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?

Or what about out of this world? Because writers who are into science fiction and fantasy can get the ultimate Write Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection, which brings together more than $400 worth of SFF-writing products and discounts the bundle by 70%!

Click here to learn more.

 

You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

307 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 14

  1. De Jackson

    Preparations

    Plenty of water.
    Canned food.
    Can opener.
    Flashlights.
    Batteries.
    Blankets.
    Matches.
    Candles.
    Radio.
    Rope.
    Gun.
    (Seriously? Who’m I gonna shoot?)

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

  2. 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.

  3. 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.

  4. omavi

    Fade

    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

  5. 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

  6. 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.

  7. Brian Slusher

    APOCOLYPTIC BLOOMS

    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

  8. Yolee

    Willie

    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.

  9. 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.

  10. 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

  11. 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
    (sestina)

    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.

  12. De Jackson

    Falling Skies

                  Chicken Little:
                                      alarmist
                                              or
                                 prophet?

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

  13. Marianv

    Generations

    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!

  14. Beth Rodgers

    TICK

    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
    Karma.

    TOCK.

  15. De Jackson

    B’ak’tun, Baby.

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

  16. 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

  17. 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

  18. Dare

    Undeniable

    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!

  19. DanielAri

    OH, SAM, POOR SAM

    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.

    FangO

      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.

  20. 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

  21. 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

  22. 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

  23. MiskMask

    DOOM-SLAYER

    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

  24. 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.

  25. 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!”

  26. 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.

  27. Michael Grove

    Blinders

    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
    nothing.

    By Michael Grove

  28. 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
    expression

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

  29. Hannah

    ~DISCIPLINE~

    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…. 🙂

  30. 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.

  31. 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
    fire
    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.

  32. Walt Wojtanik

    END OF DAYS

    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!

  33. Hannah

    ~BEGIN AGAIN~

    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!

  34. 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.

  35. 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.

  36. Marjory MT

    DOOM DA DOOM, DOOM
    (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.

  37. 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”
    christians,
    resistance is futile
    muslims,
    we’re special, really special, chosen people
    jews,
    or even the rinse and repeat
    hindus
    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 –
    siddhartha
    and we’re all buddhists now
    living each moment
    in a constant
    meditation
    on the impermanence
    of a flawed
    end of the world
    universe.

  38. 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!

  39. 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.

  40. 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.

  41. 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

  42. 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.

  43. 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.

    ###

  44. 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 ~

  45. 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

COMMENT