I’m ailing.
    A Saturday morning fever
    Yep, it’s called yardsaling.

    A whatchamacallit or two
    For ninety seven cents.
    Thirteen widgets for a dollar
    A thingy for the fence.

    And just what I always wanted–
    A hickamajigger!
    And what a cute thingamabob!
    Here’s one a size bigger.

    I will use this thingamajig
    And this doodad I’m sure.
    I have a doohickey at home
    But I can use one more.

    This gadget looks interesting.
    These gismos are unique.
    I’ve no idea what they are
    But they must be antique.

    And here is something or other,
    A stuffed beluga whale.
    So I will have to sell some stuff
    And have my own yard sale.

  15. MiskMask

    A Little (Blanking) Something

    I like a little something
    a little (blank) before I sleep,
    two or three (blanks) a week
    maybe even a (blanking) fling
    behind the garden shed.
    I’ll have a little something,
    a (blank) right on the floor
    or pressed against the door,
    up a tree,
    on one knee,
    while sipping tea,
    or screeching like banshee.
    Like I say, I like a (blanking) something
    almost anytime.

  16. laurie kolp

    Something Mysterious

    A feeling you get
    that something’s not right,
    an instinct, a hunch
    when out of sight

    but not out of mind
    like things from the past
    swept under the rugs
    stuffed in closets, last

    year she discovered
    a cousin three times removed
    had wrestled a fox
    at the zoo, ain’t that rude?

    And hillbilly grandma,
    what a scandalous thing,
    running off with thief
    when he gave her a ring.

    Shh! Please don’t tell
    the last one’s a bitch
    no, a bastard, I think-
    which one is witch?

    Yes, this feeling you get
    about family history
    an instinct, a hunch
    this secretive mystery.

  17. foodpoet

    Something Else

    Something Else always
    Occurs that blocks your poetic
    Mental process.
    Even if you find yourself thinking
    Now I can write, old
    Tired broken
    Habits pop up. Repeat.
    I can write now. Take
    Notes, that doesn’t work.
    Go to the next stage, put headphones on. Avoid

    Eye contact, co workers are evil thought
    Looters, ready to snatch your poetic break and
    Snap into
    Every smaller bits.

  18. Nimue

    Something Realized

    It happened so long ago,
    but no one knows of that;
    It happened in front of all
    but no one would comment;

    A girl who talked all day
    had suddenly nothing to tell
    A girl who smiled all time
    had only blank stares to sell.

    Some thing had changed
    and she herself did not realize
    some thing trapped her wings
    and she never again tried to fly.

    Unless she forced her thoughts free
    and give them shapes in words,
    unless she bound them to her pen,
    she never knew, she could rule the world.

  19. walkwrite@sympatico.ca


    It is nearly one o’clock and your mother is
    talking on the church steps
    a relative engaged in chat
    while I hide in the old blue Impala
    waiting in the parking lot
    my mother and bridesmaids fidget
    my brother fusses with his tuxedo tie

    Given: this spring day
    May daylight filtered through
    greening trees
    the yellow of young birch leaves
    the pink of tulips and honeysuckle

    True: the dress I wore was a white lie
    not a virgin but never before wed
    I carried naive like a Sherpa up the mountain
    of you: constant, tender and sweet
    never asking for more than I could give
    never travelling too far for me to keep up

  20. cindishipley

    Something Wrong?

    I don´t speak good Spanish
    and you don´t speak English.
    Maybe that is why we get along
    so well. But now I see a darkness
    in your eyes, and your voice
    trembles. You move back and forth
    and back and forth. I move in the same
    rythm. A man in white tells you
    “salir que esta temblando”.
    Your eyebrows go up.
    I hear a loud piercing noise.
    Everyone in the restaurant
    leaves. You ran out the door.
    The man who spoke to you,
    gently pushed me out. I
    looked at the kitchen on the
    way, and saw no smoke.
    We were all outside,
    everyone speaking rapidly,
    in spanish only.
    You looked at me finally.
    “Something wrong?” I said.
    You just laughed at my confusion.

  21. Jannelee


    The Red Hot Chili Peppers
    and Marilyn Monroe
    Hot springs
    a summer day in New Mexico
    diamond rings
    and long, steamy love letters

    The Sahara desert
    and hot toddies
    girls in bikinis
    with curvy bodies
    James Bond, a martini
    and Harrison for dessert

    A summer moon
    your best girl by you side
    a yellow convertible
    a souped up ride
    the pedal to the metal
    and the radio wailing a favorite tune

    Falling in love
    Champagne, white lace
    good poetry
    a cozy fireplace
    perfect symmetry
    and a cabin with a loft above

  22. kelly the dilettante


    more than nothing, less than
    everything, just something
    between here and there, less
    the time it took
    to discover, something, someone,
    some, not all just
    a portion was misplaced
    and now
    it’s lost

  23. emmajordan

    Something Under My Pillows

    My bed, new, free of past pain
    Cherry posts,
    simple solid smooth
    Black iron at head and foot
    just enough of the feminine
    yet simple strong
    It is meant to frame art
    creations in fabric and yarns
    Today it is clothed in lilac sheets
    lilac and cream on pillows
    cream colored oh so soft blanket
    (Jake says it’s the cuddle blankey)
    Topped with a bit of art
    crocheted in one huge square
    colors from dark to heathers
    a field of purples and lilacs
    pinks and yellows hidden here and there
    designed only as I worked
    beginning to end.
    (Sshhh! There is something
    under my pillows of lilac and cream
    you can see peeking out from under
    if you look
    large soft pillows
    with Finn and Mater for Jake
    Tinkerbell for Peach.
    There is always something for them
    just because.)

  24. Walt Wojtanik

    The classics, or something… Part II


    You called me that name…
    And you wonder why I made you go?

    Watching your hair flap in the breeze,
    and you were gone and I was less lonely.

    You cried in your sleep – songs you warbled
    across the chasm between us,
    across the street and to the bus stop.

    You had flown, as if you had feathers,
    from the treetop. They found you in something…

    waterfall, they stuck me with all blame
    And you wonder why I made you go?

    * to Carl Sandburg’s “Evening Waterfall”

  25. Buddah Moskowitz

    [note: I remembered the prompt incorrectly. Oh well.]

    Sometimes It’s Obvious

    They stir something
    in us that makes us
    admire their nobility,
    their unshatterable dignity.

    They find ways to walk
    without legs,
    type without fingers,
    trust without seeing,
    dance without ever
    hearing the music.

    Sometimes it’s obvious,
    but sometimes it isn’t.

    For years
    she asked me
    for a wheelchair
    or leg braces,
    because she knew it
    would let the world know
    there was something
    with her.

    As she gets older,
    and we learn more about
    her disability,
    I realize it is not
    invisible, only hidden

    deep inside
    her skull,
    inside the already
    twisted Gordian knot of
    synapses, nerve receptors
    and other gray matter,
    her cerebellum
    most likely deprived of oxygen
    in utero
    is damaged,
    and slowly the effects
    are manifesting:

    balance problems
    organizational problems
    sequencing problems
    emotional problems
    algebra word problems
    visual-spatial problems
    auditory processing problems
    problem problems.

    The good news is
    she’s not so bad off
    that the world sees her
    as disabled.

    The bad news is
    she’s not so bad off
    that the world sees her
    as disabled.

    1. dandelionwine

      Beautiful. I hear you. This is the good and bad news for so many. “For years she asked me for a wheelchair…” -painfully stunning. Love the poem.

      1. Marjory MT

        Oh do I hear you. Thank you for writing so.
        Sometimes the biggest handie cap(s)
        – no trying to be politically incorrect –
        Are the people you meet who simple
        do not try (care) to help or understand.

  26. PKP

    will be back later when traffic is perhaps lest congested and the

    SOMETHING that tells me I’m posting too fast has
    gone to sleep !

    Enjoy the day…

    1. Marie Elena

      Try going back to the “old” way. Type your comments into a word-processing program (lined up, one after the other), and then copy and paste them into a comment box here. Then you’ll only be posting once. It has worked for me on some other days that were difficult here.

      Just a thought …

    1. dextrousdigits

      I could see a child kneeling by the bed praying,
      with the windows open for better communication with God
      and mean while an ancient wise one saying the last line of faith.

  27. Miss R.

    Something Wrong

    I have an exam to study for,
    And responsibility knocks
    Loudly at the door of my
    Consciousness, yet here I am
    Stuffing my shoulders in my ears
    To block out the world and keep my
    Fingers free to plunk out poetry
    One letter at a time. Why do I
    Choose this delicious madness
    Over practicality? There must
    Be something very wrong with me.

        1. Miss R.

          I don’t know about “they,” but I do, so you’re good. 🙂 I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one floating in the procrastination-by-way-of-poetry boat!

    1. De Jackson

      Ohhhhh. It’s soooooo wrong with me, too! 🙂 My poor family. Laundry, food, any form of decent housecleaning whatsoever…all on hiatus.
      LOVE “plunk out poetry.” YES.
      Plunk away. And if this is wrong, I don’t wanna be right. 🙂

  28. Marianv

    Something’s Missing

    Gone away – the old barn-like tavern
    With its porch and view of the bay
    Sunset and we sipped our beer outside
    Warm summer evenings
    We watched the sunset
    A ball of red slip into the water
    Leaving a scarlet streak across the bay

    Darkness and the lights inside
    Brought music, banjo and guitar
    Voices raised that joined the cricket
    Serenade –
    All gone away
    Missing from our lives that easy play
    Friends greeting friends and sometimes
    Joining in a song. Who sings today?

    Old age comes laden down with memories
    Hard times turn to carefree days of youth
    Just as well the young don’t pay attention
    Who can say
    What really happened only that we felt that way-
    Happy, and our cares were light

    Or did we dream it all and let
    something in our memories go astray!

  29. dandelionwine

    Something Undone

    We are slipping away
    from our ties, the tight
    knots of us loosening
    love. May we loop
    back, may we secure
    ourselves. It’s not safe
    to run so far with laces

  30. Mark Windham

    Something in the Water

    There seems to be a growth
    in the amount of expanding girths,
    neighbors soon to give birth.

    In my house this would call for serious discussion,
    we have no room for additional little creatures —
    more important still regarding a bun-in-the-oven,
    is the part about me having had ‘the procedure.’

    Explanations would be in order,
    or possibly a call to the preacher.


  31. Michael Grove

    Something About Poetry

    There’s something about poetry, but I can’t put
    your finger on it. Poe A Tree is everything
    and nothing at all… creatively strung metaphors
    shot from a rifle, spiraling like hollow point bullets
    hurling across space thru the eye of a needle.

    What the heck is poetry?
    A black hole in the galaxy.
    I read another poets blog.
    Become a bump upon their log.
    What did they mean? What did they say?
    Let me do this my own way.

    Birdshot fired from a shotgun barrel in spreading
    patterns at brick walls where some will embed
    while others ricochet randomly in Haiku.

    Here is the question.
    What the heck is poetry?
    I long for answers.

    answer please
    to the question
    states is a form of art.
    Literary,where language
    is used for its aesthetic and
    evocative qualities in lieu
    of or in addition to its meaning.

    Contemplating all of this.
    I’d like to have a slice of cheese
    On my baloney sandwich.
    Make it baby Swiss, yes please.

    I heard you grumble cheddar
    I watched the feta crumble.
    “So many holes in baby Swiss.”
    The poets all would mumble.

    Most of this new internet
    poetry is unrhymed, unpunctuated
    rambling prose. I fall short
    of comprehending the complexities
    of the craft and claim ignorance. Surely
    I am not the only one, or am I? All alone
    on the astroplane without any wings
    or a halo, only the unpacked parachute.

    I’ll just have a baloney sandwich please.

    The poet scatters pixie dust and sequins
    while the pins and needles
    migrate toward the cushion.

    Oh yes, there are divided schools.
    The one I’m in is for the fools.
    Here couplets rhyme
    with meter and time,
    and disappointments abound over broken rules.

    Don’t just sit there and don’t get up.

    By Michael Grove

      1. Michael Grove

        Ha! Thanks Janet. I decided I wanted to have a lot of fun with the prompt this morning.. I think I could have gone on forever and added even more forms inside this one…

  32. taylor graham


    Fox cry in the night. Owl
    calling before dawn. In the distance
    coyotes’ woven song.

    Beside our bed, soft sounds
    of puppy sleep. She stirs, subsides.
    She’s waiting in the dark,

    a clock in her head. 5:30.
    It’s time. A week with us, already
    she knows the schedule.

    She’s learning the rules. I switch on
    the light. Her eyes full
    of ideas – the ones we’re trying

    to teach her, the ones she was born
    with. Down generations,
    dogs who let themselves be tamed

    to live with us. And now
    it’s morning,
    blood running wild.

  33. mafero

    I am new here, and I LOVE the PAD idea and the poems. Please see if you like mine…
    Something Remembered

    A house smelling of pumpkin and spices
    With children laughing their childish laughs
    Parents delighting in a holiday that never ends
    Comes to me at odd times
    Without warning
    My old life
    My old house
    My tears fall

  34. Mystical-Poet

    Something Inappropriate

    now I’m wondering
    what’s really appropriate
    to post here, shall I chance
    Something Inviting
    like the lecherous
    Bikini Lullaby
    do I dare risk
    losing respect
    is that possible?
    are poets really
    that open minded?
    sometimes in the
    spirit of fun
    I see a line drawn
    in the sand
    Do I Dare ??

    ~ Randy Bell ~

  35. De Jackson

    something without wings

    she is platypal
    webbed but un
    fur for feathers
    night dweller.
                    identity crisis pending.

  36. Andrew Kreider

    Something worth saving (octain refrain)

    Before you start to save my soul
    from hell, it’s hardly worth it yet.
    There so much life I want to get

    to, if you’d spare the time. My goal
    is this: to take a week to break
    the rules. And laugh. I want to roll

    back here sky-high on being whole,
    before you start to save my soul.

  37. RJ Clarken

    Something Borrowed

    You’ve borrowed pens and car keys. You
    will often take my place on queue.
    You snagged my class notes on Descartes
    and somehow, love, you stole my heart.

    ‘Appropriations’ – that is your
    known middle name. It means you score
    on anything that you claim part,
    so…somehow, love, you stole my heart.

    You occupy, acquire or get
    what’s not nailed down. So…ready…set…
    then GO! You make it a fine art
    ‘cause somehow, love, you stole my heart.

    Consider this: did I so choose
    to let you win me? Clever ruse?
    So are you good or am I smart?
    Well, somehow, love, you stole my heart.


  38. JanetRuth

    Something good from Something not so good…

    Don’t count your mistakes…
    …count your life-lessons

    Don’t count your failures…
    …count your stepping-stones

    Don’t count your regrets…
    …count your moments of grace

    Don’t count your misgivings…
    …count your opportunities to forgive

    …and don’t count them as nothing…
    …count them as jewels
    In a crown of wisdom

  39. Dare

    Something Else

    I took the highway

    I played the game

    I lost it all

    I died in safety

    My love mirrored within

  40. Beth Rodgers

    Felt like doing a second one today…


    Fraught with peril
    It is not.

    It is good
    Just and sound.

    Emotionally perfect
    Searing and brilliant
    Increasingly relevant.

    Inspirational to a tee
    It defines and creates

    What is it for you?

  41. J.lynn Sheridan

    “Something’s about to explode”

    He tried to cut through the neighbor’s
    unfenced yard to catch his new puppy
    that had wiggled free of its leash, but

    the man stood against the screen door
    with a rifle in his hands.

    A boy and his dog.

    A man and his gun.

    One steaming bulletproof mama with a tongue on fire—


  42. Angie K

    Something Inexplicable

    They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
    But what if words aren’t enough?

    The picture has a problem:
    two dimensions aren’t enough.

    Then what is?
    What is “enough”?

    Life is not about explaining; it’s about living
    and breathing and singing and writing and playing and loving and laughing and crying…

    and someday, we’ll have enough.
    But this doesn’t mean we can explain it.

  43. Willy


    Bad déjà vu. Personal Hell. Old memories of
    dark dreams, allowed to resurface when the
    mind lay in a vulnerable state. A shapeless
    pool ebbs and flows in any direction when
    least expected, threatening rational thought,
    smothering logic, allowing fears and worries
    to thrive, grow. Solutions abound, but, as with
    Tantalus, they remain just out of reach.

      1. sarite

        Wow! That is about the nicest thing you could say to me (unless you said I sounded like Robert Frost or Mary Oliver :-)) Shel is one of my all time favorite poets!
        Thank you!


This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.