2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 16

(Thanks to Anders Bylund for pointing out that today’s prompt was not categorized–and not appearing on the Poetic Asides blog! Once again, Anders is a life saver.)

For today’s prompt, write a mixed up poem. I guess there are a few ways to come at this poem. Your narrator could have mixed feelings about something. Or a character could get “mixed up” in something. Or the poem could be about mixing up a drink. Or a mixtape. Or however you wish to mix this prompt/poem up.

Here’s my mixed up attempt:

“Following the road”

Or the path or the sidewalk or the river
along the bank or the shore or the rocks
worn around the edges or the collar or a ring
aournd the collar or a dog (or cat) collar
or a criminal is collared or we’re eating
collard greens or lettuce or soup or stew or
we’re not eating anything because we’re sitting
and talking or discussing or arguing or maybe
we are just following the road and we come upon
a festival and people are dancing in the street
and selling artwork and ice cream and cupcakes
or just ice cream but it’s good to be there with you
and to have nowhere else we could possibly be.

*****

 

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360 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 16

  1. Domino

    Mixed Flowers

    A packet of mixed flower seeds
    I spotted on the shelf.
    “Grown your own wild flowers:
    You can do it yourself!”

    And the idea of those flowers
    stayed with me all day
    so I went and bought the packet
    and went along my way.

    It wasn’t til weeks later,
    the packet I espied
    languishing upon a shelf
    so I took us both outside.

    I looked at my poor flower bed,
    it was such a sorry sight.
    Unpruned roses, weeds and grass;
    it needed to be put right.

    And so I put the seeds aside
    for another little while
    and I began to weed and hoe
    and rake and dig and pile.

    And sooner than I thought I’d be
    I found myself quite ready
    to plant those seeds and water them,
    the feeling was quite heady.

    And scatter them, I did, my friends,
    and soon they all took root.
    And now you see my garden patch
    is fair beyond dispute.

    For though the flowers planted here
    aren’t in lines and rows,
    they’re lovely just the same for they’re
    wild flowers that I chose.

    Hummingbirds, bees and butterflies
    find refuge in my bower.
    And I find I quite agree with them,
    I’m glad I planted flowers.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  2. Imaginalchemy

    Maudlin as a mandolin
    Brackish as a radish
    Uxorious as euphoria
    Obsequious as obnoxiousness
    Egregious as an egret’s goose
    Mesonoxian as Mesopotamia
    Acersecomic as an acceleration
    Calamistrate your calamari
    And Pandiculate like you are immaculate

    Perhaps I have circumnavigated my interpretations
    All I am saying is that Adoxography is important,
    This is as loquacious as a liquidation of lexotanil.

    …but you already knew that, right?
    ______________
    This has been “A POEM TO COMPLETELY MIX/MESS UP YOUR MIND”
    Thank you for your coquettishness.

  3. Sally Jadlow

    Mixed-Up Mania

    4/16/12

    “Wife, fax these tax forms, pronto!”
    I do as he asks.
    Later I notice the accountant e-mails,
    “We can’t open them. Please resend.”

    I rescan, resend, and get the same reply.
    I try another method. One goes through.
    Not the other.

    I try again. No deal.
    Now I’ve lost the paper.
    What did I do with it?

    After fifteen minutes of searching,
    I find them in the box marked “2012 Taxes.”
    How did they get back in there?

    Now I’m off to the UPS
    to let them fax those pesky papers!
    I’ll be glad when today’s over!

  4. RJ Clarken

    Why Good Usage Counts

    He wrote with metaphors so mixed
    that every editor said, “Nixed!”
    He’d then write back and say things like,
    “You twits! Go take a flying hike!”

    As you might guess, this quite endeared
    him to the folks whose pubs he smeared.
    “They’re all moth-eared!” With barbs, he’d strike.
    “You twits! Go take a flying hike!”

    One editor said, to this twaddle,
    “Sir, you’ve wind beneath your saddle!”
    ‘Mixed’ replied, “You’d bash Updike.
    You’re twits! Go take a flying hike!”

    ‘Mixed’ never understood the ref.
    He said, “I pen Romans a clef!
    So what’s a fish without a bike?
    You twits! Go take a flying hike!”

    ###

  5. laurie kolp

    From My Corner

    Energy flames through the place
    a siren blares
    a breath forgotten
    a man in black
    a wiener dog balloon
    POP
    while pucks are plucked
    cliques of girls walk by
    from braid to bun, their hair changes
    faster than a chameleon.

  6. cstewart

    Mixture

    From up high, fuchsia flowed into the forsythia,
    Laying its magnificent, magenta effusions
    Over the yellow buds, bushed in lengths.
    On the left, a jade plant of some age –
    Pushed heartily, up from the brown, sandy loam.
    Below, the tiny, creeping violets
    And gangly, wild strawberries grew almost flat.
    The iris and lilies pushed through the mat,
    Making terse, white and violet verticals through pink.
    The lemon tree, off to the side – seemed almost
    Aloof in this multiple, spring espectaculo.

  7. Imaginalchemy

    “The Mixed-Up Mind in the Morning” or “Where’s the Prompt?”

    Wait, where’s the prompt? It should be here.
    It’s usually posted early…I’m feeling quite stumped.
    My schedule says, “Compose poem between 8 and 9,”
    But how can I compose, when there is no prompt?

    Does this mean I need to make up my own theme?
    I don’t have time to think, my morning is swamped!
    Just tell me what to write, give me some rules,
    I can’t form a brainstorm without a good prompt!

    Maybe there’s no poem today? No, that can’t be.
    Things are all out of whack! My mind feels whomped!
    Maybe Robert is sick? Is he hurt, an urgent emergency?
    There must be a reason why there is no prompt!

    …Oh, there it is. Phew.
    A poem about feeling mixed up?
    How am I supposed to write a poem about that?

  8. deringer1

    mixed up describes my dreams

    my father riding a horse
    out of the orchard,
    although he never rode.

    strange, round black-robed people
    dancing up and down

    my dog, taking me along
    on a flying carpet ride

    being loved in impossible places
    by the man of my dreams

    I’m never running, never falling,
    just crazy.

  9. emmajordan

    Sorrow is a necessary part of life,
    it shadows us every day.
    But if we look for blessings,
    it turns another way.

    Sadness can cause pain,
    Woe can find us without hope.
    A weary heart aches,
    Depression can hide anger.
    Forgiveness a curative.

    We owe to friendship,
    laughter and smiles
    a debt that cannot be paid.
    A daily dose will do us well
    to keep sadness at bay.

    (Emma’s note:

    How this is a “mix” poem?

    Stanza one has rhyming at the 2nd and 4th horrible lines.

    Stanza two is a Terrible Tanka.

    Stanza three is an awful ode.

    Finally, it has a mix of truth and ever so sappy platitudes.

    I can’t believe I wrote this!)

  10. Walt Wojtanik

    BAC’s OF SUCCESS

    Questions abound; queries that come around
    whenever you push them from your thinking.
    Every time you get that sinking feeling it happens.
    Remember, you only live once, (even cool cats don’t get off
    thinking they’re immune to this tune). So if
    you want answers, you had better hope you
    understand what it is that you want.
    It isn’t asking much of you to
    open your mind and
    present yourself as a learned scholar.
    Any self-respecting poet should know it.
    Some feign it and explain it in terms any
    dummy could grasp. But no matter what, it’s a
    funny thing to bring your rhyme out and
    give it the presentation it deserves.
    Having said all you can, it remains
    just what you’ve put on your page. So engage.
    Keep your focus on the dreams you pursue in
    lieu of wasting your talent meant to mystify the masses.
    Zeniths are attainable;
    Xanadu is a desired destination and
    clearness of thought is the means to both ends.
    Validate your verbiage,
    bring your best for the rest to decide;
    never hide your poetic pondering under a bushel basket.
    Many will clamor for a taste of what you bring to the table.

    **A mixed up Abecedarian

  11. Marjory MT

    Bits and Pieces of a mixed up life
    that challenge the artist,
    who sees it all as a crazy quilt
    of experiences
    spread out across the years.

    Bits and pieces of a mixed up life
    which challenge the artist
    to understand the usefulness
    of all the fibers and textures
    of so many planned and
    unplanned events.

    Bits and pieces of a mixed up life
    unknowingly touching the lives
    of so many others
    who in turn help to bind
    each piece into a whole
    that is seen only at a later date.

    Bits and pieces of a mixed up life
    put into the hands of the great
    master artists – allowing him to work-
    are brought together to produce
    a life of beauty and usefulness.
    while filling even the
    empty places.

  12. J.lynn Sheridan

    “Backpacking in the Mark Twain National Forest”

    I thought it was love
    at the trail when the katydids fell on our heads
    like hail,

    clawing down our shirts, between the clefts
    of every secret body space that left us laughing
    and grabbing and stripping to shake them off.

    We stopped
    for lunch under the persimmon tree, its fruit fresh
    and gushy stabbing our eyes and my world was
    hazed

    in purple
    flirty words that drizzled down our chins to the
    soles of our feet.

    I remember
    you saved your dog’s hair in a bag so your grandma
    could card the fur to knit a scarf and I thought that
    was love

    in every which way and I thought you proved it
    when we slid into our sleeping bags, you even
    sprinkled garlic in my hair to ward off the creatures

    of the night
    almost as if you had known that an animal disguised
    as a man would speak with a knife in the wee
    hours, stealing your tongue and robbing you of
    your chivalry.

    I thought when the visible scars faded, so would the
    memory, but the invisible scars hurt even more.

    You know, I think I finally figured out what I really
    needed that night—

    I needed you to cry for me.

  13. Sharon

    Confetti

    The day is warm and I am cool.
    Not the cool cool,
    but the cool that jives
    letting me know I’m alive,
    full of vinegar and spit.

    Life’s in my control, so I think,
    I’m at the top of my game
    and ready for fame,
    not hiding behind fear.
    I’m looking for cheer
    hoping someone knows I am here.

    The confetti of life
    jumbles my fate,
    a little of this,
    too much of that,
    too afraid
    to have courage
    but doing it anyway.

  14. PowerUnit

    Flax seed
    The anethematic grain
    Omega six, and three
    All the way from Maine

    Chop them up
    Mix them fast
    Create some dust
    Give it a blast

    Ice cubes
    How cold
    Shove them in the tube
    Grind them uncontrolled

    Enough cocoa
    To kill a horse
    Enough vanilla
    To cause a divorce

    Steal from the calf
    Not as bad as it seems
    A cup and a half
    Of real whipping cream

    Shake your mullet
    Lock in the cup
    Start the magic bullet
    Fire it up!

    Plant your stake
    At the kitchen table
    Drink your shake
    While you’re still able!

  15. taylor graham

    CREEK

    What’s more joyful
    than running water? After days
    of rain, our little creek
    leaps and giggles, blows bubbles, chatters
    over rocks whose moss opens
    all its green mouths to sing
    the river song. And the old
    willow leans over the bank to see
    his own reflection wrinkled and riffled
    with moving, ageless water.
    What’s more joyous?
    A new puppy who’s never met
    a natural creek – no dam, no viaduct,
    no faucet, no hose, no pipes.
    Just free water –
    Raindrops gathered together
    In a pack, a herd, a family, a tribe,
    finding its own way from cloud to soil,
    water mixing up with soil,
    leaping to sky and down the hillside
    on its great adventure
    to sea.
    What’s more joyous
    than a puppy wading out
    to wet her feet in that journey, splashing
    as each droplet leaps
    the falls; then dash back out
    and shake
    creekwater all over us
    sparkling joyous in April sun.

  16. Michelle Hed

    The Mixed Up Life Of Colonel Kernel

    When he was young
    he told his nanny
    he wanted to be a guerilla;
    So she bought him
    a gorilla suit.

    In his teens
    he took up fencing
    and performed
    amazing feats
    with his quick
    moving feet.

    In his twenties
    he felt out of synch,
    so he joined the military
    where it was swim or sink.

    In his middle years
    he decided to set forth
    on his fourth
    tour of duty.

    When he woke up
    And realized he was bald
    he bawled
    like a newborn baby.

    When he could no longer
    hear the crashing cymbols
    in the military band,
    he took it as a symbol
    to retire.

    He wasn’t afraid
    of losing his mind,
    he figured his brain
    had already been mined
    for everything worthwhile.

    He was happy
    to let his spirit soar,
    his body was tired
    and sore
    from years of service.

  17. Walt Wojtanik

    NUCKIN’ FUTS

    A muddle of mundane minutia is my mind,
    for poetic forms once deemed precise I find,
    have smashed their heads together
    to sadly slip from sublime to an insane grind.
    To reconstruct them would be brutal;
    and all attempt to would be futile.

    Together in mind
    the truth we find is brutal;
    a most futile grind.

    For with poetic notions in mind,
    We’re in this together to find,
    That words bad and brutal
    Leaves your style sounding futile,
    A most horrid axe to grind.

    So sticking together to find our way brings us closer,
    a dubious mind in a futile grind of poemic thought.
    We ought to allow our rhyme to heal; be less brutal.

    Nothing is ever as it seems. I find this
    Unnerving. Swerving into a mind of
    Cacophonous sounds brings thoughts together like
    Kinetic energy brings your pen to hand. An futile
    Initiation of writing wile will render words brutal;
    Not saying what your heart feels.
    Feelings emerge to grind your passion to pulp,
    Underlying the need to clear your head,
    To offer a respite from the madness it espouses, and
    Sharing our ranting with others so stricken.

    ** A confluence of Sestina, Haiku, Limerick, Sijo and Anagramatic Poetry

  18. Ber

    Echoes of Laughter

    Winds change as does life
    Carry me in your mind
    Don’t leave my destiny aside
    Don’t forget where you come from
    You are apart of me

    Waters may separate us
    As may time
    One day we will reunite
    And share what we have done in life

    To touch your face
    To hug you to embrace you with my arms
    To see you again
    My lucky charm

    I miss our chats
    Our time that we once spent
    If I only knew then
    It was only lent

    I would of done more
    To make it matter
    To understand all your chatter
    What good is that now

    When all that has happened
    Your to far away
    To see what has gone on
    What we went through
    What you must of too

    If I had one wish
    A hand with a token to say
    Come back and see me
    Come back I pray

    Distance is between us
    I will keep you in my mind
    You’re the piece of the jigsaw puzzle
    That has been left behind

    When your back at home
    With all who love you
    I know that distance will be a thing of the past
    I know you want this too

    We will drink to the water that has past under the bridge
    And to the future of our heritage
    So for now it is goodbye
    For someday we meet again
    Until that day comes
    Do not forget to lift your pen

  19. Mike Bayles

    North then South

    times awaiting
    appointment to keep
    directions on map I read
    landmarks first seen
    guide
    street I seek
    lost, turn around
    north then south
    around turn, lost
    seek I, street
    guide
    seen first landmarks
    read I, map on directions
    keep to appointment
    awaiting times

  20. De Jackson

    Permission to Poem in Plaid

    Let’s mix it up today.
    Let’s play.

    Let’s dangle part

    -iciples

    freely,
    write to the moon
    and pop a wheelie.

    Let’s stir in
    cinnamon, and sage,
    sprinkle pink sugar on the page.

    Let’s know a noun,
    and verve a
    verb,
    let’s adjective something absurd.
    Let’s adverb loosely, crazily.

    Let’s          our lines
              let                    loop          
                           l a z i l y.

    Let’s proposition a preposition,
    live through and of, in, over, above.
    lets unpunctuate and buck tradition

    Let’s fall in love.

    Let’s befuddle, muddle, mix and mingle
    Flummox, flim-flam, fling and sing, oh…

    Let’s stick our words with bubble gum,
                               and write our poems with our thumbs.

  21. Connie Peters

    It Makes No Sense to My Senses

    Eighty degrees in Phoenix,
    the desert landscape
    decorated with pinks, yellows, purples
    of queen’s wreath and bougainvillea,
    their light fragrance stifled by traffic fumes.
    Then up the hill through
    fields of tall, thick saguaro
    lifting their three to five or so arms
    in salutation. And then
    flashing signs on Arizona high country
    warning motorists of winter weather.
    Switching off the AC, careful on the black ice,
    but my eyes lingering as long as possible
    on snowy cover, tall pines with bright blue backdrop.
    Then popping out on lower ground,
    reddish orange earth
    contrasting pale heavens
    with whip cream clouds hovering low.
    Then other worldly rock formations
    gray monoliths, red, then sandy mesas.
    Then back to where the mountains
    meet the desert in Southwest Colorado,
    the sky uncharacteristically gray,
    with the smell of rain in the air.
    This morning, I restart my life
    where sunshine from the east
    and clouds in the west
    seem to dare each other.

  22. Dare

    I’ll See You Then

    “Let’s get together.”
    “Nine o’clock at the house?”…”Yes!”
    Mix dough…brew coffee…
    Munching biscuits: Where are you?
    That night you call: “Where are you?”

  23. dextrousdigits

    CAKE ANYONE

    At midnight during the movie marathon
    we just had to have chocolate cake,
    not cookies, not cupcakes, not brownies,
    CHOCOALATE CAKE.
    The stores were all closed
    so there was nothing else to do but bake.

    Four 3×5 cards pulled from my recipe box
    lay on the counter.
    Aunt Mary’s double double chocolate
    Dad’s chocolate and raspberry
    Nuts and chocolate delight
    Moist Death by Chocolate

    When you are low on blood sugar
    and have several people waiting
    to watch the movie and eat cake
    it is hard to decide which to make

    So it was time to compromise
    to integrate and create.
    Chocolate cake mix
    chocolate pudding
    were had in recipes all
    chocolate chips from Mary
    raspberry sauce from dad
    nuts chopped for the top
    chocolate chips & some yogurt
    from moist death
    a bit of caramel to sprinkle with the nuts
    from me.

    Each warm moist yummy piece
    served with a wedge of snickers bar
    and a cup of mocha coffee with
    coconut cream and half and half
    when we returned to the movies.

    This morning I had a slice
    with my cup of coffee.
    Like pizza, chocolate cake
    is also great for breakfast.

      1. dextrousdigits

        Domino, if you made cake tonight, what kind did you make and can I pop over and have a bite. Sorry, I think I posted your comment under J. Lynn by mistake,
        it is late and I am a lot more tired than I thought. Forget cake for now,
        crawl into bed.

        Thanks for your comment

        1. dextrousdigits

          Did you get some cake?

          I myself have been craving chocolate and chocolate cake all day at work.
          Now I have been home and just finished dinner awhile ago
          and settled for dark chocolate covered pomegranate seeds.
          Quite yummy but not CHOCOLATE CAKE.

          Thanks so much for your comment.

  24. PKP

    Not so fast…

    I rush with fingers on keys
    playing not sweet sonatas
    although as a child I dreamt
    I would be
    A head shaking passion
    trembling with tumbling tempest
    Each classic concerto and of
    course my own originatas

    I began my lessons
    coming to them at
    a mid-teen year
    ready to pursue
    as only girls can
    commit to something
    which rings true and to them dear
    “if classical you to study”
    “You vill not play a song”
    “You vill play nutting that sounds
    musically for at least ten years”

    Said my Central Casting
    Russian teacher perfectly
    accented – the call to action
    already music to my ears…

    And so I set about it
    climbing long stairs to
    his studio a longish
    walk away from my
    own home
    And set my double jointed
    fingers on his keyboard
    and trembled Hannon
    to his merciless metronome

    I practiced scales and
    exercises hour upon end
    and at the closing on just
    six weeks I sat at lesson
    and did my fingers begin to bend
    “Schtop” said my Teacher
    “Wait before you play”
    He handed me a program
    “You are to report here on this day”
    And sitting there before me a
    small program white and blue
    where he had had my name
    typed beside Brahmm lullabye
    a recital … a recital … it was true!

    I was too smitten with his charm
    and with the music too
    to correct him to my stated devotion
    to have him remove me as my due

    Appeared at the school auditorium on
    that wintry day .. after practicing my
    two lines of notes in order something
    for me to play
    I listened to a tiny girl with flouncy skirt just ahead of me
    her tiny fingers running up and down the
    keyboard – her chubby baby fingers playing effortlessly
    And then it was time – this Gulliver sized first grader
    student for me to play .. I lumbered across the stage
    and sat down that dismal day
    The notes had rotated on their side
    they lied
    Hopelessly I tried to right them
    before my fingers tried
    They stumbled and they stood
    in a haphazard line
    and when I thought that
    I could do it
    when I thought that I would
    be fine
    I struck the first line
    injecting even a bit of
    passion play
    but as I rounded
    the corner of the second
    disaster crashed
    and I stood, bowed
    and left the stage
    flooded tearfully

    I never played again
    with my shaggy Russian
    mentor – myself as pianist was nixed
    With a tiny child he had a woman’s surrendered heart
    Catastrophically unwisely sadly mixed

  25. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    R=Ah and A=eR

    Whey-a I grew up things wera
    little mixed up
    words endin’ in R were said with an Ah
    Like cah and fah
    words endin’ in A were said with an eR
    like Linder and Pauler
    It gets quite confusin’ with lettah’s
    dropped heah and theyah
    I asked if anyone wanted to go to the pahty
    with me…they all looked confused.
    “Why would I want someone
    to go the potty with me?” they asked!

    1. Linda Rhinehart Neas

      Oopps! Not only was I late today, but I didn’t end it correctly…should be:

      R=Ah and A=eR

      Whey-a I grew up things wera
      little mixed up
      words endin’ in R were said with an Ah
      Like cah and fah
      words endin’ in A were said with an eR
      like Linder and Pauler
      It gets quite confusin’ with lettah’s
      dropped heah and theyah
      I asked if anyone wanted to go to the pahty
      with me…they all looked confused.
      “Why would you want someone
      to go the potty with you?” they asked!

  26. Maurie

    First is Last

    Paradoxically speaking Joe should
    have been John when he was born
    for the two had fought furiously
    over who would emerge first

    Joe, John, John, Joe
    Round and round and round they go

    An enigma in the maternity ward
    where mom struggled tirelessly
    and staff waited breathlessly
    as minutes accumulated

    John, Joe, John, Joe
    Who would be the one to crow

    Inexplicably, momentarily
    one head appeared
    only to fade with the easing
    of her contractions

    Joe, Joe, John, John
    Embroiled in battle, exhibiting brawn

    Suddenly struggle ceased
    A violent push
    moved the closest down
    the slippery slop to life

    John, John, Joe, Joe
    Mixed in womb, first to show

  27. Kendall A. Bell

    Snowing marshmallows

    I found my shoes in the fridge,
    chilled and stiff, as it turns out
    it will be 90 degrees today.
    My dog had my keys in her
    teeth, motioned for me to go
    in the cage this time.
    Something is not quite right.
    The lunch I made the night before
    was spotted in the clutches of the
    rabbit that sits in the grass on the
    side of my house. I think he’s
    laughing at me, left me the carrots
    I toss to him each day.
    My hair looks purple, for some reason.
    Is this someone’s idea of a joke?
    My wife is running at me with a bat.
    What the hell?! I run for the door.
    Outside, it’s snowing marshmallows.

  28. HannaAnna

    Happy Hurting

    She wants to go
    She wants to Stay
    He keeps hurting her
    But then always makes her feel that Way
    The way that makes her heavy heart Sing
    And every sound so happy Ring
    She knows that he will hurt her Again
    Leave her behind to be with his Friends
    But the heart, it has a mind of it’s Own
    Leaving all reason forgotten, Alone
    So the hurt will continue
    Because without him she would Hurt so much Worse

  29. Catherine Lee

    I owe this one to Dr. Kendall, my Linguistics professor because I am always mixed up in her class.

    Semantics

    We are a minimal pair, close enough to be a set
    But never a match made in perfect homonymy
    Because the difference is in the middle.

    Between the same and same is something else,
    A no man’s land of tongues and broken phones
    Glossed back and forth along the palette.

    Every ugly stop tumbles smooth in your mouth
    Until the only sounds left are digested words
    That I would rather swallow whole.

  30. Joseph Harker

    Process notes: I thought a cento borrowing lines from other poems would be good for this prompt, so I went to poets.org and typed in the first mixed-up-themed word that popped into my head, which was “hallucination”, which brought up 10 or so poems. I avoided the famous ones (“Howl”, for example), and clipped lines from the others for each stanza, then kept clicking the “Related Poems” links on the side, adding one line at a time until I hit a dead-end (at which point I worked on the next stanza). Punctuation and a few line breaks were shifted around. It was all pretty chaotic. 🙂

    The Creakings and Noises, an Old Conversation

    Once rich with meaning,
    if my voice is not reaching you,
    say, “give me an example.”
    We’ve devised such intricate rules.

    I’m not prepared to live on the bottom of
    a river of lament, find a howl
    itself, thin as a napkin, beside
    a little green sea.
    We maintain a critical distance:
    and if you have the will,
    you are dangerously close to falling.
    (I disappeared. Owls are silent:
    “no one wanders forever.”)

    And without a word,
    one can walk beneath
    piecework of the quiet shade.

    These two have a routine that goes way back:
    “bring up only that which you and I
    don’t share.”
    You fear that you have been demanded into

    this exhaustion, mutilated, to resemble
    passion.

  31. claudsy

    The New Home

    I followed your directions,
    Though there were missteps.
    I’d begin once again,
    Hoping to make no detours.
    I left early but arrived on time
    To your doorstep, a marvel sublime.
    A picket fence greeted me,
    Banking rivers of pansies,
    Holding back a flood of color.
    I didn’t think you’d remember
    My favorite flowers and all.
    You kept my swing company
    Until I arrived to feel the peace,
    Created for me by your side.
    There, within your glory I’ll
    Live for all eternity, a child
    Learning To Be as one with thee.

    © Claudette J. Young

  32. PKP

    Ode to Marianv Mix Up

    Oh Marian my dear
    on this morning quickly moving
    toward mid-day – a practice
    make it to avoid the reading
    of poetic predecessors lest
    they silence me with their
    sparkling best
    yet as I scrolled along
    to the bottom post aheaded
    I could not help but notice
    Oh my Marian prolific to
    staggering length spilled
    the length of the screen
    as though from a tilted
    Universal cup
    and then read I the prompt
    and smiled a sanguine
    grin at dear Marian
    the target of monumental
    glitched HICCUP

    Back to read later…

  33. Jerry Walraven

    “As if by Magic”

    This time spent
    digging in the dirt
    has returned dividends
    as I remove these weeds

         (WEED: any piece of beauty
         which is in a space
         it is not supposed to occupy)

         (“Supposed to” as defined
         by the common laws
         of suburban beautification)

         (Priorities = Mixed up)

    I find thoughts
    under my fingernails
    and memories
    gathered in the creases
    of my clothes
    and new beauty
    in the streaks of grime
    which cascade
    down my daughter’s cheeks.
    These marks,
    far more permanent
    than the new abraisions
    which appear on her knees
    as if by magic.

  34. posmic

    April

    That was when
    1965
    she wore
    a yellow dress
    he watered
    the lawn
    there is no sense
    talking about it
    anymore
    on the driveway
    there was
    a broken cat
    the sky was blue
    the world turned
    around
    again, as if
    for the first time
    and the last time
    in no time
    the water
    washed away
    the sun.

  35. PKP

    If I did not know better….

    if i did not know better
    than i might certainly
    believe that for this
    mixed up prompt not
    posting was a stroke
    of poetic genius by our
    “own” R-L-B

    but do i true know better
    could this not be truly so
    between what is and what
    could be – i will never absolutely
    know

    🙂

    1. claudsy

      So true, Pearl, so true; for what do we know for certain, that can be proven beyond any shadows doubt, is that only something’s Creator knows its purpose, reality, and clout. We wonder a world within our illusion, taking solace in knowing some others see us and believe in our existence.

      Hey, you ask the question. I’ve don’t my best to answer it.

      Love ya, Pearl.

    1. Marie Elena

      Love this! Yet another that, if I closed my eyes (no, wait … that’s not what I mean), I’d hear Walt. Wait … is that what I meant to say? 😉

      My dad used to be mistaken for Sean Connery, btw.

    2. Walt Wojtanik

      McIllwain, you’re killing me Brother!

      But if you have Marie fooled…?

      That is a rather humorous twist on the famous Bond line. And Connery was surely the best Bond. And I agree with Marie. I really like my style… er, your style! 😉

  36. Marianv

    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them warm but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then.

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Try to stick it out a little longer.
    Who will I be without you?

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without youSAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without youSAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without youSAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without youSAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without youSAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without youSAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without youSAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?
    SAYING ‘GOOD-BY’ TO MY BRAIN CELLS

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?

    They must sneak away at night
    When I’m asleep. Stashing their
    Stuff in tiny backpacks then tip-
    Toe-ing down the Eustachian tube
    And out the ear. Some might take
    The sinus route, being forcibly blown
    Into a tissue through the nasal passages.
    A bit messy, but I can understand why
    They’d want to go. Working with a mind
    Frosted over with unworkable ideas,
    Thoughts accumulated but un-indexed,
    Wrapped in long woolly mufflers to
    Keep them perculating, but no one
    Paying attention and the working
    Conditions continue to deteriorate.

    I don’t know how many have left. Lately,
    However, I’ve begun to miss the rapid response
    Of the facts team and the daily news is limping
    Badly. New faces disappear with the wind-
    Blown leaves and their names creep back into
    The anonymity of the phone book. Which
    I am able to locate now and then. I

    I ask all of you, you who are left, Please
    Don’t be in such a hurry to leave!
    Who will I be without you?

      1. claudsy

        I’m so glad I figured out what the problem was, but I have to say here that you could actually use this “error” to make this something even more special. Have you thought of taking the original, doing a repeat with selected bits missing? You know, show some of the deserters in the process of deserting–mayby only the four letters or the “o”s, or what-have-you.

        I’m thinking that would make your point even more visible, even though I laughed all the way through the first segment as it was. Just a thought, although a fleeting one. Love this.

    1. deringer1

      I really got a chuckle out of your poem. I have a theory that since my hair has been falling out so much lately, my brain cells leak out of the holes left by the missing hairs.

  37. DanielAri

    STIRRING IT UP

    and a smell in the pillow in that strange bed
    rousted me into a peaked-roof room where
    somebody else had festooned the identity
    they had settled upon onto every surface,
    blown glass in a shadow box, a pin board
    full of photos, perfumes on a shelf of that
    fragrance she chose. It came back to me
    I had not slept alone, and then gradually
    that I was near Chicago, seven weeks into
    a nomad phase, a quest under the banner
    of wanting to see it all, when really I sought
    an approximate oneness to call my own.

    FangO

  38. competitivewriter

    For this one I took a treatment of the subject in the content and format of my poem, mixing the rhyme scheme throughout. I humbly present

    “The First Time My Son Gets Dressed On His Own”

    Right foot is in left shoe
    Left foot is the right
    One sock’s red the other blue
    The pants seem succesfully done

    Except the sirt’s tucked into undewear
    Ninja turtles on display
    It’s also inside-out and backwards
    The tag flag gives it away

    But at the very top
    Beneath an unruly mop
    A smile a mile wide
    And I glow with pride

    1. dextrousdigits

      Obviously a proud and talented father.

      Years hence a compendium of these kinds of poems will be an awesome legacy’
      for such a lad
      WELL DONE DAD

  39. MiskMask

    I wrote this for Joseph’s Reverie in Danish, but here it is in English since it surprisingly fit this prompt, too. I simply renamed it.

    Howling at the Moon

    He carried Dick in his arms,
    dead weight,
    dead dog of twelve short years.
    Midnight’s moon
    mirrored black grief into his heart.
    He buried his dog below a stone,
    a shallow grave,
    a viking dysse,
    and he howled for Dick
    at the glossy white face
    that swam with a mirage of stars.
    And the moon sang back down to him.

    1. J.lynn Sheridan

      AAHH, you speak Danish??? I have been trying to translate some cards,etc.
      from my grandmother’s relatives for my mom’s 80th birthday and pulling
      my hair out. Can I connect with you via email or FB?

      PS. really sad poem. gorgeous.

      1. MiskMask

        It’s not my first language but I can certainly try. My husband is Danish so he can help if I can’t manage it. Just tried to find your name on FB but couldn’t find it. What’s your name there?

  40. JanetRuth

    the mumble and jumble
    of emotion and thought
    spar in my being…
    to write: or not

    misunderstanding
    is a double-edged grief
    forgiveness and mercy
    offer relief

    to the jumbling and mumbling
    contorted descry
    sucking the well
    of inspiration dry

    hind-sight with its clarity
    and perfect vision
    offers no sympathy
    in my hour of indecision

  41. Beth Rodgers

    It’s a terrible burden
    Indecisiveness.
    Shouldering the burden
    Of uncertainty
    At times when being sure of oneself
    Is a necessary evil.

    Past indiscretions have been hinged
    On the wishy-washy nature of some
    Causing undesirable outcomes to morph
    Into insurmountable odds.

    Protecting instincts
    And preserving clarity
    Will allow perseverance at times
    When all seems lost
    To the subtle inner workings of a mind
    Gone foggy.

    1. claudsy

      This so describes portions of lives spent in self-discovery, Beth.

      “Past indiscretions have been hinged
      On the wishy-washy nature of some
      Causing undesirable outcomes to morph
      Into insurmountable odds.”

      This piece along was worth a read and a stop by the site. Very well expressed. Love it!

  42. zevd2001

    WALKING INTO A QUANDRY
    Don’t believe me if you want,
    that’s all right,
    too. It started as a mental exercise
    when I became a part of a jigsaw puzzle, not
    a real one, but inside my head

    my eyes closed, sitting down
    on a soft pillow, an invisible hand
    watching over me, in a pile of wooden pieces,
    a hillock on a glass table. It started uncomfortably
    moving about involuntarily, pieces jutting
    into my sides, patiently waiting my turn, soon
    a bevy of fingers pushed and pulled, digits

    playing at us, setting us aside. I would have felt
    lying there patiently, contrasted
    compared to all the other discombobulated pieces
    of dysfunctional wood, looking for a home . . . Finally

    I fit somewhere with something in a section
    of a rectangle that has yet to become
    meaningful. Connecting with others,
    all the way to the side. Then to the top, faster than

    I thought. Thank God for the Invisible Hand, so far
    I have a neighborhood. I am part of a picture
    well in. I belong somewhere, maybe,

    once complete My Maker will take
    the image that He has organized. There
    you will see me in the right hand corner,
    the fourth blue piece, five away from
    the edge of the desert island.

    Zev Davis

      1. zevd2001

        The idea, I think is to play with an image ad try to make a poem out of it, a description, or at least that’s the way I figure. Don’t know about anybody else. If it works for a reader, I am happy for the reader more than itdoesmorme. it makes harder for me the next time around, heh heh. have to find another “trick” to come up with another different poem.
        Zev

    1. claudsy

      My head isn’t working all that well yet this morning, Zev, so it took me a few lines to “get the picture,” but when I did, I loved it. I’ve never seen a life described quite this way before, yet it fits perfectly the process we all go through.

      Wonderful! Thank you for sharing it.

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