2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 2

We got off to a fast start yesterday, which is great! Now, let’s jump into Day 2. (Also, if you left any comments that needed moderated yesterday, they should now be approved.)

For today’s prompt, write a visitor poem. The poem can be from the point of view of a visitor–or the people receiving the visitor. The visitor could be expected or unexpected. The visitor could be welcome or unwelcome. The visitor doesn’t even have to be human.

Here’s my attempt:

“Vile Villains of Villainy”

I balanced on the balcony
barely able to breathe for fear
of the freakish ghosts and goblins
gathering as a symphony
of ghastly and ghoulish groaning
gained momentum in the foyer–
the freaky, frightening foyer–
from whence I heard cackles and cat
calls clambering up stairways with
hideous hoots and howls of, “trick
or treat, smell my feet, give me–give
me, give me–something good to eat.”


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598 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 2

  1. thebearpaw

    Universal Appearance

    I arrived with excitement
    with the golden key
    unlocked and opened
    that golden door
    where all the dreams
    and fantasies
    and pasts
    and futures dwell.
    the universe glared
    white with the bright moon
    overwhelming with its vastness
    And all I could do was
    stare at the page.

  2. Walt Wojtanik


                                  the Final
                              Frontier. There
                           is   something  out
                       there,     and it’s     come
                    to observe us, rattle our cages,
                  really un-nerve  us. From faraway
    planets they have traveled far, from the surface of Mars
    and the furthest of stars. To learn our customs and study
                  our ways. They’ll even make cont-
                     act one of these days. I just
                        hope that I’m not tapped
                           as a greeter. How do
                            you translate “Take
                                 me to your

  3. omavi

    “She Came With the Sun”

    Secluded I keep myself
    On the precipice between time
    Quiet and finding that calming state
    Thinking but not really thinking
    Any or everything
    Then a glimmer or maybe a whisper
    Came drifting to the mind
    The eyes shifted through spectrums
    Such was the beauty that was found
    The eyes perked even happy
    And soul infuses body with such joy
    What a wonderful addition
    To what was already peace defined
    I reached out my hands
    As I extended my mind
    Searching for the meaning
    Or just waiting for the sublime
    As sun conquers dark horizon
    And finally eyes are opened wide
    The fluttering of wings
    And her beautiful bird song
    Announced the sun rise

  4. ltville

    Lost Years

    He watched her through the window
    She turned and caught him standing there
    Her smile invited him to come in
    But the sign warned, “Trespassers beware”
    He hesitated for a moment
    She opened the door and made the decision for him
    It was awkward being face to face
    He held out his hand
    She pushed it to the side and hugged him
    His eyes closed and he tried not to cry

    His father had taken him ten years before
    But she knew one day he’d come knocking at her door
    She had stayed in that house just for him
    And as she held him in her arms
    She knew he was home again.

  5. maggzee


    One’m two’m
    Come in
    Have a drink
    It’s no bother

    First meeting
    Awkward greeting
    His folks
    My baby
    He looks just like his father

    Settle in
    She drinks gin
    Wedding dates
    Seating plans
    It all gives me pause

    His folks
    My baby
    They will
    Be her
    New in-laws

  6. hurtin-heart

    She tries to find beauty,
    through eyes so dark.
    The night is her friend,
    she gazes at the stars.
    Beautiful sparkles that once
    shone in her eyes.
    She wonders if she will ever again
    find happiness in the light.
    Time has taken away so much from her
    But it couldn’t take away the heart in her.
    Yet night is when the heart feels the most.
    The thoughts,the pain,the burdens,
    the shame and the lonliness
    Only she will ever know.
    When she loves,she loves deep
    But when she hurts,she hurts deeper.
    Yet she continues to search the night for answers.
    Will her heart ever find,what it searches after?

  7. MichelleLynnGuerra

    Visitor in My Head

    I try to tune it out of my head.

    If I can’t turn it off I might as well be dead.

    It comes in the middle of the night.

    Playing with my emotions starting a cat-fight.

    I wish I could just make it go away.

    I know that even when it lets me sleep it will be back the next day.

    I know what I must do.

    I have always knew.

    I have to just let the idea go.

    So something new has time to grow.

    Visitor in my head you are not welcome.

    I am strong today and ready to walk away from.


  8. Anders Bylund

    Future Perfect
    By next Tuesday, I will have invented a time machine
    And then it’ll take thirty years before I use it
    like a nerve-bound teenager looking for a date
    I shall have wasted a lifetime of opportunity
    And now I’m back to tell myself
    All the things I will have missed
    All the doors that will never have opened
    If I will have left the controls
    Untouched, for the first time, again.

  9. Mr. Walker


    Why would any visit us?

    I don’t think they’ll come
    to enslave us
    or steal our resources
    or colonize our planet

    Those are all metaphors
    for our own fears and failings

    I do think they’ll come
    as explorers
    with open minds
    and open hearts
    willing to share with us
    ready to learn from us

    But then again
    maybe those are all metaphors
    for our own hopes

  10. Arrvada

    Seeing the Sights

    The brochures are piled up,
    So high the tower begins to sway
    So much to choose from
    So much to see
    How can I decide?
    My visit here may be limited
    My schedule not as open as I please
    This trip is work related
    But some of the time will just be for me
    Should I go to Rome?
    See the acropolis?
    The pyramids at Giza?
    Stonehenge, the Grand Canyon
    Niagara Falls or Belize?
    Will I have time to visit more?
    Between Crop circles and probing
    Surely I can see at least three.

  11. unscriptedlife

    Sorry We Live Here

    You said you’d call, yet here you are
    standing at my door.
    I don’t mind you here, but I guess I need
    to make it clear once more.

    When you come there’s work to do
    long before you’re here.
    I need warning. I need time
    before your car comes near.

    My house, you see, is not like yours
    all sparkly and clean.
    Preparations are made when I hear you’re coming,
    I’m not trying to be mean.

    It’s because this house is occupied,
    a family lives here.
    There’s chaos and mess each way you look,
    it’s your judgement that I fear.

    But since you’re here, there no more need
    to try to even explain.
    Just step over that pile and grab a mop,
    you’ll never forget to call again.

      1. Natalija

        I can really relate to this. Before I had children I thought I would never be “that” type of person – the one with a messy house. Then, at some point, reality sets in and our priorities shift. What we once thought, becomes unattainable.

        1. unscriptedlife

          Natalija, me too!! Then one day, I realized that I don’t want my son to always remember me because I was cleaning. I want to have good moments… moments that sometimes mean leaving the dishes until later. Lol.

      2. unscriptedlife

        Thank you so much! I wrote this one after bedtime, so I can thank Dr. Seuss for the inspiration.. lol.

        Everyone here is so encouraging! I am so glad Nikki shared this with me. I have real hope this is going to get me out of my rut.

  12. sarite

    I know this flies in the face of every romantic, but it was our experience…

    When In Paris-flee

    From stinky cheese
    To ham infatuation
    Adoration of cigarettes
    At every outdoor cafe
    It was clear
    We didn’t belong here
    Yet, into the country
    We flew
    And there, there
    Champagne, smiles
    Cobblestones, and pastures
    We found home

  13. Jane Shlensky

    When Visiting Hours Are Over

    Your cross-country runner
    is here again, following you
    home from your run to hang
    out and chill with the coach
    and his wife.

    He is hungry, having skipped
    breakfast and now angling
    for lunch and dinner,
    watching TV as I try
    to vacuum.

    It’s Saturday! Lighten up!
    he says as I sharpen the knives
    and scissors, sparks flying.
    He’s just a kid, you say.
    But you are not, I enunciate.

    He eats and snacks and naps
    on the couch, as you mow
    the lawn, and I garden and cook.
    After dinner, he ambles doorward, O
    hope, picking up the remote.

    Give him time, you say. Night falls, our
    silence suggesting a departure, elsewhere
    glowing like a lantern in my darkness,
    but he sits, a bored and boring
    young man, saying nothing.

    I advise you to help him leave,
    but you rise, say good night,
    and go to bed, leaving me there
    to say, That’s it, go home, and he
    saying OK and not moving.

    Poe thought a raven’s repetition soul-
    sucking, but perhaps he wondered too:
    How long does a visitor have to stay
    before he becomes a resident?
    Someone had to leave, so I did.

  14. Walt Wojtanik


    My mother was quite diplomatic
    the day that I posed this dilemma.
    “Ma, I spotted her when I came out of school
    and when she wagged her tail; I was smitten.
    She flashed big brown puppy dog eyes; by the bug was bitten.
    Her soft brown hair? I could stroke it for days”.
    But when I offered the query, Mom thought I was crazy.
    She looked at me wisely, said “Son, she’s a winner!
    But Jen’s mom just called to send Jen home for dinner”.

  15. Jane Shlensky

    Why has everything become bold? I don’t feel bold, but a little shy in TNR 😉


    That little girl keeps watch
    on me from her yard,
    or walking past my house
    on her way to nowhere.

    She wants to eavesdrop
    as I talk to you, asking
    for advice, commenting
    on how life’s working out,

    on aches and pains and
    trivial woes. She leans in
    and squints as I show you
    green dots of seedlings,

    and we argue about what
    it will be when it grows
    and proves itself, its foliage
    unfurling into identity.

    I stand drinking sun-warmed
    water, reporting the heat to you.
    You need no water now,
    but she won’t understand that.

    She’s on a mission of proof
    as well, hiding and seeking
    evidence that I am quite insane,
    at the very least, strange,

    talking and laughing aloud
    and alone, pointing out birds
    and collecting spring flowers
    to turn the outside in.

    Perhaps, she remembers loving
    imaginary friends, who clung
    to her like shadows’ second
    skin, and that confuses her.

    She fakes dog-walking and
    postman-waiting, sane excuses
    to wait outside, hover, and listen.
    I always smile and wave.

    She needn’t think one loss—
    or one old gardener—so scary.
    She may be old enough
    to fathom carrying spirits,

    wise enough to grasp
    that great loves take on
    many forms, each one
    as real as rain or morning glories,

    claiming us as they always did,
    climbing with kindly clinging tendrils
    to our lives to open to us anew
    each shining morning, a visitation.

  16. Michael Grove


    Please come out and wear your brightest colors.
    Leave the black behind if you would.
    Celebrate the life not the passing.
    This energy was for the greater good.

    If everyone could be just like a rainbow,
    and share fond memories of the gold,
    seeking comfort in the peace that is here now,
    find enjoyment in the stories that are told.

    Wear bright colors on this day of celebration.
    A soul of love is for eternity.
    If you cry, shed tears of joy, not of sadness.
    Flesh and blood are for the living. Let it be.

    By Michael Grove

  17. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    The Visitors Who Took Over

    Some house-guests (like these)
    are hard to get rid of.
    They move in, just for a few days
    which become a couple of weeks,
    and next thing you know….

    He was handsome
    and seemed such a charmer:
    always so friendly
    and so obliging.
    She —

    truth to tell, she was always
    more of a problem. So ill
    soon after she first arrived
    with that dreadful tick bite.
    Well, we’d hardly turn her away.

    And she grew on us.
    Tough little soul, but
    affectionate in her way
    underneath the loudly-voiced
    opinions and shameless greed.

    Yes, we got stuck with them.
    In the end, we didn’t
    have the heart. They were
    destitute; where could they go?
    They’ll be company, we told each other.

    We’ve seen the worst of them
    by now — like the raucous fights.
    Domestic violence in which
    she gives as good as she gets.
    Though it’s always him that attacks.

    Then it all calms down
    and they’re all over each other again.
    They keep us entertained
    with their antics, I will say that.
    And they in turn tolerate us.

    We’re getting on a bit now
    and they try to boss us around.
    But we couldn’t do without them, after
    twelve years, can you believe?
    When they came, they were just kittens.

  18. Walt Wojtanik


    Mae West was more than a life vest,
    but by way of her buxom chest she could arrest
    men’s wiles along with her wicked smile and suggestive plea,
    “Why don’t you come up sometime and see me?”

  19. Walt Wojtanik


    Sound asleep and I still heard you creep.
    Standing in the dark face-to-face with
    nary a space between our noses.
    I sensed your presence and I tensed
    under the quilted cover as you hovered
    and invaded my dreams. It seemed
    you had done that every night for a week.
    You used to sneak out of bed with tales
    of banshee type wails from your closet.
    But I would awake with a start and my heart
    would race when I viewed your face
    a mere inch away. A drink and a tuck
    and I snuck back to my slumber
    and sawed lumber until I heard you creep.

  20. Sara McNulty

    Note: Does anyone else have to log in each time? I am registered for quite a while now.
    April 2, 2012 – Write a Visitor poem

    The Uninvited

    Creeping into the background
    of a medical MRI, a vile
    villain of lumpy masses
    has taken up residence
    in a normal, naive body,
    unaware of the insidious
    speed of the vicious. Mocking
    life, octopus arms and legs
    extend, bloating stomach,
    pressing against heart
    and lungs, sentencing
    the body to death
    without parole.

  21. Maria Phoenix

    Everyone sobbed feeling robbed of a therapist
    They whispered fragile comforts into their Kleenex
    Her demise was a surprise, even to herself when she missed the last flight of stairs
    My turn to look into her gold gilded coffin
    Glimpsing my father disheveled in grief
    My trepidation increased
    But I could not expect what would happen next
    I peered in
    And couldn’t help but grin and stifle gushing laughter
    Let me explain
    Her dress was plain and gauzy, her face was delicately painted in pastels an image of grace engaged in powdery sleep
    But I knew if she saw herself she would shriek
    You see, she was a woman of glitz, gaudy grab, and gold
    Calling her Abuela made her feel old
    She was a counselor who gambled, drank heavily, and made you laugh easily
    I heard her scold me beyond this realm, “Darling, why would you let them do this to me? I would never leave the house like this! Where are my pearls? My emerald rings? Pastels are colors for babies!”
    My muffled giggles sounded like gasps of grief and I appeared appropriately responding to the open casket experience
    I kissed her frigid forehead and responded, “I am sorry. I had no idea.”
    I walked back to my seat and recalled the last thing she told me, “As a Puerto Rican you must never marry a Dominican or I will never forgive you!”
    This only made me laugh harder too.

  22. PSC in CT

    Your Place or Mine?

    I drop by daily (physically or
    metaphysically) soaking in spiritual
    (or maybe emotional) presence (here & now),
    this place and you (toad, turtle, lady slipper,
    chipmunk, cardinal, cattails, buttonbush,
    butterfly, fox, fawn, firefly, dragonfly,
    fringed polygala,…) who live your entire life
    (short though that may be — compared
    to only my time so far) in this locale;
    still, when we chance to meet, I reflect upon
    who is visiting whom(?) until I settle on this
    (erstwhile conclusion): we are (all of us)
    merely guests in this place
    for a tiny slice of time

  23. Melissa Hager

    The Visitor

    White pants?
    Best not.
    The visitor might come.

    Known as Aunt Mary,
    Sister Bled,
    my good friend,
    Or Riding Red.

    A visitor that shows up at the worst times
    -Or not at all-
    Which can be much worse.

    There are times you pray the visitor doesn’t come.
    Then her arrival

    O happy day when the visitor comes no more.
    Surgery can close that door and fasten it shut.
    Or hot sweats and wicked moods may
    scare her off for good.

    O, cursed Eve,
    What a foul guest you have wrought!

  24. Nancy J

    My Place

    I call it mine, this dot of land.
    My yard, My garden, My home.
    I prune and trim and rearrange
    trying to make it speak my name.
    But, the land is older than the house in
    its midst, older than its nameless hedge,
    older than the grass dotted with violets,
    and the blue spruce filled with birds.
    Still we keep at it, others before me and
    more when I’m gone, all striving for some sense
    of permanence. We may build and we may
    plant, but the truth remains, we are never
    more than visitors here.

  25. seingraham


    Think of me as your astrological twin
    When the rain pounds to come in
    Or thunder cries down the sky
    It will be me whispering to you
    There is nothing to fear, go out
    Shed your clothes, dance between
    The lightning bolts and rest beneath
    The weeping willow down near the fence
    Where the horses wait for you to ride
    Bareback across the black sands
    As the storming skies give up the night
    To a moon meant for riding with the wind

    I will be as welcome as any other lunatic
    You love and you know there are many
    So regarding me as blood will help you
    To think of me with kindness perhaps
    And in a less destructive manner than
    That with which you are accustomed …

    As fond as you are of detailing your pain
    Limning it large upon your person
    Writ calligraphic and bloody for all to see
    I come to help you find other ways to deal
    As risky, it may be true, but not as lethal
    Hear me call to you from the silence
    Of mute swans and dead babies
    I know you will be listening for me
    Answer with your whole being
    Should I deign to visit you again

    You know your world is predicated
    On the premise that I must, I will
    Ergo – so must you, you will
    Or tragic circumstances the like of which
    I know you can imagine will rain
    Down upon — not you —that would be
    Too easy, too kind— no, on those you love
    I know you well enough to realize
    You are not so far gone to find
    This an acceptable outcome
    Are you? Well, are you?


  26. mlcastejon

    Before heading off to bed, my poem.

    “another guest like me”

    I didn’t know
    there was a down
    even deeper
    where to fall.
    I didn’t know
    I could find a place
    there to room
    all my memories.

    Behind a door, wearing silent shoes
    You came along, not only to stay
    but to open all the windows.

  27. Kendall A. Bell


    It swims around in the acid of my gut,
    punching holes and biting the lining.
    It leaves me buckled and nauseated.

    It travels the length of my shoulders,
    sending its ache up my semi-arthritic neck
    and leaves me dizzy when I wake.

    It sends me into an afternoon fever,
    my hands dry and chilled, my face warm
    and flush with sickness.

    It laughs while I wait out its blood games,
    its dyskrasia firing into my brain,
    blasting scenarios that all end badly,
    contemplating an end I had not imagined.

  28. barbara_y

    You’ll just have to imagine your own formating for this

    19 Roswell 47 dot hello
    (“near hugh”)

    set his GPS,
    Galactic Sal, for home
    and headed to the galley for
    what we interpret as
    a snickerdoodle/cheeto/chocolate milk.
    That last exam had wiped his mind,
    and he felt indulgence calling like a bird.
    and he felt indulgence calling like a song.
    and he felt indulgence calling like a cookie in the night
    and he slept for a long time.
    Mexico shook him awake
    awakened him harshly
    crashed into him
    and (again) he slept.
    and (again) he slept for a long time
    and was (again) harshly awakened
    The waterboard he rather enjoyed
    and the music was just like home
    but one of the drugs gave him gas
    and he swelled up
    and he swelled up more
    and he swelled up like a balloon.
    When he farted
    the blast shook the bunker
    When he farted
    the force shot Hugh through the wall
    and well along the way to San Antonio
    When he farted
    Hugh was relieved and released, but
    the Air Force assumed the worst.
    They were under attack:
    Poison gas.
    And the base went on lockdown
    with Hugh
    headed east
    the first memeber
    of the weather balloon underground.

  29. AC Leming


    Five weeks living in a hotel room,
    training six days a week. The only
    upside is a bit of harmless flirtation
    I’ve started with a local chic. And I
    miss my wife. And I miss sex. And I
    don’t want to cheat again but I think
    I’m headed that way no matter what
    I tell myself. No matter how I lie.

  30. Ann M

    Wading in the Mangrove Swamp

    My bare feet sink into mud
    and I imagine snakes, worms,
    and pestilence swirling
    in the cold black water.
    I imagine becoming lost
    in a place where I don’t belong,
    where no one even knows I am.
    Then in the tangled branches
    above the giant termites’ nest
    the white egrets rustle
    and one lifts up.
    The bird flies by me
    so close, I breathe its breath,
    before it alights to the open beach,
    where the tide is coming in,
    where I will soon follow.

  31. SylviaE

    The New Wife

    Ah, so you’re on your way from Russia
    It’s not your fault
    But who would’ve thought we’d be waiting for a foreign wife for my ex
    Expected to entertain her, even
    Welcome her with wide open arms
    if you can believe it

    I don’t mean to be mean but we (my kids and me) don’t want you here
    Can’t get geared up to accept your arrival
    Can’t quite include you yet
    We wish you’d stay home

    but no one asked us what we wish for
    and that’s really the worst of it, isn’t it?

    What do you think?

  32. claudsy

    Final one for today. I have so many yet to read.

    Uninvited Guest

    I’ve not seen you
    Since I was young,
    Tender, vulnerable,
    Unaware of the world’s hazards.

    You insinuated
    Your selfish desires
    Under nubile skin, without
    Regard for consequences.

    Now you return.
    I cannot bear to touch you,
    Or to have you touch me.
    The look of you frightens me.

    Have you no one else to victimize?
    A wail of need rises in my throat,
    To escape as a siren does. “Tick! Tick!
    “Get it off. Get it off!”

  33. Sheryl

    Whoops. Creating a short poem as part of a to-do list means being too careless. Line number four of my poem should be FaceBook-to-FaceBook. I forgot the dashes.

  34. ellanytdavve

    Invited Guests

    I arrived at the restaurant,
    alone and without a plan
    for food, fun, festivity.
    My Sole guest, Rockefeller,
    oysters that is,
    served up to savor my appetite
    for rich company
    and fishy friends.
    Delightful guests until
    conversation turned to

  35. Mary Mansfield

    A Woman Apart

    I’m merely a visitor
    In an unfamiliar landscape,
    Wandering through the world
    I was meant to inhabit,
    But not knowing if I’m just
    A half-step removed in time
    Or if the ground beneath my feet
    Shifted while I paid no attention.

  36. randalljweiss

    Today’s prompt reminded me of a road trip I took last summer. Here’s what I came up with.

    “Adobe Café”

    We hit Taos in early afternoon, desperate
    for coffee and wifi. The winding highway
    leads directly into the central business district,
    lined with adobe structures that I feel
    are built for us, not the locals. We choose
    a café abutting two gift shops that sell
    turquoise trinkets and “Native American” art
    and map our route to Santa Fe, along
    the high road. Only the barista is
    unadorned with a camera. We load film, leaving
    behind three empty mugs and a little cash.


  37. Aylat

    When It Counts

    Bathtime chaos
    Muddy floor
    Stomach growling
    Knock at door

    Helpless neighbour
    Unwell child
    I hesitate
    Greeting mild

    Pasted smile
    Protesting heart
    She’s unaware
    I act a part

    Offer food
    Provide a drink
    Wise advice
    I hope she thinks

    Sits on sofa
    Calmer seems
    My heart expands
    But kids still scream

    Bedtime ends
    The quiet comes
    My soul has stretched
    Matured and won.

  38. Aylat

    Second Separation

    They built the house together
    setting up rooms full of beds
    for their blended family to visit
    finally choosing their dream sofa
    for their guests to sit on.

    Now he’s moved to the upstairs spare room
    and they live side by side
    cook consecutively in the kitchen
    politely pass in the hall
    visitors in their sold home.

  39. posmic

    Every Night, We Watch the Skies

    The visitors ate all our Jell-o.
    The visitors used all our spoons.
    They ignored our shoes-off rule,
    smudged our antimacassars,
    lit cigars and used our ashtrays,
    which are really just for show.

    The visitors broke everything.
    The visitors said they’d send
    a check. Every night, we
    watch the skies. But
    I don’t think the visitors
    are ever coming back.

    The visitors have no checkbooks.
    The visitors have no banks.

    We patch our broken things;
    we say, That’s the cost
    of having company sometimes.
    It was worth it, we think.
    Some things just are.

      1. posmic

        Thanks, De! I’m a visitor myself for the next few days, and am looking at all the havoc my kids have wreaked on my dad’s place. I hope he believes it was worth it. 🙂

  40. Mark Windham

    Visiting Grandfather

    No one liked to go,
    but everyone wanted to,
    it was not right to leave
    him there alone.
    They would all huddle
    around him in the
    common room,
    telling him how good
    he looked, asking how
    he felt.
    He smiled a lot and
    cut up with the kids,
    never calling anyone
    by name.
    Before long he would
    doze off as everyone
    went back to talking
    among and about
    the nurse would wheel
    him to his room as they
    headed for the parking lot.
    Grandmother stayed stoic,
    said he seemed happy to
    mumbled agreements
    all around. They would
    all be back after Church
    next Sunday, no one
    liked to go, but it was
    not right to leave him
    there alone.


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