2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 29

For today’s prompt, take a favorite line or image from an earlier poem this month and re-work it into a new poem. This is a fun exercise that I’ve used to successfully write new poems in the past.

Here’s my attempt:

“Cloudy with a chance of line breaks”

We have a poem to write slash
poem, as if we could avoid
the way our pens hash and re-hash.
We have a poem to write slash
read, buying books with extra cash–
new words shining like brilliant toys.
We have a poem to write slash
poem, as if to cloud a void.


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243 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 29

  1. Caren

    I Can See it on Your Face

    The news can’t be good. I can
    See it on your face, that look
    Of pity, sympathy, dread.
    Just don’t say everything will
    Be okay, ’cause I can tell,
    Things will never be the same.

    Caren E. Salas

  2. Yolee

    A Mishmash of new and rearranged lines from different poems

    At the maternity ward, I thought of what Papi shared with me. He was 14
    when he ran away from home. In the mornings he collected dreams that tangled
    on the barbwire fence his father built with words. I believe for a short while
    his spirit receded little by little, until he became an orphan with living parents.

    Things would be different! Her wail pirouetted from the hallway. It towed
    a universe bigger than something I could not reference. There were roots
    in the underpinning of motherliness that needed her pulse and comeliness.
    The indoor voice of my childhood rose, I felt the tail of time as it scurried
    inside me; the scholarship to the school of dreams was granted. The nurse
    brought her in to me swaddled in a white hospital blanket stamped St. Joseph.

    I was still undone by the c-section, the sunrise and midnight of birth, and the lavish
    hope of getting things right. I looked at the tiny folds of flushed skin and eyes now
    too quiet to speak to mine. Suddenly thoughts whisked to the story of how my
    mother’s cousin lost her boy. Suicide. Who gets over a death like that?

    Mami’s cousin recounted the tragedy when we visited her in Puerto Rico
    on a rainy afternoon.. After she got the catch-up list with mom out, her tone
    switched gears like a low rumbling vehicle at a red light Hanged himself.
    She squirreled junk in her tiny house, including the cursed noose he used
    I wondered if her hording was a way to trap misfortune, bury it under waste
    and novellas filled with absent-hearted ghosts.

    The spirituality of loss and starting lines cannot be surmised like mathematics
    on the chalkboard. My soul ached for the break of things that words cannot
    piece together. Yes, our story would be different. It will survive poor parentage.
    We will have samwiches, bike rides, the sandbox, first-day-of-school-dual-jitters,
    band aids, tea-cups, Jesus, communion, goodnight moon, feathery pillows and laughs
    lots of laughs like Easter eggs hidden for the point of being found.

  3. Jolanta.Stephens


    A slash of red
    And drizzling ribbon
    Lay puddled at her feet
    As she feafully
    Quivered in his hands
    The slice barely felt
    As he cradled her head
    And the moon captured
    The drops of crimson
    On his steeling blade

  4. foodpoet

    In the silence of departure
    The musician blows the blues
    And I cope with another day another commute

    As the work flow progress
    And the emails phone calls demands coagulate
    In the silence of departure

    Work piles up undone festering
    I dig through paper mole hills and mountains
    As the musician blows the blues

    The work flow stutters to a stop
    Complete or not I shut down
    Coping with another day another commute

  5. PSC in CT

    Caroling Daybreak

    Sunrise slips in
    sprinkling light, stippling color,
    accompanied by robins’ song

    Next, rustle of chipmunk,
    squirrel and towhee
    among last fall’s leaves

    crake of redwings amid cattails,
    woodpecker percussion,
    peepers trill in the pond

    Then, chickadee chatter,
    cackling of grackles,
    phoebes squeaky squawk

    Layer by layer the chorus increases –
    a symphony of voices, all caroling
    in harmonious cacophony

  6. ceeess

    My attempt uses the required line as title of this new poem

    the private life unrecounted, things outlast us

    At Heraklion, fragments of Minoan pots,
    at Thebes a pharaoh’s cartouche engraved
    upon pillars

    In a gravel bed beside the Kempsey church
    Nero stares back at a farmer from the face
    of a dirt-crusted coin

    At L’Anse aux Meadows, worn rivets from a Norse
    sailing ship, a stone oil lamp, a bone knitting needle,

    At the curb of a dead neighbour’s house,
    a mirrored dresser, his face no longer frowns into
    its silvered glass.

    In my cellar, dust layers on the shoulders of jars,
    raspberry jam made with loving hands by a husband
    long gone himself to dust.

    Carol A. Stephen
    April 29, 2012

  7. Jaywig

    Day 29 – recycling a previous line

    It’s the racket others make
    that gives her away.
    And yet, today, the rock
    I hold ready makes no mark.
    They’re actually partying
    there among the scarlet
    bottle brushes, and as I
    approach ready to defend
    they take flight – at least
    a dozen drunken

  8. Tanjamaltija

    The First Time You Did It…

    The first time you did it…
    I cried.
    But now abhorrence makes me shiver.
    Nothing you will do or say will soothe the
    Me and
    Make me forget.
    Too far. Too deep. Too low.
    Irritation and indignation are puny words.
    Aggression and loathing
    Do not half begin to explain what I feel.
    Resentment. Regret….

  9. Arrvada

    Can’t Escape

    With a brutal hard fist
    I try to chase back the darkness of ignorance
    But the darkness is in my heart
    To be scrutinized and judge
    Something that has Lived, breathed, cried, died
    Somehow the wires got crossed
    The mixture’s off
    Alone in my dark and silent space
    My pain comes Slithering in to corrupt the perfect scenes of my dreams
    I wait for them to reach me, the safety of dreamland
    to embrace me, wrap me
    but there is nothing left
    just a nightmare that cackles and hisses
    as it holds me close in its cold embrace

  10. LCaramanna

    The Girl In The Faded Blue Jeans

    The girl in the faded blue jeans balanced on the edge
    Fascinated by the agitated water
    Ten feet below.
    Angry waves, wind whipped white caps
    Water’s violent force pounded the rocks.
    On another day, a sunny day, the splash of water
    Would have tossed white diamond sparkle through a blue sky,
    And she might have smiled.
    But on this day, ominous gray clouds hung heavy,
    Water’s splash cold, threatening.
    The girl in the faded blue jeans put her face in her hands and cried.
    Without the courage to leap, she could only hope to lose her balance
    And fall.

  11. randalljweiss

    “The Dance”

    The first letter is awkward. Materializing
    through scribbles the framework of conversation.
    Often stumbling, like learning to dance with a
    new partner. The reply trades leading role and
    adds new steps. Reply step reply step.

  12. Marian O'Brien Paul

    Ravage our Hearts with Song

    Let us ravage our hearts with song
    rather than trepanning our brains
    with arguments’ honed flint edges.

    Let symphonies of words possess
    every living molecule of our bodies
    from our toenails to split hair ends.

    Let the spirit that inhabits each of us
    be unleashed to soar upon the music
    of our songs, the essence of our being.

  13. mschied

    Stinky blog, I wasn’t done yet

    Imagine Alchemy

    Imagine the soft transmutation
    that hovers over the page
    the chemist’s aurora
    eminating from bubbling
    and gurgling cauldron

    imagine the wave of a wand
    as a gossamer rainbow
    wraps everything in
    hazy transformation

    imagine the mist
    rolling sinuously
    across the land
    and leaving behind
    an enchanted landscape

    the magic mirror
    which reflects
    true beauty
    invisible to the world

  14. Miss R.

    (You) Dashed the Calm to Frantic Pieces

    Your voice broke in, shattering my reverie
    And there’s no way I couldn’t see
    The pain you were in,
    And the pain it
    Would cause
    Wished you
    Would go away,
    But that’s not really
    Fair to say, so you can stay.
    One breath and I’ll enter the broken fray.

  15. claudsy

    Prayers Danced in Circles

    Call forth with drum and song
    Answers from Creator’s hand.
    Step lively in obedience,
    Sing with heart’s voice to
    Weave supplication upward
    Toward Creator’s ear.
    Circles with unending,
    Beginning, revolving in circuit,
    To define all life as one,
    Connected and connecting.
    Such is Earth, Water, Fire, and Air—
    Each touching each, depending,
    Giving, moving forward as willed,
    Calling singers, dancers to moving circles,
    Calling forth prayers to the heavens.

    © Claudette J. Young 2012
    Title and beginning of first line come from Day 4 poem entry

  16. cstewart


    I can recognize it immediately.
    The way in which you walk.
    Or hold your head to one side.
    Or speak of others or not,
    Or do not speak of yourself.
    The way you drive your car.
    The way you use colloquial language.
    The smile you present.
    I can recognize it immediately.

  17. Pat Carroll Marcantel

    The Rock at Lobos Point

    Adrift on a Sargasso Sea, wearing a crown of weeds,

    the berries and leaflets streaming down your body–

    only your blue eyes tell who you are. Neptune unlocks

    the deep as the moon speaks, sweeping depths of the

    Kurile for its treasures. Is it only you who are set free

    to visit? Brash, brassy seagulls break the spell, walrus

    issue cacophony while flippers beat against the great rock.

    Ocean roars meeting land, the spray is a kaleidoscope of

    colors in the sun, awakening a dreamer no longer asleep

    on the rock at Lobos Point.

  18. Paoos69

    Thinking about it…

    Averse to the sensibilities
    Sometimes the world works
    Its ways tensile and terse
    Sometimes even perverse

    Peoples’ words hurt
    Even the secretive silence curt
    Life is just too cruel sometimes
    Averse to the sensibilities sublime

    But if the mind to stone one turns
    And no thoughtful midnight oil burns
    Then life becomes easy
    Like sunshine on a yellow daisy

    All senses and sensibilities
    All avocations and abilities
    Then skyrocket
    All of life captured in a pocket

  19. Mike Bayles

    Slowly Passing Clouds

    Slowly passing clouds
    give shape to dreams
    while I find words to describe them,
    a bull, a cow,
    a warrior under the sun,
    proud and free,
    timeless associations
    of words and sky
    and infinities
    in a finite world
    touching imagination.
    This is my time
    yet timeless
    to dream
    and dream constellations
    beyond my visions,
    darkness above sky
    unknown Heavens
    while visions return
    to jet contrails
    timeless journeys taken
    in an afternoon.

  20. Iain Douglas Kemp

    taken from the poem… oh take ya pick!

    Dear Ringo,
    Ok so we lost! Give me a break would ya?
    Oh yeah! Give my ma and sis a break too, you
    miserable sonofamick! They cook, clean, sew,
    put you first all the time and hardly ever complain
    about the fact that when you’re not out in your
    cab, you’re watching ball at the stadium or in the bar.
    I get kinda fed up with you putting me and them down all
    the time so why don’t you just shuddup?
    Pick me up at 12 will ya it’s an early start – bring money
    for dogs and beer.

    Yours turning like a worm might
    Da Moose

  21. Jane Beal - sanctuarypoet.net

    Ode to the Pomegranate

    Seeded apple, symbol of fertility,
    the promise of fruitfulness in the land

    glowing, open and red, in the hands of Jesus,
    himself held by our Lady under the white wings
    of the Spirit on Pentecost

    an intimation of the day when your seed
    would come out of Persia into California
    by way of España and flourish
    in the backyards of strangers

    making from you the sweet elixir of life
    and drinking to their health ’til drunk on joy,
    forgetting Persephone—

    winter never comes when the sun is shining,
    and the sun is shining in the gift-wine of your blood.

    Jane Beal

  22. Margot Suydam

    Madam takes her seat

    Dancing is what I always wanted
    so much, not the spotlight so much
    as the ability to fly fast across a room

    be lifted high from beneath armpits
    be able to straddle the air the way
    white noise can fill up empty spaces.

    Music may permeate the wooden plain
    as a I take flight in rhythm, but foreign
    pulses still forage and surround

    There are pebbles garbling my feet
    off-pitch songs trailing my heels
    petals ripped from my toes. I hear

    someone’s heart beating, or is it
    now children cry for me to fill
    cravings for time and touch?

  23. Iain Douglas Kemp

    When the Seas Rise

    – taken from “The Albatross That Never Lands” Day 17

    Many will be lost,
    some will move to the mountains-
    Lands once familiar,
    will be the haunts of fishermen,
    who once lived on the land submerged.
    Maps will be redrawn
    and the blame will be apportioned
    and some will blame sun-flares
    and some will blame the corporations,
    but no-one will share responsibility,
    it’ll still be me, me, me!
    when the seas rise.



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