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2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 14

For today’s prompt, write a doomsday poem. Some of you may remember the world was supposed to end last year (actually twice last year), but that’s nothing new. Every few years there seems to be a new “end of world” prediction (anyone remember Y2K?). In fact, this year had a movie made after it in relation to the Mayan calendar (btw, my dad is one of those who actually believes in the 2012 doomsday prediction), and there’s a whole industry built around end times preparations. So why not write a poem about it?

Here’s my attempt:

“Tax Day Tanka”

They tried to warn me
(over and over) but I
wouldn’t listen, and
now, I’ll have to suck it up
and pay everything due.


Did somebody say end of the world?

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307 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 14

  1. Jolanta.Stephens

    The day is here
    No amount
    Of preparation
    Can build you confidence
    No knowledge or warning
    Can cease the dropping
    Of your heart into your boots
    When you look at the day
    Circled in red ink
    The day has come
    And you can’t hide
    Parent teacher interview night.

  2. AC Leming

    The Forever War

    Do most marriages end up doomed
    to repeat parents mistakes?
    And do I want to trudge against the tide
    and change how I interact with you?
    When you won’t meet me halfway?
    Are we fated to crash and burn on the platform
    like a North Korean missile?

  3. mschied

    Jailbreak from the Inferno

    They’ve escaped!
    Those tortured souls from down below

    The wretched and the miserable
    the greedy and irascible
    those forced to push a stone uphill
    they’ve gotten out at last

    the devil is beside himself
    Hades is distraught
    Old Screwtape’s gotten rather hearty
    he’s even said he’ll throw a party

    And as for us still left on earth
    it’s rather easy to deduce
    the end of time has come, it’s here
    now that all hell has broken loose

  4. Paoos69


    Don’t they say
    It’s the human way
    To live by deadlines,
    To take action by signs?

    Things just don’t happen
    With the time clock sunken
    Everything needs a timeline
    To click, create and be sublime

    That’s why every so often
    With the timeline open
    There comes a Doomsday threat
    So you can pull up your socks and fret

    Take action and get going
    Something fruitful with their lives start doing
    Every so often it’s a boon in disguise
    For all alike, rich or poor, weathly or wise

  5. ratgirl


    Why do we revisit tragedy with tears,
    Not from pain, but of humility
    In the presence of unfathomable beauty?
    What is it in our nature that draws us
    To the striking perfection of the deadly,
    To the impossibly smooth glossy blackness
    Of the widow spider, the adrenalin bright X
    in red that nearly glows like the bioluminescence
    Of the deepest undersea monsters, the vermillion
    Song that says, “touch me, little one.”
    We forget, somehow, that loss is forever,
    An abrupt cut in the ribbon of time, the rest
    Thrown away, still wound upon the spool.

    Is it the hypnotic desire to know the end
    Of our story? Sucked into the tar like dinosaurs, or
    Snapped and swallowed in the gullet of a crocodile,
    Like the shivering Impala, gone despite all
    Inborn, instinctive caution. Is there
    A Shakespearian drama hiding in the drought?
    When the rain won’t come, we are forced
    To brave the marsh. We march, well aware
    We approach a pool of death, as much as life,
    But we’re born with an insatiable thirst
    That demands relief, a voice louder than self-
    Preservation. Compulsory or just compulsive?
    We’re driven to the river’s edge, and for that
    And that alone, the crocodile lives older than time.
    We willingly crawl into death like a second skin,
    A soft pillow at the end of the relentless daylight.

  6. Marian O'Brien Paul

    Doomsday’s Done

    As I’ve informed my readers,
    (prior to my revelations they
    were unaware they are subjects
    of the Emperor) “Doomsday”
    has already come, “like a thief
    in the night” said my son, and
    it is over. I think that means
    we are living in 1,000 years
    of peace, according to some
    predictions. Still, I must admit
    convincing me is no easy task
    (mea culpa) for the Emperor.
    “Seeing is believing,” I tell him.

  7. Arike


    Hums a mother stirring soup
    Yesterday’s potato peels alright for
    Five children in a graveyard of
    Five billion asphyxiated due to lack
    Of rainforest, abundance of salt water
    Quite exotic, the occassional purple sun
    No worries
    Just don’t ask where the meat’s from

  8. Pat Carroll Marcantel

    Shakespeare Dreamed One More Sonnet (tanka)

    My world ended last

    year when they could not bring you

    back. I heard stars fall

    from the sky and as I wept,

    Shakespeare dreamed one more sonnet.

    Pat Carroll Marcantel

  9. Caren

    Trust Me

    In the name of all that’s quite insane
    I come to you today,
    To say the planet’s final hours
    Are only days away!

    But don’t be worried, I’ve a plan
    To keep you safe and whole.
    I guarantee that you’ll be fine;
    You’re welfare is my goal.

    There’s just a little detail first
    To secure your life to be;
    Just gather up your valuables,
    And ship them all to me.

    I know you’re thinking, “What a scam!”
    But trust me, I know best!
    Do you really want to take a chance,
    And be lost with all the rest?

    Just close your eyes and sit right down,
    There’s nothing more to see
    And while you wait for your new life,
    Tahiti waits for me!

    Caren E. Salas

  10. Tanjamaltija

    The End

    Rainbow dreams dissolve into a murky mess
    Candles of new hope melt into congealed mounds of naught.
    Flames of passion stabbed to death with icicles of apathy
    And yesterday’s looks of love are today’s empty gazes.
    Hands once so warm no longer cherish
    And snatched moments of love, no longer sought.

  11. David Yockel Jr.

    Take a Number

    The end of the world would really be
    a mixed bag. Sure you wouldn’t have to
    pay back those school loans or spend
    an hour shoveling your car out of the driveway

    in the morning. No more awkward dinners
    with your in-laws or back-breaking yard
    maintenance. No more flat tires, faulty
    air-conditioners, roosters, or alimony.

    And, whether it’s fire or ice, it sure will be
    something. We could skate across the great lakes

    or picnic under a dry and radiant, red sun.
    But, when it’s finally over, that line
    at the pearly gates will be worse

    than an L.A. Department of Motor Vehicles,
    filled with a sweaty, salty congregation sitting

    in rows and rows of donated pews.

  12. foodpoet


    Doomsday in the digital age,
    Once we would come together bound by family
    Once we would come together bound by clan, land, country, now
    Monitors, bites bytes and data plans rule the world.
    Sign up, sign in, sign out.
    Digital pets can outlive us.
    All is available on-line,
    Yet in the wings, solar flares disrupt.

  13. Jaywig

    Day 14 – doomsday

    What will they think of next?
    And why? I watch the ants swarm
    and small birds fly
    like arrows into the trees’ eyes.
    Once there were dinosaurs
    giants of the forests. Upheaval,
    ice, foreign bodies did them in.
    Those birds their reincarnation.
    And will we, big-headed,
    pig-headed, sometimes
    two-headed, return, shrunken,
    stamping our feet
    (as we do) at the unfairness
    of life, at whoever makes us
    begin … again!!

  14. maxie2


    yours comes the moment
    beliefs are negotiated
    to earn a dollar

    implosions start
    with the concession
    that beauty is useless
    unless sold

    the exchange of dignity
    for jewels or fame
    or a name
    reflecting all that you are not

    will be forgot
    when all your righteous
    pretense explodes

  15. po

    desert days

    the lone yucca
    cactus greets the
    morning sun
    with the accordian
    white sand

    in the distance
    the blue sky
    goes on forever
    but it is December
    2012 and according
    to an ancient Mayan

    calendar we’re about
    to fly off the planet

  16. Melissa Hager


    It is hard to create
    doomsday images
    when it’s a gorgeous day
    in Asheville.
    Bride is gussying up
    for the show.
    Her mother is glowing
    even in her texts to me
    as they finish hair and makeup.
    I sit in a Thai restaurant
    writing this poem as
    my kids are busking
    on the corner outside.
    We are in our element.
    If the end of days is here,
    we’ll die knowing
    our last day on earth
    was a blessed one.

  17. Khara H.

    The song they sung

    We must take the children back to the woods.
    Too long we tilled this soil to loose
    our harvest from these swollen hands, these palms
    rolled smooth and warm with summer breezes.

    We got they cinnamon hearts suckled in our own bones,
    so we must take them back to the woods.

    We must dip gourd hollows deep into the water,
    drink long and memorize they faces.

    Wrap them up in burlap, honey—tuck them in
    some fresh warm buns and cheese round whiter
    than they bones. Take them out, take them out,
    take them deep into the woods—

    and let them wander where the ravens go.

    Cross the river, sweetness, cross the stream.
    Taste freedom with your toes and breathe deep.
    Take them, lord have mercy, take them,
    back down into the woods.

    For it is reaping day.

  18. ceeess

    14 line Doomsday Sonnet of Whimper and Bang

    This is the way the world ends/Not with a bang but a whimper.
    – T.S. Eliot The Hollow Men

    A whimper of hail, fire, blood, horses.
    The white. the red. the black. the pale.
    A meditational shatter of rapture, its undimmed variations.
    Carpe diem. read Nostradamus. Revelations. Mayan quarterly.
    Aquarius pours knowledge into a virtual jug. quench.
    The Age of Pisces ends. bang. Mayan wisdom. 3114 B.C.
    (The Spanish churched them into catholics & whimper)
    Hotel rooms in the Maya region? No room at the inn.

    Whimpering world_end a smash of asteroid. A perturbation of orbit and bang.
    Hadron Collider creates microscopic black holes.
    Hypothetical. strangelets. an instant swallow.
    The speeding universe inhales every 25,000 years.
    Thinking end of world? message: the world will/will not end.
    This would mean nothing. Or the Green Party could win a majority.

    Carol A. Stephen
    April 14, 2012

  19. deringer1


    Every day is doomsday
    for someone.

    the body buried in rubble
    left by a bomb

    the teenager crushed in the wreck
    of his speeding car

    the young mother told she has
    an incurable cancer

    the military wife opening her door
    to a chaplain

    and me, of course,
    the day you said goodbye.

  20. Jane Beal - sanctuarypoet.net

    “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse”

    I came to the words, and I saw brightly
    White Horse and his victorious rider!
    I saw his yew-bow and his shining crown—
    I saw he came to conquer the whole earth.

    Our father moves through dooms of love

    I saw Red Horse and his robber-rider,
    who comes to steal all peace from the good earth.
    I saw his upraised sword, flashing and keen,
    and men slaying one another all day.

    Our father moves through dooms of love

    I saw Black Horse and his rider, a judge,
    with uplifted scales, imbalanced, in hand,
    declaring devastation to the wheat—
    high prices to the poor but wine for the rich!

    Our father moves through dooms of love

    I saw Pale Horse, and his rider’s name
    was Death. From him flowed famine, pestilence,
    death by the sword and the rage of wild beasts,
    crying out for the blood of unborn babes.

    Our father moves through dooms of love

    O Michael! Gabriel! Raphael and
    Uriel! Bring your mighty winds to blow
    from the four corners of the universe
    on our hearts in fear of the Last Judgement—

    that we might turn, and pray, and heal before
    the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

    Jane Beal

  21. tunesmiff


    It won’t matter,
    If the earth stops turning,
    It won’t matter,
    If the sun stops burning,
    It won’t matter,
    If the stars fall from the sky,
    ‘Cause my world ended when
    You said, “Good-bye.”

    It won’t matter,
    If the birds stop singing,
    It won’t matter,
    If the bells stop ringing,
    It won’t matter,
    If the rivers run dry,
    ‘Cause my world ended when
    You said, “Good-bye.”

    There are folks,
    Who won’t agree;
    But it’s plain,
    That they don’t see,
    Just how lonesome,
    I can be,
    Since you said,
    Good-bye to me.

    It won’t matter,
    If the mountains crumble,
    It won’t matter,
    If the thunder won’t rumble,
    It won’t matter,
    If the the tides run high,
    ‘Cause my world ended when
    You said, “Good-bye.”

    There are folks,
    Who won’t agree;
    But it’s plain,
    That they don’t see,
    Just how lonesome,
    I can be,
    Since you said,
    Good-bye to me.

    It won’t matter,
    If the wind stops blowing,
    It won’t matter,
    If the grass stops growing,
    It won’t matter,
    If I ask Why? Why? Why?
    ‘Cause my world ended when
    You said, “Good-bye.”

    Yeah, my world ended when you said

  22. randalljweiss

    “Sundays in Oklahoma”

    I had a sip of wine at church, but
    the Rector wouldn’t tilt the chalice enough.
    I fired up the grill in the afternoon, immediately
    craving an ice cold brew. Then I recalled
    the date–Sunday. Only 3-point on the shelves
    at the corner store. Package stores shut
    for the holy day. Whole in my day.

  23. cstewart


    The end is always the beginning.
    If we could only remember that
    Everything would be a lot easier,
    But we hold on to everything,
    Like it was all we will ever have.

    Then it is all we have.

  24. hurtin-heart

    So many predictions of the end of the world!
    Some have passed and some have yet to come.
    Many believe these predictions to come true,
    The beliefs of fools.
    I believe no one will know of his coming
    Until they hear the trumpet sounding.
    And like a thief in the night
    God’s children will take flight.
    Many in the last days will be decieved
    And their will be gnawing and gnashing of the teeth.
    Yet the prophesies in the bible must be fulfilled.
    and many know not that the antichrist may already be here.
    For they are blinded by his disquise.
    His mouth is a sword,yet words spews out like honey.
    Some even call him messiah,for he has great power.
    you must get your bible out and begin to read and pray,
    For their will be no doubt when all eyes are upon the
    messiah on doomsday.

  25. cstewart

    Portending/Pretending End of the World Poem

    Life’s burdensome
    Criteria, Some laughter,
    License, and loving,
    Worlds apart and away,
    Disburse, hello universe.

  26. Iain Douglas Kemp

    Dear Moosehead,
    Ha! 5 – 0!!! On opening day at that!
    It’s doom and gloom in the As bullpen
    and in the dugout too! Rejoice at their demise,
    amigo. Dance and sing and glory in the
    death-knell that sounds for wandering Angels.
    Harpies out-of-town & I couldn’t be less gloomy,
    less contemplating the doom of man – just
    rollin’ with the tide smiling like a Cheshire cat.
    Pick ya up at 12 – I stand the dogs and beer.

    Yours doomed to happiness and joy
    Ringo the Howler

  27. Iain Douglas Kemp

    The End is Nigh

    They worked it out
    with so much care
    and so much skill
    and carved it in stone
    to remain for all time
    or at least the time that remained…

    …The Mayan scholars didn’t account
    for a Roman General who saw time
    in a slightly different way
    Julius Caesar (for it was he)
    saw that the calendar was incorrect
    and two months were added for balance
    and then
    in a stroke of genius
    the leap year that would keep us all in check
    every fourth year

    They worked it out
    with so much care
    and so much skill
    and carved it in stone
    to remain for all time
    and predicted that
    (leap years included)
    that the world would end
    eight months and 3 days ago
    (more or less),
    on a Tuesday at about 3:15p.m…

    …the end is nigh,
    just not quite
    as nigh as we thought!


  28. gtabasso


    The end of the world has come so many times
    that she has stopped believing —
    dad’s leather strap across the ass
    until blisters filled with blood;
    virginity lost to a man who said
    she looked like she had a baby at 16
    and legs like treestumps
    because she couldn’t feel his penis;
    drunk and raped buy a guy
    who offered her a ride home;
    a fiance who moved out on St. Patty’s Day
    while she was at work
    and another with a DUI, another addicted
    to drugs, women, self-destruction,
    and so on;
    a hemoglobin count of three
    at age 32 with bone marrow biopsies,
    spinal tap, transfusions;
    house flooded from a water line break
    job lost after an accident
    that crippled her for six weeks.

    Yet, she is here. Alone.
    The last one left on earth.
    Alive and together.
    You cannot scare her anymore.

  29. Katrin

    For some, it’s the final glare
    of Last Light

    For others, it’s the day
    when Honey-Ginger lipstick colour
    is discontinued

    But today,
    it’s just a few puzzle pieces
    of last chances
    –swim before the logrolling
    championships take over the pool
    –remember it’s milk-pickup day before
    the farmer/bike mechanic takes the
    unclaimed jars back to the farm
    –kiss the kids before they spill off into
    their busy days
    –pick up opera music TODAY
    so I’m not sight-reading under the
    conductor’s nose.

    Doomsday’s a relative word, nowadays,
    with its spandex wardrobe,
    isn’t it?

  30. Margot Suydam

    May Day

    Flowers will bloom, bulge the empyrean
    blue, stitching peaceful threads in day glow glide
    as if to charm youths in tattered denim
    marching tall steps with hope to stem the tide
    of past-time war-time rack and ruin. Still calls
    for help are unheard amidst slippery
    dins of piratic planks and gunner walls,
    all power tilted, a spent battery.
    But still we scrub our faces clean, awake
    blossoms that are nothing more than hope
    parade with banners tucked at armpits gate,
    a chance spring gloves clean white as soap
    Breathe we always hold, what remains at stake
    a promise of may or may not: We wait.

  31. Michele Brenton


    There is no moment I can find
    unravelling the tangle
    following the threads
    digging through the dirt
    and mess
    and bleeding.

    No point where I could have
    seen the harm
    seen the failure
    hiding behind sunshine
    poised like a spider
    measuring each trembling
    silken event
    to determine
    when best to deal the killing blow,
    dripping venom along pathways,
    entering my soul,
    withering and blackening,
    shrivelling, ensuring
    there could be no renewal.

    As my eyes dry up and my tongue cleaves
    to my mouth
    I have no tears, no words.
    My skin cracks,
    My heart bursts
    and death is a kindness
    with soothing songs
    endless sleep
    and no more dreams.

    The spider feeds.

  32. cam45237

    Syrian soldiers shoot syrian rebels
    Women and children first

    Homes are worthless so its worth
    Less to have a home

    Nuclear muscles flex
    in the name of science
    While nuclear muscles
    err on the side of caution

    An honest man cant have an honest wage
    He may be honored by a single bill
    Or plug his pocket
    With a nickel

    Spain in turmoil
    Greece in tears
    And the coliseum crumbles

    We are still by race divided
    By finances defined

    Doom doom doom doom doom
    From the darkest depths
    The balrog rises

  33. Christod

    Love: reanimated

    If I could touch the void inside
    Myself, I would tell you it’s yours:
    You’ve had it violently tucked
    Away since the time you cracked
    My head open for it’s yolk

    Oh I am yours: heart, brain
    And the sweet rope of intestines
    As long as we both have limbs.

  34. Benjamin Thomas

    The Time will Come

    The end is near
    at the doors
    the end of life
    as we know it
    the end of strife
    as we show it
    the end is near
    for the proud
    the low, the naughty
    the time will arise
    for the humble
    arrogant, the haughty
    the time will come
    and the sun will shine
    with rays of healing
    in His wings
    these are true words

  35. LCaramanna

    Doomed: Not An Option

    Sleepless nights –
    assaults on golden slumbers.
    Raging madness of reality,
    brutally brandishing an obstacle,
    intent on destroying my dreams.
    Sleepless nights –
    not an option,
    the victory will be mine.
    Conquer reality
    with dreams come true.
    Without my dreams,
    I am doomed.

  36. posmic

    A Shattering

    I was on the train
    when it happened.

    There was not so much
    a jolt as a shattering,
    as we all disintegrated,
    went back to where
    we came from.

    I was on my way home from
    the thrift store; I suppose
    the clothes tried first to go
    back to previous owners,

    but by now it must be
    that cotton has returned
    to cotton fields, rayon
    to the forest, polyester
    to an oil rig somewhere
    offshore; but there is

    no more shore, no forest
    or field—not that I can see
    from wherever it is I am.

    The pieces of myself
    still talk to each other.
    The language of cells
    still works, I guess,
    though maybe that
    will fall apart next.

  37. Catherine Lee


    1. The cracked violin you gave me on my last birthday.
    2. Your faded blue tee shirt that I still sleep in.
    3. The ring that promised this day would never come.

    This is what I took from our house because the home
    That actually burned was built with the mortar of years
    And my hands could not touch the ashes left in that fire.

    I only took the things I could hold with two hands.
    I should have known that dreams were too big to wrap
    In newspaper and throw into the bag with my clothes.

    The objects in the backseat scratch at my periphery
    But each glance in the mirror shows that you were never
    As close as you appeared and I am just a pillar of salt.

  38. Sara McNulty

    Look Your Best

    When Doomsday arrives
    her hair shines,
    kohl-lined eyes,
    lips glossed`cause you never know
    who might still see her.

    If everyone goes
    at the same
    second of time
    then who cares how they look?
    Well, you never know.

  39. Buddah Moskowitz

    The End of the World

    It’s Saturday.

    I slept in late,
    checked the prompt.

    Then life
    just buffalo’ed in
    like it tends to do
    and I realize that
    if I don’t write a poem
    it won’t be
    the end of the world,

    best not to chance it.

  40. Michael Grove

    Probably Wrong

    They’re probably wrong
    but what if they’re right?
    I’m too strong to quit
    and too weak to fight.

    The world may not end
    while I am still here.
    So, I will stand tall
    with hope and not fear.

    I’ll write a new poem
    and put it to song.
    Then sing it for you.
    They’re probably wrong.

    By Michael Grove

  41. Dan Collins

    Age of the Jaguar

    we peel the skin off
    a man, or pull out
    his heart for the heart
    of heaven, for the smoking
    mirror, for the five ages
    of light from beside
    the sea. We who come
    from across the water,
    from under the stars,
    have waited again
    for a feathered god –
    twenty days each
    sixteen times fifty-two
    twenty-six thousand
    years; and around
    the very edge –
    red-eyed serpents
    of fire squeeze the world
    into dreaming just
    before they devoure it.

    1. Dan Collins

      Age of the Jaguar

      Sometimes we peel
      the skin off a man,
      or pull out his heart
      for the heart of heaven,
      for the smoking
      mirror, for the ages
      of light from beside
      the sea. We who come
      from across the water,
      from under the stars,
      have waited these
      five suns in all their
      glory. We have waited
      for our feathered
      god again – twenty days
      each sixteen times
      fifty-two, twenty-six
      thousand years;
      and around the edge –
      red-eyed fire-serpents
      squeeze the world
      into dreaming just
      before they devour it.

  42. deedeekm

    The End

    bible thumping, fist pumping
    warning signs are everywhere
    children hungry, dirty laundry
    politikers say they care
    people jobless, even homeless
    healthcare pockets, full dockets
    we’re all part of the machine
    fueled by greed, cross palms with green
    seems like it all would go on
    even if we were all gone
    stiff necked people, don’t pretend
    could be tomorrow…
    the end

  43. Sally Jadlow

    Doomsday Poem


    Every few years we hear the predictions,
    the same tune with different inflections.

    One claims this way and another that,
    how the world will end; we’ll all go splat.

    In truth, they’ll be one, but not caused by global warming,
    Mayan calendars, and such; but a cataclysmic storming,

    followed by a day to judge the living and dead by God,
    attended my every person who walked earth’s sod.

    God’s sheep will go one way, the goats another.
    Become God’s lamb; receive Jesus as your brother.

  44. HannaAnna

    At Last He’s Here

    The end is finally here
    The end of work
    The end of school
    The end of- “How will I pay the bills?”

    The end of too cold… too hot…
    The end of sickness… disease… suffering…
    The end of pain… loss… devastation…
    The end of death

    And he is here
    Life eternal
    His Second Coming
    Joyful for some, Torment for others
    My Savior and yours
    Jesus Christ… Finally… He is here

  45. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    The End Foretold

    We waited on a high hill
    in a house with plate glass floor-to-ceiling windows
    looking straight across at the mountain.

    There were maybe twenty of us.
    Three days of meditation and feasting.
    And when I say meditation, I mean
    laughing meditation, crying meditation,
    singing and dancing and breathing meditation,
    and trance-like healing sessions too.

    My friend Karen (who died five years later
    but we didn’t know then)
    stood like an angel with arms outstretched,
    holding the energy for others to heal.

    My friend Kay, who shares with me
    Nepal and Peru as well as this home Caldera,
    talked with me over lunch. We explored
    garden and forest, walking together.

    On the last night, we all lit red candles
    from one given by the Buddhist monks —
    and that was from one originally lit
    by the Dalai Lama. All that energy handed on,
    rekindled over and over, that molten light.
    They are candles for peace, we said.

    We watched the dawn. The Y2K bug
    wasn’t real, though we had slightly wondered.
    The millennium arrived. We rejoiced.


    Later, of course, the new century
    astonished us all with terrors
    we hadn’t imagined. One by one the predictions
    are coming true. Are we moving towards
    the end of the world — again — or the Golden Age?

  46. drwasy


    After the wolves killed the sheep, then the children
    I fled the backcountry; without cricket and tree frog song
    the silence grew too deep.

    I packed light: food for a lifetime, clothes and boots,
    all the guns, a photo of my love, sewn into the pocket
    over my heart, the audio of our poetry.

    On the last night, I siphoned 30 gallons of ethanol to power
    the ATV and sloshed the rest around the cabin, the shed,
    the still. The timber flared with a loud wumph.

    Wolves gathered, their low snarls trailed me as I drove
    from the forest, the evening star obscured by smoke.
    It took three days to reach the City.

    From the tower I watched the horizon, the tinny pop of guns
    from the resistance punctuated the low whine of advancing tanks.
    For some reason, these noises comforted me.

    In a prose-y kind of mood. Peace…

  47. eljulia


    If I knew there’d be no tomorrow
    what would matter today
    would I count my disappointments
    or count calories for the day
    would I worry about the dishes
    of wearing comfortable yet stylish shoes
    I hope I’d be barefoot in the garden,
    eating chocolate, and laughing with you.

  48. PSC in CT

    Collateral Damage

    Programmed for self preservation
    she possesses strong
    survival instincts and human-
    (un)kind is peripheral to her plans

    Despite her seemingly frail biology,
    she will eventually prevail,
    her ecology, far more
    powerful than it appears

    Practicing natural selection
    with beguiling flair, she fools us
    into believing we lead this pas de deux
    while she choreographs our swan song

  49. Kendall A. Bell

    Hurricane disaster 2011

    The night before, the fire department came by,
    handed out fliers asking everyone to evacute,
    offered shelter at a church, but told us that
    our dog would have to stay behind.
    We stayed.

    We sat in our house and watched weather updates
    flash across our television screen, peeked
    through the curtains to see a barrage of rain
    soaking the streets. The wind blew some things
    around, pushed another beat up, already weather
    damaged shingle off the roof of our flimsy shed.

    The power flickered once, went out for a flash
    and then returned. It didn’t even interrupt our
    internet connection, which was notoriously quirky.

    The next day, we walked down towards the creek to
    see if anything was damaged or displaced. Nothing.
    There was some water that spilled over into the
    street that remained. Some branches that had been
    knocked off sturdy trees along the riverbank.

    We were glad we didn’t leave the dog behind over
    another media driven disaster that didn’t happen.

  50. JRSimmang

    His blood shot eyes
    blood soaked tee
    blood red anger
    mixed with whisky on his breath
    disguising his true insecurities
    as he dances in between the sandwich board
    cutouts claiming the end it near.

    He doesn’t believe it has come so soon.
    This firmament, he laments,
    this unhallowed ground,
    bred a wife and three sons.
    This terra firma, he regrets,
    this solid ground,
    bred a simple life and simple joys.
    His feet, shoed in sloppy drags,
    danced in a fever to halt the
    heavens from falling.

    But his hale warnings, his plea bargains,
    fall on deaf ears.
    Passers-by in their trenches
    and entrenched in themselves
    snuff out cigarettes on his pallid expression.
    Gum on thier soles,
    coffees in hands,
    speaking conversations to imaginary men,
    simply trot on by as he

    His wife was somewhere,
    somewhere with his three sons,
    somewhere the world would be.
    The end is near,
    he has to believe.
    The end is near,
    he has to repeat.
    His simple joys had to be somewhere.

    And out here, on the street,
    his sign dancing his warning.
    “The end is near,
    for you, for me, for all of us.”
    As he looks to the sky,
    he wishes and hopes
    the end is certainly near.

  51. Jannelee

    The night was innocent
    And ripe with promise
    He showered and shaved,
    put on his best dress shirt
    Placing his hat carefully
    on his freshly combed hair
    he lowered his head
    and gave the old mirror
    his most beguiling look
    His fingers slid round the brim
    and snapped the tip
    then he stepped out
    into the balmy night air
    The old pick-up sputtered to life
    He could already hear the music
    the remembered notes
    She’d be there tonight
    It was over, the final decree
    that said she was blissfully free
    He waited for and hour
    that rolled into two, then three
    fear tore at his heart
    sweat broke out on his brow
    he remembered the rage,
    helpless as he held her hand
    while she told of abuse
    fear pushed him to the door
    the night was dark and starless
    as he raced the silent street
    red lights had no meaning
    he smoked his tires to a stop
    the ring of the pistol shot
    stopped him cold
    but the terrified scream
    melted his frozen muscles
    she stood over him, gun in hand
    he lay in a pool of red
    to save her from the awful shame
    he gladly took the blame
    dressed demurely,she came to the trial
    laid her hand on the bible,
    and swore an oath
    but the teary story she swore was true
    sealed his doom and broke his heart
    she looked his way as she stood
    a tear ran down on her cheek
    but the truth was in her eyes
    he would pay with his life
    for the woman he loved
    and wanted for his wife

  52. Andrea B


    She woke
    under pressure,
    washing the dishes
    when you have to pee

    She peels off the cover,
    hip pop is her new

    She steers clear
    the reflective shower door.
    Fat eyeliner-lipliner graffiti
    covers years of vandalism.
    She addresses a wardrobe
    organized to settle
    social disruption.

    On the downstairs,
    she confesses
    new choices—
    hand cream
    over ice cream,
    buy catnip,
    sell short, cat-
    call-buying skirts.

    She confronts
    the roses on the
    skipping-breakfast table,
    and takes on their
    birthday wish.

  53. Sara McNulty

    April 14, 2012 – Day 14
    Write a Doomsday poem

    Rocking To Heaven (a terza rima)

    He rocks back and forth on his glider, eyes glazed
    to aid his muddled mind, cloud reality
    in a malleable shape of ending days,

    pondering as we all do, about unknown
    spheres where pioneers have blazed a trail before us.
    Tightly curled, the knowledge that his time has grown

    short, soon to abort the pleasures of this world,
    in which he feels content with the life he’s led,
    to a tranquil transition, as his kite unfurls.

    So we talk, and chalk up lists of fun times had,
    long-time friends, hoping to lessen the sadness.

  54. Sharon

    Give it a Try

    Doom and gloom
    Didn’t hang the moon
    Or put the stars in the sky.

    Don’t bother me with doomsday talk
    Don’t say it, just take a walk.
    Facts tell me why

    Each day is true
    Whether grey or blue.
    Get up! Give life a try!

    Though kicked in the shin
    You’re bound to win
    If you don’t sit around and cry.

  55. Mr. Walker

    Doomsday Preparation

    when the rebellion is over
    and those who would save us
    have been exiled by our petulant leaders,
    armed with their dubious rationales,

    when our culture is in ruins,
    the land a scar, the rebels
    billows of ash and dust,
    the grid gone, the fuses worthless,

    I will dart for my underground shelter,
    latch the lead-lined doors,
    and surround myself with the metallic
    staccato of my typewriter

    and write a poem before I die

    / / /

    Full disclosure: this is a poem I wrote in February to Wordle 42 at The Sunday Whirl.


  56. taylor graham


    Iva Grey, formed of the very cement
    of this place, and almost as old as Noah’s wife,
    believes the end will come

    when Dover Mountain is no more.
    The cement company worked on that
    for a long time. What’s left of the mountain

    stands like a half-bulldozed Ararat.
    Iva Grey’s son-in-law, out of work
    since the plant shut down, let the bank foreclose

    on his home. Who needs a house
    after the world ends? Cement-works gone,
    wind and rain will have their say.

    The half-mountain stands, a stub
    on the horizon, monument to what man does.
    Standing as long as the world stands.

  57. Bruce Niedt

    Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a sonnet. So here’s my doomsday sonnet:

    Sonnet 2012
    after Shakespeare

    Shall I compare you to the End of Days?
    You are much safer and predictable
    than cataclysm that the Mayans say
    will come December of this year. I will
    not buy this, can’t believe your grace would die
    in conflagration, earthquake, hurricane,
    your smile erased by some tsunami’s tide,
    your spirit melted in monsoon-like rain.
    But still, there is that chance they got it right,
    and this may be our last year on this earth,
    so let’s abandon hope and dance all night,
    and if there’s sunrise, watch for all it’s worth.
    So long as I can breathe and I can see,
    I’ll thank the world for your good company.

  58. Janet Rice Carnahan


    I guess if the world is ending,
    I’d better wrap it up!
    No more cards need sending,
    Less coffee in the cup!
    Will let the garden grow wild,
    No need to trim the plants,
    Stop perfecting each child,
    Or sewing up their pants,
    Why organize the house now,
    Get anything in order,
    If it’s going to end anyhow,
    Why not grossly trespass and loiter,
    Should I even plan the summer?
    Or hope for a pleasant spring,
    Really, it’s ending . . . bummer!
    Yet the birds still sing!
    Why hasn’t someone told them to stop soon?
    Their time is drawing near,
    Wolves howling at the full moon,
    Should both let go to fear!
    Someone must tell the children,
    To stop the laughing right out loud,
    If the world will stop, say when,
    Forget parades, parks any joyful crowd,
    Let’s see what have I missed,
    If doomsday’s around the bend,
    Guess I can stop the “To Do” list,
    Clearly it’s . . .

    The End!

        1. Janet Rice Carnahan

          Thank you, lionmother and Mike! Sometimes really serious topics need a bit of humor! Guess it brings some kind of balance! Thanks for stopping by and commenting! :)

  59. JanetRuth


    We acquire the art
    To close our minds
    To things we do not want to hear
    But God has said
    ‘Every eye shall see’
    In that moment when He will appear
    ‘Every knee shall bow
    Every tongue confess
    As stars rain upon the sod
    And we see Him
    The great I AM
    Behold; the one true God

    They call it Doomsday
    Ominous connotation
    But for salvation


    It must have felt like Doomsday…

    *“God himself couldn’t
    Sink the Titanic’ he said,
    I guess he was wrong

    *Walter Lord attributes it to a ‘deck hand’ at Southampton on April 10th 1912. He allegedly said it to Mrs Sylvia Caldwell, a second class passenger. See page 73 of the illustrated version of A Night to Remember.


    Doomsday at last
    Everyone relaxes…
    …no more death
    and no more taxes!

  60. Marcia Gaye

    No Need To Panic

    My crazy wacky heartbeat
    takes to heart each day’s conceit,
    It worries and it frets
    until overwhelmed, forgets
    to beat at all.
    Then suddenly it quakes to life
    and fibrillates in panicked strife
    of its own making.
    The doctor cancelled medication
    that for years gave regulation,
    and assures me this is not
    a doomsday situation.
    So when my heartbeat stutters
    and then goes all a-flutters,
    I just take a breath and smile.
    I’ll still be around awhile.

  61. maggzee

    The End

    The end is coming
    So what should I wear?
    What shoes are appropriate?
    What style of hair?

    I should just stop my diet
    Now dessert isn’t sinning
    But still, in the end
    I can wear something slimming

    We’ll gather the kids
    With some nice candle lighting
    Do you think the end of the world
    Will keep them from fighting?

    Some folks will worry
    About the message they send
    But what matters to me
    Is to look good in the end.

  62. Imaginalchemy


    If I could decide how the world would end
    I would at least be nice about it…

    A worldwide flood of chocolate rain
    A solar flare that makes the earth smell like cake
    An erupting volcano that coats us all in mac n’ cheese
    Pizza bombs and atomic calzones
    An ice age of ice cream
    An earthquake of milkshakes
    Tornados of cotton candy
    Meteors of donuts and danishes

    …I think I need to go eat lunch.

  63. Mike Bayles


    I have one hour left
    to write one more poem
    before the world ends.
    The sky overhead
    has taken on a strange color
    of some kind of yellow or red,
    some kind of color
    the world has not seen.
    I look for the right metaphor
    to express the kind of feeling,
    I’m kind of feeling,
    death now?
    But why can’t I believe
    the predictions made
    by the best scientists
    and fortune tellers to behold?
    Why is there so much to do
    before the final rest
    and the end of time?
    Why isn’t this moment
    any different from the others?
    I try to squeeze my words
    in the time left for me
    while cursed by
    deadline, deadline, deadlines,
    and I almost forgot,
    my library book is overdue.

  64. Lana Walker

    December 21, 2012 in Prophecy!

    Been there, done that
    never comes to pass

    Such a strange brain
    we have
    wild ‘n weird gray mass

    Will it be the end
    this year
    Who can really say

    So live and let live
    and come what may

  65. Domino

    It’s Not the End of the World, Anyway

    Someone pointed out to me,
    not so very long ago,
    that people always talk about
    the way doomsday will go.

    The bombs will drop on everyone
    in cities large and small
    or maybe the Aztecs had it right
    and one day is the last of all.

    Zombies may take over soon and
    crave our living brains.
    (Of course the vegetarian ones
    will only want our grains.)

    Perhaps some careless scientists will
    drop an harmful vial,
    of something deadly potent
    dooming us to non-survival.

    Maybe the earth will turn on us
    it’s most annoying creature
    And swallow us up en masse one day
    to be a compost feature.

    Or maybe some religious nut
    has found the truth more dire
    And the unfaithful left behind
    will die in lakes of fire.

    And as I contemplate the end of
    all of our existence.
    And think that the ending of the world
    will stop our mad persistence

    that we’re the most important ones,
    the ones that run the earth
    and that no matter what we do
    we deserve that berth.

    When in all actuality
    if the people were gone forever
    the earth would just keep on going
    no end of the world whatsoever.

  66. Linda Voit


    A brilliant weapon wielded by some
    to gather fortune from others’ fear,
    it fastens to the tongue and spews
    fiery bullets toward hearts carrying visions
    of eternal gnashing and unbearable heat
    so that they can’t help but open
    their purses to ensure they are lifted
    above all this and above the poor souls
    who don’t get it.

    I remember my Grandma saying
    if she had known ahead of time
    how both of her daughters were going to die
    ahead of her, and suddenly, in car accidents
    she would have probably gone crazy
    and their lives together
    would not have been the happy
    lives they were.

    Carry on. You and everyone you know
    and love and everyone else on earth
    are going to die in fits of famine, disease,
    and catastrophic catastrophe any day now
    or on the specific day I foretell.
    Let me help you be ready to float
    above it all. It may make you feel a little crazy,
    but you need to think about this
    and with a little monetary support
    I can help you and others understand.
    You do care about others, don’t you?

    Doomsday – repent or die
    birds peck breadcrumbs in the shade
    of his cardboard sign.

    Linda Voit

  67. Arrvada

    The End

    The world is going to end one day
    Perhaps in a hail of fire from the Almighty
    Through volcanos, earthquakes, floods
    Through violence, pestilence and plague
    Through the Rapture or Global Warming
    Through Zombies or worse, not sure what
    But is that really the great fear
    That the world will end or is it
    That it will not?
    The world will end,
    But long after the human race has ceased
    After life and beings have evolved,
    Lived and gone extinct
    Someday the world will end
    When the sun has reached its final age
    Grown fat and red and giant
    It will envelope the world
    Destroying all the planets in it’s orbit
    A brilliant display until nothing is left
    But star dust and from the swirling mass
    Of debris and energy the cycle will begin

  68. ely the eel

    After the Apocalypse

    After the Apocalypse,
    the skinny people will die first,
    the Nutrasystem people,
    the Weight Watchers and joggers.
    After Armageddon,
    it won’t be all bad.
    There’ll be no more ads
    for breast augmentation,
    e-mails for penis enlargement,
    no calls for dental implants, or
    teeth whitening.
    Cataclysm will chase away
    the need to get your belly
    toned, tucked and tightened,
    the desire for skin resurfacing,
    the non-surgical solutions! to
    thinning hair and poor eyesight.
    The Day of Reckoning means
    an end to rhinoplasty – creating
    beauty one face at a time!
    No sales taxes, no drowning in debt,
    no DUI’s, no parking meters and no
    meter maids. No more Craigslist,
    and, after the Last Day, no need
    for Suzy’s Coupons.
    Depression? Normal.
    Migraines? Everyone gets a few.
    Smokers? Go ahead.
    High blood pressure? You kidding?
    Of course there’s the little matter of
    But, hey, it’s the End of Times,
    Not Eden.

  69. leatherdykeuk

    When the World Ends

    The world won’t end with a bang
    but with the growl of a dropped aitch
    and the incomprehension of a youth
    who spells ‘late’ with a numeral,
    and doesn’t understand the difference
    between the letter ‘O’ and ‘zero’.

    The world won’t end with a bang
    but with the roar of derision
    when the radio plays the original song
    and the kids think it’s an old band
    doing a cover of a Glee song.

    The world won’t end with a bang
    but with the whisper of a pen
    as state after state outlaws abortion,
    planned parenthood, women’s rights
    homosexuals, muslims, jews.
    As each Senator signs the legislature
    that separates the classes,
    makes women property of the husband,
    deports foreign nationals
    and indigenous Americans.

    The world won’t end with a bang
    but with the tears of the hungry,
    the poor, the downtrodden
    and the hiss of dust
    from the empty ghettoes.

  70. Jerry Walraven

    “It was really just a low flying jet.”

    All at once
    there was the sound.
    Coming from everywhere.
    Rattling windows,
    vibrating my bones.
    Looking up at the sky
    I expectd to see a sharp line
    as though the sky had been opened
    with a box knife
    and God
    would be looking down
    saying, “It is time.”
    My daughter,
    standing next to me
    said, “Maybe a giant
    is falling from the sky.”
    Maybe it is.

  71. Joseph Harker

    What I Look For in a Man

    On top of everything else, it’s fearlessness: the idea that
    this is the one who will still be there in the years to come

    when the twin candles of my eyes are blown out. I think of
    Homer, Milton, and Borges, I think of Thomas talking about

    “the dying of the light”. I’m waiting on the one who, after
    I’ve ruined myself writing four-point letters in small black books

    filled in the heartbreaking twilight, after my life has been spent
    scribbling all night with nothing but fig-scented votives for company, 

    will take my blind despair in his arms and mention: there is still
    touch, and taste, and breath across the smallest hairs.

    When the galleries of city and sky are painted a uniform grey
    I will map the inside of my own skin and learn the scents

    of music and joy– like Huxley must have done. And my man:
    I’ll have to learn to look for him with my whole body,

    once the jewels of my eyes are gone. He will guide my fingers
    to teach me Braille, all his goosebumps spelling one long aah.

  72. MsGenuineLady

    Doomsday prediction
    Is it fact or is it fiction?
    Is it coming or is it already here?
    Or will it never actually appear?
    Should we run or stop and face this fear?
    Do we have an option or is this our fate?
    Can we prevent or delay this Doomsday date?
    Questions unanswered, answers unknown to me
    I all know is I have today
    And even today I cannot guarantee

  73. DanielAri


    and gentlemen, if you’ve never tried it—because
    for most of my life I hadn’t—go in for a manicure.
    Alice took me for my birthday one year, and once
    I’d settled into the cushiony pink chair, I felt quite
    pampered, attention on me; so now every so often,
    I get my cuticles topiaried and maybe a little peace
    sign or yin yang set on my vast thumbnail canvas.
    But last time, a woman enters demanding a refund.
    Her nail chipped within a day, and now she claws
    invectives and accusations while the proprietor tries
    to defend himself in broken English asserting nails
    chip during work. “I don’t work,” she blackboards
    then demands to see his license until he lets it slip
    that he does not have one, so she pounces on her
    phone, calls The Cosmetology Board—whatever
    that is—right there in the shop, calling him “Little
    Man,” and saying all she wanted was a refund, but
    now she’s on the warpath, ready to shut him down
    (if that’s something the Cosmetology Board does)
    all over a chip in her nail polish, plain red, I notice,
    not even pink and teal leopard stripe or floral array.
    The urge to say something fills me: it’s clear you
    don’t work, lady, or you would never have the itch
    to build doomsday atop your fingernail; moreover
    you would have compassion for the working stiff.
    You’d figure you’d flushed seventeen dollars and
    vow never to return and maybe vent on Yelp.com.
    But all I wind up doing with my new fingertips is
    shooting her dirty looks when I see her in the lot,
    in her Mustang, still on the phone to a lawyer, or
    the mayor, or her thug boyfriend or The Fingernail
    Commission. On the other hand, only one day later,
    a quiet Sunday, my nail polish chipped off, too.


    1. eljulia

      i love the “cuticles topiaried” and “build doomsday on your fingernail” phrases. And just the whole story. But your phrasing made me see some of the things i have felt in a similar situation. :-)

    2. Brian Slusher

      Lots of stuff to praise, but the phrase that sticks is ‘The Fingernail Commission.” Even if it didn’t really happen, it sounds true to me. I laughed, but I know it’s not funny–that’s the kind of tension I enjoy in a poem.

  74. Michael Grove

    I wrote this one last August. De’s poem above reminded me of it. Sorry for the “Old” work being posted (I won’t let it happen again) but I do believe this message can never be overstated.

    Hug Your Loved Ones

    Hug your loved ones while you can.
    You know not the master plan.
    Share a kind word and a smile.
    Reflecting bright light all the while.

    Hug your loved ones while you can.
    Fear not fire nor frying pan.
    Live for mercy, peace and grace.
    Spend time wisely in this place.

    Hug your loved ones while you can.
    It’s not of the will of man.
    Spread the kindness, share the love.
    Seek the vision, rise above.

    By Michael Grove

  75. De Jackson


    Plenty of water.
    Canned food.
    Can opener.
    (Seriously? Who’m I gonna shoot?)

    Let’s just all put on clean underwear
    and call it a day.

  76. Miss R.

    The End Is Near

    Doomsday is dawning
    Bright one April morning
    Very soon. Life as
    I know it will cease,
    And who can say what
    That dark day will bring?
    Hopefully not four months
    Working in fast food again,
    As exams end and the
    Familiar comfort
    Of the college campus
    Is left behind by
    Myself and a mound
    Of dirty laundry.
    Doomsday is dawning
    Bright one April morning
    Very soon indeed.

  77. Andrew Kreider

    Independence Day

    After the Fourth of July holiday
    There are no famouns landmarks left standing,
    The Golden Gate Bridge, The Eiffel Tower,
    Big Ben, The White House – none of them survive.

    But here in town, no one knows much about
    all that. At the Village Inn, plain-dressed men
    eat heaping plates of scrapple and head cheese
    and joke in low German about tourists,

    while girls in coverings and tennis shoes
    giggle about ketchup and underwear
    from Victoria’s Secret. No one looks
    twice at the thing sitting in the corner.

    When all you wear is dark pants and blue shirts
    everyone else looks like an alien.
    You love your enemies, and sympathize
    with all who sing: “This world is not my home.”

    Outside in the parking lot, the horses
    make strange at the iridescent saucer
    hitched awkwardly to the post between them
    Swishing their tails and stamping nervously.

    When Amos Yoder’s barn is vaporized
    the Amish refuse to retaliate.
    Instead, volunteers come from miles around
    and raise a brand new building by milking time.

    This pattern iss repeated for a week
    Until the invaders give up and leave.
    At the Village Inn, they are serving pie,
    and there are no planes flying overhead.

  78. omavi


    It all ends as all life slowly fades
    This is the time when even words slowly fade

    Reckoning is coming and grey times
    Becoming the color of all that slowly fade

    A heart strives to reach waning heart
    Decadence of soul speaks of times that slowly fade

    Anger no longer a priority
    Peace is pipe dreams that slowly fade

    Happiness works so hard and so long
    To revive and resuscitate joy that slowly fade

    Humanity just a whimsical thing
    What man believes a nuance that slowly fade

    Crime and punishment thrown out of close doors
    Morality is the catchall of a society that slowly fade

    The bible any bible gives a running tally of kills
    Common scenes is a dream that slowly fade

    God seems to be this vengeful terror
    In its mouth all normality are promises that slowly fades

    All that is and all that was is lost
    Even love is that strength that slowly fade

    The eyes close knowing
    After this day life is that dream that slowly fade

  79. Michael Grove

    Tanka This…

    no one really knows
    when it will come to an end
    gravity is gone
    intense heat blisters our skin
    doomsday is only perceived

    by Michael Grove

  80. dextrousdigits

    IF, IF, IF

    If I don’t start getting to work on time
    if I can’t finish all the paper work each day
    if I can’t cover part of the co-workers patients when they are gone
    if I can’t continue working 10 hour days
    I will get fired
    at my age that would be catastrophic

    If this 95 year old house
    continues to need serious repairs
    and the termites aren’t controlled
    and the walls fall down.
    Where would I go?
    How could I bear leaving this home
    of my ancestors and my family?

    If I hadn’t had the biopsy,
    I wouldn’t be in chemo
    and possibly radiation treatment.
    If that doesn’t work,
    it would be the end of the world.

    1. Brian Slusher

      Although my anxieties aren’t exactly the same, your poem speaks to my fears of catastrophie. I hope the last stanza isn’t autobiography. Thanks for sharing your doomsday with me–may we both never see “the walls fall down.”

      1. dextrousdigits

        Thanks Brian,
        No & yes.
        I recently had a biopsy and the MD said it was negative, but added the disclaimer,
        ” we weren’t able to get much tissue so the sample was small, so you need to
        pay attention to your symptoms and let me know right away if there are any changes” Since I am a bit obsessive, this has resulted in me being on guard daily for symptoms and trying to differentiate between is this significant or not.

        Primarily this was written because I have lost 2 friends in the last 2 months to cancer and have three friends regularly monitored for their cancer counts. One dear friends who clearly states my goal is to have my treatment keep me alive for 2-3 months.

        sorry for the long answer. THANKS for the question.

          1. dextrousdigits

            Writing, talking to friends I’ve known a long time and new,
            using my hands to make things and work with those with pain, laughing with others and at myself have kept me going.

            Thanks for you concern and comment. It really means a lot to me,when someone goes out of their way to show kindness.

    2. eljulia

      Your poem captures so well the anxiety of all those worries! But i too am glad it isn’t autobiographical, and am very sorry you are going through your own worries as well as your friends with cancer. i’ve been through that with a couple of friends, and your poem very much evokes those old feelings.

  81. Brian Slusher


    Puzzling, on this final
    morning when the whole
    human concern—its pyramids
    and palaces, its marble
    nudes and illuminated texts,
    the cadenced zeal of its
    pitchmen and the glittery
    smiles of its celebrity judges—
    when the unabridged shebang
    will disappear in a puff, why
    am I staring at the worthless
    pink blossoms that flourish
    among the backyard clover?
    They seem soft chalices
    raised to salute the Creator.
    I used to mow them down
    each Saturday. Somebody is
    probably delivering an elegant
    elegy on TV right now. Perhaps
    among my horde of artifacts
    I have a pink hat I can wear
    so from above I’ll seem,
    for a fine instant, one
    of these blooms

  82. Yolee


    Attended by heaven’s spirit, he had a field
    of dreams in his eyes; once walked
    with a limp and needed a cane; his
    bona fide smile every Sunday at church
    illustrated joy is mostly a susurrus
    authenticated by the heart- a profitable
    advance sought by the mind.

    He went fishing, and tumbled off
    a boat. Without warning, doomsday
    arrived in tandem at the serene lake
    and to his family like locust
    carried by the wind out of season
    on an ordinary Thursday.

  83. Imaginalchemy

    Finishing up this mini-challenge of connecting five poems into one story…and still sticking to the theme of the day (kinda, sorta, slightly). When we last left our heroine Plum, she was about to confront Her Majesty, who she has discovered is, literallty, her other (evil) half. Will Plum be devoured by Her Majesty, as she has been warned, or will the girl of good fortune triumph over the mistress of bad…

    CHAPTER FIVE—The Finale

    Her Majesty glowered down from her throne,
    No trace of warmth in her eyes, only malice.
    Her skin was gray and withered like shriveled stone,
    Her aura of hatred hung heavy in the palace.

    She smiled as the young girl walked up,
    Plum, of sinewy limb and pink blossom hair,
    Once a tree, born of Her Majesty’s seed of luck
    Now a lady, far more gentle and fair.

    “Your Majesty,” Plum said, “I understand
    That we are of the same soul, you and I.
    You have been burning and ravaging the land
    To find me, so to your wishes I’ll comply.
    You wish to devour me, my very heart
    So you can regain your good luck that was lost.
    It is rightfully yours, so with it I will part,
    But I ask for an exchange. For this it will cost:
    You stop burning the forest, leave the old trees be.
    Forgive the Karmaburra, he meant you no harm.
    For my friend Fire-eater, perhaps leave a piece of me
    For him to burn for food, maybe a leg or an arm.
    And once your good fortune has been restored,
    Please share it with your people, who need it more.”

    Her Majesty’s voice thundered and boomed,
    “How dare you talk down to me!
    I dictate your fate, whether blessed and doomed,
    You were a mistake! I am Her Majesty!
    I could burn down the whole forest if I desire,
    What do I care for your useless old trees?
    I can clear it to further build my empire,
    Or just destroy it, merely because I please.
    I’ll roast that Karmaburra on a spit
    That traitorous bird should be nice tender meat.
    The fire-eater I’ll lock away in a damp dark pit
    Until he wastes away, with no fire to eat!

    And share my good fortune? With others? Never!
    It’s mine, let the world rot and blister for all I care.
    I have no fear of plagues, or disasters, or whatever.
    If the world ends for others, I’m not going anywhere.
    That’s exactly what I’ll permit, if you don’t give
    Your heart to me this instant! Don’t you dare cry.
    It is only important that I, Her Majesty, live.
    You are only a plum tree, who cares if you die?”

    Plum plucked something from behind her ear.
    “I am sorry you are so cruel and cold.
    But before you eat me, I have something here
    That may give you good luck, so I’m told.
    It is the only fruit I have ever produced,
    One single plum, a bit unripe and small.
    Plums bring good fortune, and you could use
    The luck more than I, after all.”

    And Her Majesty, thinking this was her prize,
    Snatched up the plum and ravenously ate.
    But Plum, taught be the old trees so wise
    Knew that the tiny plum held her fate.
    For the plum was not her heart, nor her soul,
    But the flesh that protects the seed, the future.
    The essence that makes good fortune whole:
    The human capacity to care and nurture.
    For good fortune comes to those who claim it,
    Who believe in goodness and are willing to share.
    Bad luck clings to those who blame it
    And dwell lonely in its cursed cloak of despair.

    So Her Majesty, once the Fortune Queen,
    Having tasted the fruit of hope and kindness
    Remembered the feeling of bestowing good luck
    On others, and was freed from her blindness.
    And Plum reached out, her fingers entwining
    Around Her Majesty, then her arms and hair,
    Until the two came together, their beings binding
    Until a great strong tree was rooted there.
    And it broke through the castle roof, growing
    Its branches bursting forth a plethora of plums
    The people looked on in amazement, knowing
    That there must be a plum on that tree for everyone.

    So the plums were distributed, one to each subject
    And good luck returned to relieve the glum.
    They put out the forest fires, so they could protect
    The old trees, in honor of goodhearted Plum.
    The fire-eater guarded the Royal Plum Tree
    From the lightning of storms and fruit thieves.
    The Karmaburra flew off to spread this story
    To everyone, like you, who willingly believes.

    1. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

      Somehow I have missed this obviously delightful saga.(Never enough time to take in everything.) Will have to go back and hunt and re-read. :) Meanwhile, what a deliciously inventive ending. I already get Plum’s heroism, and am for anyone who stops the burning down of forests.

  84. Michael Grove

    End of Time
    (A Villanelle)

    Cherish those who you hold dear.
    Open windows, close the door.
    The end of time is drawing near.

    Do not live your life in fear.
    Prepare yourself for what’s in store.
    Cherish those who you hold dear.

    “Time served” on this earthly sphere.
    The ground will shake and oceans roar.
    The end of time is drawing near.

    We’ve only got this day, this year.
    No, nothing less and nothing more.
    Cherish those who you hold dear.

    Maintain the focus, strong and clear.
    Put down the pencil, don’t keep score.
    The end of time is drawing near.

    Raise your empty glass in cheer.
    There’s bread to break and wine to pour.
    Cherish those who you hold dear.
    The end of time is drawing near.

    By Michael Grove

  85. Joseph Harker

    I wrote this for the Tuesday “tree” prompt, but since it’s pretty apt for this one too, I’m tossing it back up here until I come up with something new for the day…

    Sakura 2012

    My mother and I have this April tradition,
    where we drive the cherry-lined avenue, roll down
    car windows and let the confetti blow in: pink
    wax featherdown, Icarene scraps to catch in fists
    for good fortune. I counted once: five hundred trees,
    give or take– but mostly give, spill onto the road.

    And when I think of all the afternoons we rode
    the length of beauty, a Japanese tradition
    springs to mind: where you stand among the cherry trees
    bursting their blooms, shedding all they have. They cast down
    charity by the armful, they open their fists
    for us to gather beauty. Which is light, dyed pink.

    There is a lesson on the underside of each pink
    sunflake, about impermanence, end of the road
    and dissolution. You can fight it with raised fists,
    howling with your last breath: that is tradition,
    for some. But in the end, you find yourself laid down
    under the earth you stood on, rooted there with trees.

    Last year, the preachers stapled flyers on the trees
    about the world coming to an end. No more pink
    fingered dawns, no more bloodstone when the sun goes down.
    The cherries came and went; the End did not. We rowed
    across the new year. We have a long tradition
    of apocalypse, delayed. We clench our rough fists.

    What would we do, without something to pound our fists
    against? Now they quote the Maya, clear copal trees
    to reach step pyramids, looking for traditions
    of calendars reaching zero carved in pink,
    eternal stone. They sagely say, we’re on the road
    to destruction. This is wisdom we’re handed down.

    I don’t follow doomsday. There’s enough going down
    in life to think about: you have to use your fists,
    use your head, keep them clear. There’s a bend in the road,
    which I forget each year. But the best cherries, trees
    going nova, are waiting there, rioting pink
    and passion. What will be my last extradition?

    Only this: among the cut-down trees, petal-bare,
    me and mine, fists clasped. We skipped the pink, this April:
    my tradition now is, just keep walking that road.

    1. J.lynn Sheridan

      You have a gift for drawing the reader through myriad emotions (thoughtful wishing, grasping for understanding, chaos and peace, good and evil,self vs. others,)with your subtle observations and it leaves me both surprised and aching for more.

  86. De Jackson

    Falling Skies

                  Chicken Little:

        I suppose
               that depends
             which side of the sky
                                                you’re on.

  87. Marianv


    If we could take the earth
    And stretch it out flat, like an atlas
    So we could turn the pages
    Backward, back to the beginning
    When the first men and women
    Began to make their history –
    We could see
    All the times when they staggered
    And fell as the earth grew too cold
    Or too hot and floods came and violent
    Earthquakes and hurricanes
    We could see the people
    Hunkered down in caves,
    Cold, hungry, starving…

    But always a group that refused
    To give in, and managed to find
    Enough food for their children
    And the children of children
    And so it begins
    All over again
    Our history of scrounging
    Of troubles and pains
    And the joy of springtime
    Planting and harvest
    The pages keep turning
    earth spins through the universe
    With its cargo of people
    Stiff-necked and stubborn
    Starting new stories
    Over and over again.

    1. eljulia

      i love the whole of this, the visuals (stretching the earth out flat like an atlas so we could read it) and the story of it all within the framework of the book idea (the pages keep turning….cargo of people stiff necked and stubborn starting new stories over and over again.) So good!

  88. Beth Rodgers


    Surrounded by apprenhension
    Immobilized by paranoia
    Corralled by indiscretion
    Persecuted by indecision
    She wonders
    What comes next.

    Frustrated with lack of purpose
    Engaged in a dream-like fallacy
    Realizing time is sparse
    She gives up
    Throwing herself at the mercy of


  89. De Jackson

    B’ak’tun, Baby.

    It’s coming.
    The end of the 13th b’ak’tun of the 4th world.
    Your 144,000 days (394 years, to be exact)
    are up.
    In December, you will turn the calendar page
    Oops. There won’t be another one. So get your
    In order. Say your sorrys and your I love yous
    I wish I’d told you all those things I should’ve
    Kick your bucket list into high gear. Jump out
    something scary, write a novel in 30 days, pay
    you owe, or rack up more, because who cares?
    The Mayans say it’s over, Baby. It’s right there
    the plans. So kiss me, now. While you still can.

    1. Michael Grove

      Love it De. I’ve written a few with the line, “Hug Your Loved Ones While You Can.” or variations on the theme. Aint it the truth??? This one is both sweet and clever.

  90. mich

    Goodbye Bachelorette

    Table for one
    Set with grandmother’s wedding china
    Uncle Olaf’s stag stein
    and a pair of fine black chopsticks
    with a two pale blue cranes

    Must learn to play
    with the ruffle-edged white paper plates
    A mug warning “Can’t this wait ’til after coffee?”
    and the black plastic spork
    and paper napkin stack

    How will the white linen adjust?
    Are matching patterns inevitable?
    Coasters? Water rings?
    Will everything one day have to make room
    for neon-colored sippy cups?

    —Lyn Michaud

  91. claudsy

    It’s Coming, Pay Attention

    White bears with patchy hair
    Move inland in search of lair.
    Seabirds take new route home,
    Veering distant, old paths to roam.
    Bees that make honey so sweet
    Die away, less pollen to sweep.
    Water/land dwellers all,
    Gasping, grasping, failing and fall.
    Weather gone insane tween now and then,
    Leaving us to ask, “This happened when?”

    © Claudette J. Young 2012

  92. Dare


    She beckons me, Come!
    grey-browed eyes smiling,she asks:
    “Who are you?” Breathless,
    I see….my wrinkled self! Old!
    Shedding this tight coat, I’m Free!

  93. DanielAri


    and I want to say to Harold: Camping, Camping
    Camping, I can’t look into your soul to see what
    you meant or what you really believed beneath
    the words in The Book and your charisma (which
    I never found), but I can tell you this: your words
    destroyed people sure as your prediction said they
    would be destroyed. My friend Sam gave it all up,
    stopped paying rent and put the money into your
    church. (I still don’t get that logic because what’s
    a church going to do with money when the world’s
    stop button pushes in—not to mention how is that
    even possible, but anyway.) Sam went to the street
    to spread the unactionable word with no call to act:
    just FYI people of the city and of the world, it all
    ends in May. And for Sam, it did. Now he’s packing
    Snickers bars in sampler packs and wondering why
    the sun still rises, the buses still run, birds sing, and
    you, Camping went confused, contrite and absolutely
    silent. It makes me mad enough to break your jaw.


      1. DanielAri

        I’m with you, Joseph. I was really baffled and upset last year. In our neighborhood, there was a billboard about it. It stayed up about 3 weeks after “doomsday,” and then got replaced with a MacDonald’s ad. It was late Demeber when Camping’s organization finally got around to a follow-up (though give them credit at least for following up). Something about “We’re still here. Let’s live righteously.” Sometimes irony is downright maddening.

    1. Domino

      I had some people accost me on the street telling me it was going to all end in May. And I kindly said thank you, and went on my way, wondering what they would do when it didn’t. Now I know. Thanks Daniel.

  94. Earl Parsons

    I Ain’t Stoppin’ It

    I try not the think ‘bout Dooms Day
    If it comes ‘round, so be it
    Little ol’ me ain’t gonna’ stop it
    I’m just along for the ride
    Just like everyone else ‘round here

    So, if Dooms Day strikes at us
    Ain’t no sense in screamin’
    Runnin’ or hidin’
    You can’t hide
    It’s gonna’ getcha
    After all
    It’s Dooms Day
    Can’t get away

  95. Nancy Posey

    Domesday Book

    Completing my conquest of your heart,
    crossing channels, chain mail protection,
    crossbow centered on my target,
    I now desire to set our story down
    in images, in words, a woven tapestry
    worthy of Bayeaux, a Domesday Book
    recording each part of you I now claim as my own.m

  96. Michael Grove

    Hurled Into Space

    Life will be much easier,
    if I choose to believe that the
    world will come to an end
    in December of this year. There
    was a beginning so surely
    there will be an end. We know
    not the hour nor the day but
    only the certainty that we are
    infinite souls with finite bodies.

    After one thousand years of peace
    intense solar flares will consume
    the earth. Perhaps a reverse in
    the gravitational field will shift
    the poles and tear the earth apart
    hurling everything into space.

    I suppose there is no point
    in stressing out over keeping
    a clean house anymore.

    By Michael Grove

  97. MiskMask


    Doomsayers, you are magnets to the pessimist
    who grinds his teeth with angst, showering all
    nearby with ponderous sparks. You ignite hell’s
    scent upon the earth instead of enlightenment.

    Pessimists and attention seekers, I say,
    I am a Doom-Slayer

    Doom mongers, peddling your shopping lists
    as prophecy, leading the easily persuaded to see
    green grassy mirages, whilst barefaced
    proclaiming PG12 as Prophetic Guidance 2012.

    Pessimists and attention seekers, I say,
    I am a Doom-Slayer

    So beware words that burn promises in your ears,
    for if you live each day as if your last, surely you
    will waste what was given you, dooming yourself
    to a foetal coil of prophetic crippling fear.

    Pessimists and attention seekers, I say,
    I am a Doom-Slayer

  98. Michelle Hed

    Self-destruct (Triolet)

    “The planet will self-destruct in…”
    and there is no place for me to go
    as the guy next to me plays his violin.
    “The planet will self-destruct in…”
    The blaring message sends shivers through my skin
    and looking to the heavens, I wonder, “Does he know?”
    “The planet will self-destruct in…”
    and there is no place for me to go.

  99. K. McGee

    We Are Doomed By Atlas

    We looked skyward, hoping for a break
    Even to the sun, to change our fate

    April 13th, 2029,
    Regimes formed, across all borders
    Executive order, shoot all hoarders

    Dread took hold, chaos did break
    Old men collapsed, under the weight
    Old women swooned, some hearts failed
    Martyrs and Saints, for which none wailed
    Economic strategy, lost all its zeal
    Driven by greed, no longer real

    Between now and then, things fell apart
    Years speed by, no chance to restart

    And all it took, for things to crumble
    Too many lives, ruined by shamble
    Lost and confused, man gave up
    Atlas Shrugged
    Some say, “so what!”

  100. J.lynn Sheridan

    “Surviving 1930 or 2130”

    Your poetry curtains are held closed with stiff wooden clothespins,
    loose and rusty. You recite to the infant in a bassinette, brushing her
    hair with your fingers, your nightdress dragging on the floor, frozen toe
    poking out the slipper hole.

    To fill that loneliness you let the baby squeeze your finger, that’s what
    babies are for, all ten of them, to fill the hole. She said she loved them
    but she was just being polite. Two rounds of empty dinner plates at the

    kitchen table, chairs warmed up for the second shift, bits of bread and
    spider legs between the slats of the floorboards. They don’t last long.
    Back then the tablecloth held wonders, now just a gravy stain from years

    gone by in the shape of Tennessee because you couldn’t resist flipping
    Jack’s spoon after grace was said. Mama bought that cloth from the Ben
    Franklin bag sale. She had wanted a swinging fan but you can’t make the

    thing work with no electricity. Somehow a compact had made its way into
    the bag and she had to explain that to Pops when he asked for the receipt.
    He told her it was a cockamamie story—beauty has no place in our lives

    now. Give all those hands something to do, Mama. But he couldn’t see those
    hands had chosen for themselves, some chose good and some chose bad.

    The good ones knew her love,

    The bad ones knew her secret.

  101. Michael Grove


    As he gazed left
    he saw things
    as they were.

    He turned right
    and envisioned
    how it should be.

    The blinders were
    tightly fitted so
    he looked straight
    ahead and saw

    By Michael Grove

  102. just Lynne

    just my musings, not sure if it’s very poetic

    “The End of the World”

    last night on the news
    they interviewed that adolescent boy
    shot three times by that gunman who killed three
    those gunshots that echoed in the high school cafeteria
    then reverberated across miles
    even oceans

    his legs are paralyzed
    but he beams
    he says
    it’s not the end of the world
    the end of the world would be me dying

    I grieve
    I admit to myself
    that dependence on others
    would be my “end of the world”
    though I apologize for the dramatic

    but I don’t fear death
    death means a flight up
    to my heavenly home
    when it’s my time
    I’ll be ready

  103. Hannah


    Mayan mama: “Okay lil’ boy your time out is over.”

    Mayan boy: “So you mean I can stop making this calendar, mommy?”

    Mayan mama: “Yes, just leave off on December 21st 2012, that’s plenty.”

    Mayan boy: “Phew, I thought I’d be here till the end of the world.”

    Hee heee he he…. :)

  104. Connie Peters

    Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

    You know what they say
    about crying wolf.
    Eighty-eight reasons in 88.
    Everything digital
    going kerflooey in Y2K.
    The Mayan’s 2012.
    Ha ha ha!
    And then one day
    the sky splits.

  105. lionmother

    When the End Comes

    My daughter always worries
    about December 21, 2012
    as if we were to believe
    the Mayans and stop all
    that day standing wherever
    we are waiting for the
    scene of the end
    and will we all run
    to the tops of buildings to
    welcome the end like Y2K?
    Will we hasten the time
    by finding a way to off our
    family and ourselves not
    to see the end, but instead
    to go peacefully, like
    an ordinary day, only
    this time sleep will be
    our only constant
    or maybe we can all
    agree what we will do
    and gather together
    in giant crowds for
    support as the unknown
    descends upon us in
    a fog, or ice or rains
    Or maybe it will come
    with no fanfare and all
    will perish without warning
    activity on earth ceasing
    as it self-destructs and
    everything evaporates
    leaving a fine dust to
    circle the sun.

  106. Walt Wojtanik


    Biblical forecasters
    and Mayan calendars
    point to Nostrdamus’
    agreement of Edgar
    Casey’s prediction.
    12-21-12 is the day,
    beat the Christmas
    rush to judgement,
    get your shopping done early!

  107. Hannah


    On raspy breath
    death is poignant
    in crows hollow call,
    stalling in the branches
    of a tall looming,
    gloomy crook of tree;
    raised against a darkened
    backdrop of growing gray.
    During doomed days
    of deeply dwelling
    swelling dread and doubt,
    pouting mouths twist,
    turned upside down,
    frowns that are solid,
    stolid, sickly and sad.
    Madness infects minds,
    finding comfort will be a feat,
    peace found only in prayer.
    They tear apart what’s become
    of them and build again
    on the one and only foundation;
    transformation in chief corner stone,
    bone, blood and raw mortar of love.

    © H.G. @ P.A. 4/14/12

    1. Beth Rodgers

      Hannah, love the lines about the “one and only foundation” and “pouting mouths twist” among others. The imagery that I get from this poem is wonderful; I love the description. Nicely written!

  108. Marie Elena

    Can’t Get There From Here (a limerick)

    The fat cells inside me have bloomed
    From Easter-y treats I’ve consumed
    Those stuffed, tempting eggs
    Won’t grow run-away legs,
    And now, thanks to those devils, I’m doomed.

  109. Jane Shlensky

    Exam Day in the School of Doom

    They walk the halls,
    their skin gray blue
    under the lights, their
    lips so pale or painted
    red, their fingernails
    deep green or black,
    but worry-chewed,
    carrying coffee in large
    cups and hunching into
    small desks in corners
    to bemoan the death
    of worlds they’ve known,
    mostly on Saturday nights
    and in video games.
    But still, what day from hell
    foresaw the end of classes,
    the visiting with friends and
    discussing whatnot with those
    fiends, the occasional must-do?
    What nightmare warned them
    of the talons of exams reaching
    out to snatch their brains,
    housed now in jars along the wall,
    and leave them hollowed and
    harangued by some harpie
    employed by the state to pick
    their bones and leave them clean
    to see finally, that they were
    young and lovely, with fine
    skeletal structure and brains,
    virtually unused.

  110. Marjory MT

    (a FUN LINE )

    If doom is here, let’s celebrate.
    no more taxes at this rate.
    The grass and weeds – let them grow
    If doom is here, don’t need to mow.
    The dishes can stay in the sink,
    won’t matter now how bad they stink.
    That call I did not want to make,
    I’ll ignore it now, make no mistake.

    Before the end of this doom’s day,
    I think that l’ll go out to play.
    Watching by the Merry-go-round,
    skipping through a kid’s play ground,
    and like a old Pid-pipers scene
    I’ll lead the kids to pink ice cream.

    Then skip across a babbling brook
    with never once a backward look.
    To wander through a meadow scene
    remanicent of a childhood dream.
    To dance and sing along the way
    unconcerned ’bout some doom’s day.

  111. uneven steven

    Everyone says it’s the end of the world

    and it’s not the “we’re good guys so we’re outta here
    before things get really bad”
    resistance is futile
    we’re special, really special, chosen people
    or even the rinse and repeat
    who’ve won the contest,
    (although Kali might be able to make a convincing case) –
    No, you can see it
    in the care
    reality star doomsday prepper
    grandma takes
    as she prepares her non-perishable feast
    for her self defense students
    from the Y,
    that it’s the try without trying,
    sitting under a tree, no fabricating,
    who would a thunk it, underdog,
    tortoise crossing
    the end of the world finish line first –
    hey, I see sick and dead people –
    winner of all winners –
    and we’re all buddhists now
    living each moment
    in a constant
    on the impermanence
    of a flawed
    end of the world

  112. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    Ain’t Gettin’ Out Alive

    What difference does it make
    if the end is this year or the next?
    None of us will make it out of here alive –
    the end will come for some –
    or all – no matter what we do.

    I say, “LIVE!” each moment –
    Love those who touch your life –
    find Beauty in the ordinary and
    Joy in the sublime.
    Fear not – don’t worry!

    The bus will make it’s way
    to each home, taking us all
    on that journey into eternity.
    Don’t waste the time before –
    Love, Laugh and Live to the fullest!

  113. Marjory MT

    Doom, da doom,doom,
    What a negative thought.
    If the end’s to come at noon
    then we’ll all be caught,
    For some it will be way too soon
    and others will say, “Thanks a lot.”
    So sit outside, enjoy the moon,
    and thankful for all ya got.

  114. barbara_y

    Prophesy must be the trickster’s favorite joke.
    Dressed in seduction, he wraps
    the smug chinchilla cape of foreknowledge
    snug around your shoulders, with a little
    caress, and his warm breath against your ear
    promises you the obligatory three wishes.
    Because the first attempt to change the future
    will always lead to ruin. And the second.

  115. PowerUnit

    The cold rays leach through the window
    An empty wine glass sits on the table,
    the remnant flakes cling to its bottom
    and refract a single red line on the glowing tabletop
    on the little ghost valleys and hills
    created by the dusty bones

    Jenny succeeded in completing her one last wish
    to finish that bottle of wine
    Mike bought her for her birthday in the spring
    her desire to finish her book
    the story mingled with thousands of others
    her life now mingled with billions

  116. RJ Clarken

    (Reprint – done correctly this time – and sorry for that appalling lack of …aaaaahhhh…)

    Zombie Apocalypse

    “Zombies are people, too. Okay, dead people with poor grammar skills.” ~Night of the Living Dead

    Let’s celebrate apocalypse –
    the zombie kind. Here are my tips:
    So…one: you moan, and two: eat brains.
    Three: Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.

    It’s ‘Doomsday’ – zombies can be found
    at Starbucks, Game Stop…all around
    the shopping malls and bowling lanes
    where Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.

    Their biggest problem? When they talk.
    But only zombies rock ‘the walk.’
    It’s even better done in chains
    ‘cause Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.

    Zombies, existentially,
    are what the world will zombday be.
    If zombies are the last remains,
    then Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.


      1. RJ Clarken

        Thank YOU, Marie Elena! If I can give a chuckle or two, then it can’t be doomsday at the moment, can it?

        I know my writing sounds irreverent at times, but downer material is ‘seriously’ out of my comfort zone. (Get it?)

        However, I really admire the rest of the gang (you inclusive, obviously) who can make their words behave in ways that tell the story so much better than I can.

  117. RJ Clarken

    Zombie Apocalypse>/b>

    “Zombies are people, too. Okay, dead people with poor grammar skills.” ~Night of the Living Dead

    Let’s celebrate apocalypse –
    the zombie kind. Here are my tips:
    So…one: you moan, and two: eat brains.
    Three: Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.

    It’s ‘Doomsday’ – zombies can be found
    at Starbucks, Game Stop…all around
    the shopping malls and bowling lanes
    where Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.

    Their biggest problem? When they talk.
    But only zombies rock ‘the walk.’
    It’s even better done in chains
    for Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.

    Zombies, existentially,
    are what the world will zombday be.
    If zombies are the last remains,
    then Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ reigns.


  118. Mystical-Poet

    Black Sky Manifesto

    black sky manifesto
    black blizzards comeback
    black winds lug black snow 
    dust bowl at my back

    a miscalculation
    about crop rotation
    end up losing your shirt

    an I.O.U.
    for bad times come true
    being poorer than dust bowl dirt

    the withered acres 
    will pay back the takers
    doomsday clock ticking, no doubt

    gonna need sandals
    stroll bygone panhandles
    ready up to be down and out

    ~ Randy Bell ~

  119. PKP

    Fold all the towels in threes and over again
    Into the trash all those boxes, baggies, twist ties
    Empty coffee cans and stuff you might need then
    Bathe the children, the dog, wash your hair
    Wax each floor
    Stop, take a breath and wonder what for?
    Instead take a vacuum, a broom and a mop
    Place them all strategically, in case just before
    Doomsday rolls through your town nd halts to a stop
    This way when security marches from room on to room
    They will find your sparkling legacy up kept even in face of sure doom

    Or a accept there’s no need now to rush or to pressure and such
    Sit on the floor with marshmallows or whatever tickles each of you much
    Strew all your goodies, abandon all pretense against “junk”
    Laugh with all whom you love in the scowling face of
    Whoever really would have ever thunk

    Laugh Lou