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.”


 Get Started in Writing…

…with the Getting Started in Writing Independent Study Course. This course will lead beginning writers through the process of learning their writing interests, discovering new genres, learning basic techniques to improve general writing ability, and plenty more.

Click to continue.

You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

598 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 2

  1. Jo


    When I
    had a
    to myself
    I had an
    a mouse.

    I don’t
    like mice

    I knew
    I’d see
    him again
    across the
    can be
    so I
    the only
    thing to
    do was give
    him a name
    so I named
    him Bruce
    seemed to
    suit him.

    We got
    and I.

    He’d show
    up and I’d
    bang the
    floor with
    my broom.

    He’d scoot
    getting the
    hint that
    he needed
    to call
    dropping by
    and since
    he his
    phone was
    out of order,
    he stopped

  2. creilley

    A guest does no laundry here,
    cleans no spilled milk.
    Free from domestic responsibilities,
    there is nothing to be done
    save drink our wine, eat our food
    and give us the joy of your smile.

    When you are welcomed
    you can do no wrong,
    owe apologies to none,
    are forgiven our collective past.

    Yet when the time comes for you to leave,
    when you step off my porch into the world
    you are relied upon, obligated even,
    to leave behind a small scrap of joy,
    a warmth of recall,
    a pleasant memory
    of your having been with us.

  3. Benjamin Thomas

    Ella Muse

    She comes
    to visit
    in red
    but the

  4. Marian O'Brien Paul

    The Emperor’s Easter Visit

    An Easter basket substitute found
    at the corner pharmacy: paper sacks
    printed with eggs and bunny rabbits
    in pastel pinks and blues and greens.
    Stuffed with slippery cellophane grass,
    the perfect nest for garish jelly beans,
    eggs with tinted shells, sugary Peeps,
    and chocolates.

    I filled four of these:
    one for each of three grandsons and
    one for their uncle, my eldest child,
    my only son who needs such things,
    surprising as it seems. You’d think
    the Emperor of the World would be
    too occupied with crucial deeds like
    waging peace.

    Not so. He had time
    to spend the day with me, drinking
    diet Sprite, magically transformed
    into champagne to wash down all
    the sweets, half a chicken I baked
    with Greek potatoes, onions, corn,
    followed by Brown Cow ice cream
    swirled in fudge.

    Appetite sated, he
    plopped down on the floor to set up
    ranks of plastic toy soldiers collected
    over forty years or more along with
    miniature aircraft, tanks and artillery.
    When his campaigns were completed,
    he retired to the futon, to sleep away
    the Easter night.

    At dawn, sunshine
    poking through the slats of the blind
    hit his groggy eyes. His inner piping
    being bloated from overindulgence
    during Eastertide, before he left me,
    the Emperor’s toilette required that
    I ring the maintenance man and ask
    him to bring a plunger.

  5. HannaAnna

    Visiting Grandmommy and Papa

    I’ve been looking forward to visiting them all week– all month
    the homemade pie that only Grandmommy can make the way she does
    the dusty, old picture albums and timeless tales of the past
    the summer days spent fishing in the muddy pond

    They are the haven in a way too busy world
    the passage back in time
    to a better time

  6. MsGenuineLady

    Breathless, heart-racing, steady pacing,
    Debating if I should open the door and allow you to walk into my life once more
    My life that you walked out of many years before, and now you stand on the other side of the my door
    Calling my name, igniting this pain I buried in the past, with the last time I saw you
    Now you’re showing up unexpected, saying you regretted leaving me, you need me in your life,
    But when I needed you, you walked away, that wasn’t right, and I still love you I do,
    So here I am inside confused
    Breathless, heart-racing, steady pacing,
    Debating if I should open the door and allow you to walk into my life once more

  7. cstewart

    Wayward Visitor

    In the pathway of her dream, she met some future dodger,
    Who did not know himself and wept for his impending demise,
    Which was perpetrated by him with a lean toward greed and lust,
    And in the shadows lay integrity, clarity, and truth.
    Long lost on him and his trip down the road of life.

  8. David Yockel Jr.

    Necessary Angels

    Wallace Stevens visits me
    in my dreams. We discuss reality,
    the imagination and rising
    insurance premiums.

    He blathers on about Freud,
    Sunday mornings and the night
    he went a few rounds
    with Hemingway in Key West.

    We sit on front porches most
    winter mornings smoking big
    cigars and watch blackbirds
    peck out the eyes of a snowman

    bearing an uncanny resemblance
    to Democritus. He tells me stories
    of haunted houses, the mind
    of the virile young poet

    and angels in white night-gowns carrying
    flowers wrapped up in the morning paper.

  9. Paoos69

    The Visitor in a Womb

    The front door stood locked
    Bathing in the morning sun
    Its glass shimmering
    The light glimmering

    Every day it looked the same brown
    Neither smile nor frown
    It was opened and shut seldom
    As is common amalgam

    The afternoon wind swirled outside
    Swaying the shrubs, trees alike
    I peeped through the glass
    Half-expectantly, but the brick cochere was empty

    Yet I opened the door
    I knew someone was there
    Sure enough on the outside
    On the brown bottom frame

    A green cocoon swayed
    Holding on tight by a thin thread
    Glued to the door with a black dot
    The green lined with a golden ring

    I stared in awe, in wondrous delight
    Yet another Nature’s caricature
    A fresh, young green womb
    Holding within, Life

    Now I open the door everyday
    To check on my guest
    Green with envy as he is
    I ponder on its entity

  10. tunesmiff


    A stormy night; all lines are down,
    You can hear the train, on the tressle in town.
    No lights, no phone; no radio,
    Just that lone… some whistle blowin’…

    Headlights from an unseen car,
    Paint across my vacant yard,
    Gravel crunches in the drive,
    My pounding heart says I’m alive.

    A man in black stands at my door,
    I know I’ve seen his face before.
    A lightning flash across the skies,
    Reveals the hurt there in his eyes,

    He doesn’t smile, he won’t come in;
    I want to ask him where he’s been.
    Before I say a single word,
    He starts to speak as if he’d heard…

    (And he says…)
    The road,
    That brought me here,
    Is long,
    And wet with tears.
    And love,
    Is a burning thing,
    It leads,
    A heart to sing.
    Hot as fire or cold as ice;
    Or sacrifice…

    The wind picks up, thunder rolls,
    I feel I’ve looked into his soul.
    I ask if I can sing his song,
    When I look up, I find he’s gone.

    His words an echo in my head,
    I try to write the words he said.
    The man in black has left me here,
    As the storm clouds start to clear.

    The road,
    That brought me here,
    Is long,
    And wet with tears.
    And love,
    Is a burning thing,
    It leads,
    A heart to sing.
    Hot as as fire or cold as ice…
    Or sacrifice…

    The man in black stands at my door…
    I know I’ve seen his face before…

  11. JRSimmang

    Of course.
    Thank you.
    Please pass the salt.
    The night slowly slipping to dawn.
    A smile, nervous smile. Corners of my mouth
    salivating, slavering with the ring of a bell.
    Sardonic lace.
    A moment. Connection.
    Daylight brings a loneliness.
    Time and money.

  12. eyeisawrightr

    Hit like a freak wave crashing on delicate sand

    Scattering tiny plastic buckets
    Destroying castles
    Interrupting pleasant reverie
    Sweeping away bliss

    Water and wave retreat

  13. emmajordan

    Don’t come back!
    I’ve had enough of your abuse
    deviant ways
    controlling so tight.

    Don’t come back!
    I want you banished from my
    unnerving intrusions.

    Don’t come back!
    You’ve altered who I am
    doubting my worth.

    Don’t come back!
    I saw you dead
    vacant eyes.

    Don’t come back!
    Stay dead away
    eaten by flames.

    Don’t come back.
    Leave me alone in
    to heal.

  14. Miss R.

    A Brief Visit From a Butterfly

    The glass is spotted
    With winter’s cares
    As I look out
    Into the glare
    And gloomy sit,
    But then I spy
    A flit of color.
    Up wells a sigh.
    Delicate wings
    Vibrate against the blue
    Of a brand new sky
    And I shiver, too.
    My visitor’s fragility
    Cannot but bode ill,
    But he quivers and leaves
    My warm windowsill.

  15. po

    Going Home

    I had to go.
    As the youngest
    daughter and mother
    of the only grand-
    children. It was my
    duty. I would count
    the days off upon
    arrival. Time was
    slower than old catsup.
    Only one wish–that
    I could go back now.

  16. cajun75

    Have You Seen My Motorcycle

    Upon opening the front door to soft knocking
    A voice emanating from beneath a wild mane
    Of dyed blond hair asks,
    “Have you seen my motorcycle?”

    The aging soul standing there in total
    Sixties garb of white leather Go-Go boots,
    Jacket, and biker’s hat smiles and asks again,
    “Have you seen my motorcycle?”

    “No ma’am,” I say, trying to shut the door
    And blot out the scene before me
    “Go ask your Mom,” she says
    “Has she seen my motorcycle?”

  17. Katrin

    When I found you,
    you were a simple piece
    of genetics I wanted to kill
    but couldn’t, on theoretical grounds,
    as you buzzed against the car window,
    your sting’s potential dripping along
    with your disappointment bouncing

    You were drawn to the sweetness of
    spilled juice, your only intention, the
    pursuit of sustenance
    The baby in the backseat was of
    no interest to you and
    your natural defenses

    I opened the windows,
    as any proper hostess
    would do,
    and waited to accept
    your parting thanks

  18. Jannelee

    I am bent with age, just like the old tree on the hill
    my hands are gnarled and spotted
    like the curled bark and tangled roots
    I have less hair and fewer teeth
    and the old tree’s branches are bare bones
    her sap has thickened and stilled
    my blood is heavy and moves slowly
    through my clotted veins
    my bones creak as I slowly lower myself
    to sit beneath her empty canopy
    Her branches rub and sigh in the soft wind
    gently whispering to me, our time is almost up
    after all, we are only visitors
    who have outstayed our welcome
    Janice Kuykendall
    April 2, 2012


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