2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 3

For today’s prompt, there are actually two options, because it’s Tuesday, which means a “Two for Tuesday” prompt. They are:

  • Write an apology poem, or…
  • Write an unapologetic poem.

Your choice. You can be sorry–or not. Or write about someone who is sorry–or not.

Here’s my attempt:

“I Am Really Sorry”

I didn’t return your call. I told you
that I did. The world is against you
(it really is). Some people make you feel
unwanted every day. When I join
them. It’s taken me this long to accept
you without turning away from you. That
it’s very likely I’ll do it again.


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580 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 3

  1. creilley


    I am good at hiding things
    I have been doing it all of my life.
    If you met me
    on the street
    at a party
    on the job
    you would never know
    that I am a core of hunger
    wrapped in fleshy enigma
    wanting what I cannot have,
    or gave away,
    or let slip from my grasp.

    Wish in one hand,
    spit in the other,
    see which one fills up first
    was Nanny’s advice,
    but to never let myself
    be who I was
    behind the mask
    was to deny myself
    the freedom to fail.

    Is it possible to accrue time
    day after day as I age,
    and lose the time I have left
    day after day spent

    I look at the gray,
    the wrinkles and creases,
    my six-pack become a keg
    and the only part of the boy I was
    is the twinkle in my blue eyes.
    And I try to fool myself into thinking
    that is enough,
    that I am still me inside here
    even if nobody ever knows.

    But there is no fooling
    an old fool,
    is there?

  2. hohlwein

    [I’m so completely late. I missed the entire month. Something came up. I know school is closed but I’m going to try to submit my homework anyway]….

    Afternoon Nap

    I wake to eternity straddled above me

    two hard pulses
    like through my chest

    and I seize
    back into my middle-aged body

    my heart mid leap
    my vision straddling some web
    of stars or folded dunes or webs,
    or schools of iridescent smelt
    or more of a story

    hold me

    my life mid
    extending away into four
    (at least)
    dimensions around me

    It is two in the afternoon
    and I have no children to attend to

    I have just what my empty hands can build.

    I run them over the nap-warm sheet
    and they travel where they will
    feeling as
    they want to do

    I could apologize for that.
    Beyond the dissipation of that
    especially breath
    waited for

    starts the enormity
    that will devour me.

    That’s nothing to apologize for.
    I am not much more than light.




  3. LCaramanna

    Never Too Late to Apologize

    an apology
    never out of style
    never limited by time expiring
    a sincere expression of regret
    I’m sorry
    lets bygones be bygones
    an apology
    never too late
    to resolve

  4. 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.

  5. Marian O'Brien Paul

    An Unheard Apology

    Oh my. Is it 2012 already?
    Who’d have thought the time
    would whoosh so fast? Why
    only yesterday I sat down
    with my hammer and chisel
    clasped in my hands ready
    to inscribe one more stone
    with future calendar dates,
    as I had for endless days.

    Then a lovely Mayan lady
    I’d never met walked past
    and I could not concentrate.
    When I tore my eyes away,
    returned them to the stone
    I saw, instead of months
    and numbered days, rows
    and rows of scored hearts.
    I had to find a new stone.

    I rolled the ruined rock
    to the dump then headed
    for the boulder shop and,
    believe it or not, ran into
    the Mayan maiden who
    had captured my heart.
    One thing led to another
    of course, so here we are:
    2012, my work not done.

    The world is busy buzzing
    about Armageddon coming
    since my calendar stopped.
    No one, least of all my boss,
    will listen to my explanation.
    I lost my job, can’t support
    a wife. What good is love
    if you have no life? They
    will not let me apologize.

  6. MsGenuineLady

    I really did not mean to cause so much pain
    Listen please, let me explain
    I know I only have myself to blame,
    I promise it was just a simple game
    Of basketball

    The garbage bin the net
    My gum the ball
    I shot a 3 pointer from across the hall
    It had perfect aim, it was going in I swear
    That was until you blocked it with your hair
    And now I AM apologizing, it just isn’t fair

  7. cstewart

    Poem of Apology

    I am sorry that the trees lose their leaves in the fall.
    But unremorseful when they bloom in the spring.

    I am sorry the lands flood over wide expanses of fields
    But happy that the water recedes and new grass grows.

    I am sorry that people have to die to protect their rights,
    But glad the movement is ever forward without question.

    I am sorry that the most tender of us is broken and dies,
    But glad that more than can be imagined is created again.

  8. cstewart

    Unapologetic Poem

    I am glad to be a woman
    I am happy to be an artist
    I am glad I am a writer
    I am happy to create.

    In my most quiet moments,
    I am at one with myself.
    In the dark hours before dawn,
    In the unspoken moments,
    When the night wind whispers.

    I am glad to be a woman.
    I am happy to be an artist
    I am glad I am a writer
    I am happy to create.

  9. Paoos69

    Apologies to the Deserving

    Fathomless, treacherous horizons
    The dos and donts
    The etiquette, the manners
    Curbing, controlling, calling
    Assuring, assuming, accusing
    A ritual all

    A tactful thank you
    A pleasing please
    A submissive sorry
    Create magical music
    And yet to some, for some
    These are delicacies

    Coming to think of it
    Do all deserve these fortitudes?
    Aren’t some folks just amiss?
    Why not be a Roman in Rome
    And rise from ritual
    For those few, foundering ferals?

  10. tunesmiff


    I’m not sorry for most of what I’ve done,
    Trying to live and have a little fun,
    I never meant to cause anybody harm,
    I wasget just looking for life… beyond the farm…

    And my daddy said,
    “Boy, there’s a world,
    Beyond this wire fence,
    And to tell you the truth,
    Sometimes it makes no sense.
    But Son you can go,
    As far as you need,
    And you can always come home
    To your mama and me…”

    He didn’t have to tell me twice,
    I’d set my sites on those city lights,
    and I didn’t waste much time in my leaving…
    Though I tried not to see my mama’s grieving…

    But I heard my daddy’s words saying,
    “Boy there’s a world,
    Beyond this wire fence,
    And to tell you the truth,
    Sometimes it makes no sense.
    But Son you can go,
    As far as you need,
    And you can always come back,
    To your mama and me…”

    He added,
    “We’re not ashamed of how we raised ya…
    We may not like some of things you’ll do…
    But no matter if they damn or if they praise you…
    We won’t apologize for loving you…”

    And I found
    A big old world
    Beyond that wire fence,
    And to tell you the truth,
    Sometimes it makes no sense,
    And while they let me go,
    Where ever my heart would lead,
    It always led me home,
    Where they would welcome me…
    It always led me home where they would welcome me…

  11. ratgirl

    Remorse of a Buddhist Serial Killer

    How could you? How dare you force my hand to pull the trigger, then
    watch this tiny line of semicolons scatter then freeze? It’s
    not even the kill but the aftermath. Cleaning up the bodies, I can’t escape
    one tiny dot and comma who pauses to inspect a face among the recently dead,
    and a fist made of guilt and breakfast jams itself under the cleft of my ribcage.
    How dare you. How dare you force your lives into my hands.
    I don’t want to stay up at night hating myself.

    And so I decide to take on the veil of the night predator,
    killing you in the dark so I can’t see what I crush, or identify
    the tiny pop that ends your scrambling, hard wired mission.
    I’m not fooled by my own guile. If you have blood, it is on my hands.
    I didn’t ask for this. Why do I have to be your executioner?

    Goddamn it, ants. I tried everything I could. I would never come into your
    house armed with semi-automatic poisons so why do you slither
    wobbly lines into mine? Why mock my efforts to handle
    this peacefully by drooling out of my electric toothbrush outlet?
    Clearly you feed upon blue sparks and a death- worthy joy
    at watching my guilt driven madness.


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