Well, this is it. Crazy as it seems to me, we’ve somehow reached the finish line on yet another poem-a-day challenge. Please tune in tomorrow for a list of instructions on turning in poems to be selected as the Poet Laureate or have a top poem for the month.
For today’s prompt, write a fade away poem. I’ll let you decide how to interpret what a fade away poem might cover.
Here’s my attempt:
“A Last Word”
Is what you want to hear
is what you want to hear
is what you want to hear
is what you want to hear
is what you want to hear
is what you want to hear
is what you want to hear
is what you want to hear
is what you want to hear
is what you want to hear
is what you want to hear…
*****
You’ve written the poems, now get them published…
…with the assistance of the 2012 Poet’s Market, edited by Robert Lee Brewer (yes, the Poetic Asides guy).
test
My Girls
Beauty will set within lines time will draw on your
divine faces. Perhaps, in the distant years, you’ll be
out sipping from a bright big mug with friends
at a café, exquisite youth will pass you by,
it will surround you, but it won’t be on you.
The thing to keep in mind is there’s a window
from which youth appears on a sill like a music
box with all of its components, though it is
assumed its purpose broke down
when the colorful gloss faded.
Fading Away
Memories that once were
So clear, and so colorful,
Now seem fuzzy, and grey;
Little by little, drifting
Away, ’til they fade…to black.
Caren E. Salas
Fade Away
Fade
Away, you fade
Daily only an
Echo
Almost aware but just out of reach
Walking in shadow
Against fading memories stuck in eternal
yesterday
Fade into the darkness
Cloak absorbing the ink
Shy away from the shine
And let the black ooze
Into your blood
December Roses
Nebraska in December
you never think
roses
but there they were waiting
to be photographed
in the wind
before the first snow
and a temperature
of 29 freezes buds in place
Now I am obsessed
with roses
wondering what makes
this ragtail
memory so important
Did my heart freeze
early one December
a raindrop with its sparkle
from dawn
as we travel
the distance
from
obscurity to home
Fade
Though memories become less crisp
feelings never seem to fade
of the men I’ve loved and lost:
My grandfather, gone 36 years,
as near as when I sat on his lap
reading books and coloring;
a youth, who moved to England
to return two years too late;
the Chinese man who held chain mail,
weapons and calligraphy pens in hand;
the fiance with the bottle of beer
and a story for anyone who sat down;
the hippie trying to change the world
by knocking on one door at a time.
All beautiful, precious children destroyed
by their mothers and wives, their own longing
not to be bullied, to be taken care of,
their own failure to take care of themselves.
These ghosts are burning from the inside out,
haunted and inhabiting my heart.
Magazine Memories Descending
The photographer from Progressive Farmer magazine took the pictures of Dad
marching along behind his beloved Angus, herding them toward the barn,
past the pond, calling them away from water, standing in their way,
then past the pens where on other days the vet tended them.
The pictures graced the magazine in a much later month
and included Mom–color-flushed, bringing Blackberry
pie to the kitchen table, stirring latent memories
I thought lost forever. Trees trimmed, yard
manicured, even the grass beyond the
fence clipped to perfection for that
time, the time that Progressive
Farmer recognized true grit
and told the world what
the term to pull one’s
self up the their
bootstraps
meant.
MUTE HOUR OF THE SUN
When it all comes to the last
day or hour or minute
when the light greys to clouds
pulled close round the sun
when tears film eyes
to block the sight of faces
when thoughts return to
childhood days long past
this is when the sound fades
this is when
this is
this
Carol A. Stephen
April 30, 2012
Day Fades
The sun spreads its tired
face all over the sky in
brilliant reds and oranges
with a few dabs of purple
and lavenders blending
blotting out the blue of
the sky inviting the
impetuous night to
peek over the clouds
as the sun descends
rubbing its eyes and
makes way for the
moon’s stunning arrival
and the water
reflects the faded glory
of the sun’s spectacular
reign as one more day
closes and folds itself
as one more day ceases
and the sun rests on the horizon
then
disappears
disappears
disappears
disappears
Fin.
The End
Are still waters deep?
Is philosophy shallow?
Who cares, anyway?
Can you hear my tears?
Can you feel my broken heart?
Or taste my sorrow?
Question in your eyes
But why do you find it hard
To ask it outright?
Why do flowers grow?
Don’t they know they have to die?
What a waste of time.
“Death, an Echo”
As I stand at the edge
of his open grave, I hear
his voice from within and
know that he ceases not.
Fade
By
Arrvada
It was shyness as a child
Coyness as a maid
Everyone said I would evolve
Get past the akward stage
Some day they would say
You’ll find your own way
Be able to smile at the jokes
Participate in the fun
But now I know the truth
All that practice in silence in my youth
Was training me for the ultimate test
To simply sit, watching
Observing until I’ve simply faded all away
No Comparison
It won’t be long now
until filaments for lighting
become a thing of the past.
We can’t afford to get heat
when what we really need
is light. Where both are needed
a candle seems better served
for the purpose. So many options
with varying degrees of intensity,
color tones and hues are available
to confuse us in our choices.
The answer is light.
We must ask ourselves,
“What is the purpose?”
The starkness of fluorescent
against
the gentle nature of incandescent
or the warmth of candlelight
is of no fair visual comparison.
Yet it is what it is.
Blow out the candle
and both the light and heat
disappear in an instant.
Watch the heated coils glow
for a moment as the light
fades for the final time.
By Michael Grove
Day 30 of The PAD Challenge
Worked late again and there is Becky
with lentil casserole and a smile
waiting for my return. She tells me
about her grandchildren’s call,
how excited they were to tell her
about the wine that exploded
all over the kitchen and their mother
and even onto Peter’s homework.
Our conversation meanders over
mixed greens and cornmeal muffins.
She tells me a childhood story, a sleep over
with a girl who had a psychotic break
and was convinced the boxes she wrapped
in sheets were the graves of her mother
and a baby – how scary it was. I ask her
something about what she thought back then
and she says, “I don’t know. I didn’t have much insight
as an 11 year old” which makes me laugh.
And then all I can think of is a report card
for an 11 year old with “Lacks insight”
in the comment section, so we laugh until
our stomachs hurt. As we finish eating
one of our favorite desserts, raspberries
and fresh pineapple slices, she begins to gather
dishes, saying “Go write your poem
before you fade away”. And that is what
I am doing, comforting sounds of running water
and dishes from downstairs.
Linda Voit
Manhattan Deep
On this perch Manhattan at three
a.m. is dark and empty except
for a few cabs, a drunk below, and me
observing: It revolves around me
floating among canyons of three
infinite planes: road, wall, and roofline – except
I have grown down into its dark skin – except
this impenitent city has dug into me
on the edge of this tin roof with its three
water towers standing like three sentinels – except
unconcerned with me, or the sudden flight of pigeons.
Five PAD challenges complete! Thank you for the prompts, Robert – and for sharing your time and talent.
Thank you, Poets – for all the poems.
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.
Fractions of everyday
Artistic expression
Dissipate along broken lines;
Energy wanes
Against the mental process of
Waving a not-so-magic wand
Along the glare of an empty page
Yellowed over time.
Pinning my dream
on a fluffy cloud
high in the sky,
I close my eyes
to imagine
each detail,
breathing in its
truth
breathing out its
form.
With the vision
now etched in
my soul
I open my eyes
to gaze at the
clear blue sky.
I wrote this comment several hours ago on a different page… I thought that I would return with some sort of final flourish …. hmmm … a wish as elusive as that “great American novel” or two or three that gather dust as I wait for them to morph into greatness… Nevethless… another April Challenge and another time of emotional disconnection … This is a special time and a special place…. Here is what I believe will be my final comment (okay now that applause is just not called for!…lol)
And so here we are as Sharon
has so recently writ
not ready at all yet to quit
with the last poem dangling
on the edges of my mind’s eye
perfectly poised to form and fly
The experience here on The Street at Poetic Asides is rare and profoundly moving.. I cannot do it justice here in a few words – a few moments – there is something absolutely inspiring in the knowledge that so many come each day and walk together sharing their innermost selves – painting pictures of self and soul, places and spaces that shimmer, echo, resonate, heal, inspire, and simply stay … connecting us… long past this day… this Challenge.. this month…
It is my delight to be part of this community and to welcome other clear, shining voices singing in the chorus that is “us.” It is rare, it is dear, it is poetic.
If it is possible for you I’ll see you on Wednesdays where we’ll continue responding to provocative prompts and exchanging comments (if the ROBO-EDITOR allows!)… It would be fun if we made an attempt (if we haven’t already) to visit each others blogs… mine is “Imagine” http://drpkp.com …. Anyone who has been poeming here during this April Challenge is already a “friend” if you’d like to be a FB friend please don’t hesitate to reach out.
For now… sweet dreams when they come to you … and always rich, deep, wide, and shimmeringly
happy poeming sparkling all year long
♥
My dear Pearl, your presence here brings a connection to all of us. I have been “strolling” these Streets all month and despite time constraints have managed to add at least one poem each day. I am thrilled to be part of this talented group of people and each day I am blown away by the poems I read here. I haven’t been able to comment, because each poem would need one and I can’t comment on everything here. But the sheer joy of reading each person’s work as I scroll down the page is enough for me. You should all know I loved almost everyone’s poems this year. The quality of work here is special and as Pearl said, a lot of us PA people are on Facebook. Just go to PA -Poeming Friends:http://www.facebook.com/groups/PoemingFriends/. Also if anyone is interested I have all of my poems for this month posted on my blog, Barbara’s Meanderings:http://barbaraehrentreu.blogspot.com/p/my-poetry.html
Happy Poeming everyone!!
(faded)
the brilliant cacophony of sounds
brass, growling strings, and grinding bass
faded as the distance grew
between her, and her youth
and the long nights she once wasted
before she had someone to wake up to
and the promise of an early morning rich
with a scintillating symphony of its own
Dandelion Wishes
She blows on the seeds
and they take off –
drifting away on the wind
taking her
wishes
with them …
(the last three lines are suppose to get consecutively smaller in font size but I didn’t know how to keep the formatting.)
Oooooooooh nice…. (I often use “dandelion wishes” in private poems!) Goodnight Michele….
there was a time when I was huge
big as the world I filled the sky
years go by and as each passes
I become less and the world
shrinks with me
and more and more
I find myself
lost inside
my head
dreaming
well hmmm, the formatting did not stay – it should have had large bold font at the beginning getting smaller to the end…too tired to fight with it. Thank you for all of the wonderful prompts this month. I am sorry I was unable to comment more – I am still trying to read through all of the wonderful poetry. So many talented folks here
Still Glowing Residual
After a sunset like yours
I can only close my eyes;
watering from love dilation
and overexposed emotions;
my photoreceptors are yours
to burn burn into nothingness;
this heat that still lingers inside
run retinal blood vessels deeper;
we know which sensation is blind-
this heart in an Iris Incandescence;
It takes a world to turn me away from
you, spinning a thieving twilight to fade…
HAIKU on Fade Away (3)
There is nothing left
Mountains have turned to molehills
Only memories
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I heard an echo
Could not even turn around
We said our goodbyes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once such a bright light
So close yet so far away
Now a distant star
By Michael Grove
Autumn
I once was green,
but despite new hues,
I’ll still hold tight.
The branch looks clean,
just one leaf to lose,
But I’ll still hold tight.
Time to preen,
but ignoring the cues
I just hold on tight.
I’m still the queen,
so alone I choose
to
give
up
the
fight.
Angie this is an Awesome poem. Nice to meet you:)
Not now Dad,
Not now Dad,
I’m trying to listen to the (pick one)
TV
Radio
Stereo
Other
(No, it’s nothing in particular, but it’s very important)
Tell you what,
Why don’t you record it, and
Whatever it is,
No matter how bad the quality,
One day I will listen to it,
And remember,
And weep,
Over,
and over,
and over,
and over,
and over …
Just wonderful and dripping with tears…
Thank you.
Yep there were some tears on that page.
April Whispers-May Daze
I whispered into her ear
hopelessly, in wistful undertone
But she quickly turned away
evanesced before my eyes
My words never reaching
her inner ear fade softly
into May daze
I adore the play of May daze…. lovely Benjamin – as usual!
Wonderful, Benjamin.
Fading into May…
Amazing poets, THANK YOU for an incredible month of reading your hearts. The Posting Gestapo has made it difficult for me to comment like I wanted to, but I have made my way over to many of your blogs, and will continue to add to that list as May brings her beautiful breathing, reading room. I’m so thankful for this place, and I hope all of you stick around for Wednesday prompts and Form Challenges. Please feel free to look me up on Facebook (De Miller Jackson), Twitter (dejackson) or on my blog: http://www.whimsygizmo.wordpress.com
It’s been an exhilarating, exhausting, ardent April pleasure. Thank you, Robert.
Come Back!
I see it clear in my mind
Like the top line of the eye chart, bold and unmistakable,
With sharp and certain “P”s and un-confounded “Q”s.
I am confident of the curves and curls, the strikes and points that build the words.
They are successfully visualized, stamped, imprinted, seared,
Nay, branded
On the inside of the bowed bone plates that knit my forehead
When I have memorized it fully, I can un-tack it from my brain wall
And place it in these coiling files to be easily retrieved
Like this.
See? I concentrate, unfurl the file,
Pull the hypothetical paper from its careful placement,
Hey!
A bewildered wind has twisted the words, torn them
From the frantic grasp of false fingers.
The page careens
Down a long tunnel with unevenly spaced
White tiles
Unevenly placed
Flickering lights
Until it hits the bend
And echoes
into the dark forever
Breathe the Dust
Thundering, pounding
Hooves beating the ground
As the town watches
The gang ride through
Raising the dust in great clouds
That last long after they’re gone
Leaving the people to breathe the dust
As it settles once again
Into the normalcy they once knew
And the sound of their passing
Fades away as a retreating storm
ALL:
It truly has been wonderful penning/reading/inhaling poetry with all of you. I hope every one of you returns each Wednesday for the new prompt.
I also want to invite you ALL to Walt’s and my Poetic Bloomings site (poeticbloomings.com) for more poetic camaraderie, Sunday prompts, twice-monthly Weds. form prompts and twice-monthly Weds. interviews, etc. Every one of you and your writerly friends is welcome. You’ll see familiar faces, and meet some new ones. I guarantee it will be an enriching time.
In the meantime: thank you for encouraging me and teaching me through your poems and comments. You all totally ROCK!!
When Spring Comes Around
When spring comes around
tractor beams of sun
rub out winter white
the pitchfork turns
leaves molted a season ago;
all returned to hummus
energy for the coming light
Birds darken the sky,
replace blue with grey
and the lonesome cry
of gathering, and in branches
and under logs mossed velvet
life scurries awake,
erasing slumber.
There comes a day,
just one, when tree limbs
stretch to clouds, shake off
their grey and cerise buds
unfurl to peculiar yellow
green before fading
to drab, the burnt-out
monochrome of summer.
***
Thank you Robert and everyone here for another April of poeming. Like Spring, time to turn the earth, time to shake off the grey, time to create. What we have all done here. Thank you for sharing a little piece of you. Peace…
To Robert and all the precious poets of the PA Community . . . has this month not flown by? What an amazing adventure once again! Hardly had the time to participate and when I did, I posted late! Still, I love being here to read and hear all the assorted talent, said and spent! Thank you for this wonderful opportunity to dance alongside all of you! Appreciate the fun and support too! Guess it is time to fade away . . . until we meet on another day! Onward and Up Word!
MUSIC OF THE MUSE
Intentions,
Are the best ideas!
When we rally the muse,
Count down the days,
Waiting for another PAD,
We’re glad,
Thrilled to be on our way,
Towards the connection,
With other poets,
Their words,
A wealthy variety of carefully,
Crafted rich textures,
Woven to perfection,
On the page,
Ready for our eager eyes,
Restless hearts,
Full of anxious anticipation,
To seize the day,
Absorbing keen and unique expression,
Offering wonderful, positive,
Uplifting, caring or humorous,
Commentary,
Questions,
Momentary considerations,
After speed reading the already posted,
And quickly listed poems,
(Sometimes posting too fast!!)
Finding the pulsating richness of,
Creative talent,
Deep interests,
Shades of poetic hues,
In answer to our leader’s,
Well thought out chosen daily prompt!
Until . . . the last day arrives,
Music of the muse,
Begins to slow and quiet,
Humming, drumming,
Coming to an end,
A gathering of now poetic dust,
A wordy wave of goodbye,
Until,
November’s PAD begins again,
Call to poets,
Rallies,
To the up swelling heart beat,
Drum beat,
Attuned harmony,
Of the PA Community,
Each playing their own song,
All month long,
A beautiful natural joined experience . . .
Where we all belong!
Hear, hear!!
Wonderful, Janet!
Thanks for this one, Janet.
Glad I stopped for this one! Good seeing you Janet.
Thanks to Robert and everyone here for helping me make it to the end of my second April PAD. I wish I had more time to comment on all the wonderful work I’ve read. Feel free to find me on Facebook (www.facebook.com/catherinelee01) and Twitter (@catherinelee01).
Reflections
The caged bird sings
On either side of lock and key,
Songs of faded days layered
Like stained glass echoes
Calling to itself inside
The looking glass.
Fades
Barely there,
the leftover shades
of bright stars
burned out. Fades;
alive, but not quite living;
gone from memory…
Re-pair
I was you-flecked
and renovated,
a luxury in heels
It started with
the scratch
of her hangnail—
my quick touchup
was unexacting,
you picked at it,
searched for
a thinner,
a closer match
I stayed in a
cherry red
rage—
cherry pie
atomic fireballs
atomic purple
and plum-tinis
exceeded my
speed limit,
picked you off
a corner
spun me—
hair-matted
un-assured
and out of
fashion
Fading Away
It’s as scary as waking up at night
in your first big-girl bed, knowing
monsters have moved in beneath
it and are waiting to pierce springs
and mattress with their swords if
you so much as move a small toe.
It’s as fleeting as apple blossoms
slowly following their fragrance,
beauty dissolving like ice cubes
in mid-summer heat or the taste
of snowflakes melting like stars
caught on a tongue’s taste buds.
It’s as exciting as your first kiss
as your heart pounds your ears
deaf so you no longer can hear
nor recall your mom’s warnings
about boys and “falling in love”
because you’re much too young.
It’s sometimes all you think about
as you get old, what it will be like
to awaken on the other side of life
where fears disperse like distant
thunder, stars coalesce with scent,
and passion kisses souls asunder.
What’s left
Light
Heat
Fire!
Upbeat life
Intense moments …
We were giants
in love… playing with flames
no caution, no shames
and we died
in our own fire.
Burned…
Burned oak…
then, smoke
only smoke…
Everybody Plays
Step right up,
try your hand!
Take a breath
and outwit Death!
It’s the only
game of chance
where everybody plays
and everybody loses!
Spin the wheel
and try to outwit
Father Death
and he plucks
fathers from children
leaders from countries
husbands from wives.
Will your beneficiary
get to cash in on
your term-life insurance?
Can you beat
that train
to the crossing?
Should you risk taking
your chippie
to the motel
when you’re also taking
high blood pressure meds,
high cholesterol meds,
and Viagra?
If you’re lucky,
you’ll get a warning.
Some of you
will overstay your welcome.
Most of you
won’t know what
hit ya!
Haven’t entered yet?
Don’t worry,
you’re already in!
The Last Lottery!
The Final Round-Up!
The Happy Hunting Grounds!
The Great Beyond!
The trip of a lifetime
is just waiting for you!
Who’ll be today’s lucky
winner?
Maybe,
it’ll be
you!
Fade Away? Not Just Yet…
Speak to me of things of substance
Things that I may touch and hold
More and more it seems my days
Are filled with spectres,times gone cold
Wisps of memories spill around me
Cloud today with yesteryears
Help me live in the here and now please
Conquer foolish thoughts and fears
Let me stand on solid ground now
Ready for what else might come
I am not willing to depart yet
I have not writ my perfect poem …
A perfect of echo of my own heart and I am certain the hearts of many others on The Street watching the sinking sun and the hours dwindle… without … that perfect… poem… BEAUTIFUL
LOVELY:)
You….
Lovely Sharon, especially that first stanza. Peace…
GOODBYE APRIL
(a shadorma)
another
month of poetry
begins to
fade away
as my heart echoes in the
poems left behind
2012-04-30
P. Wanken
Shhh….
Quietly
Gently
Now we must go
Like the fog after the rain
On tip toe across the carpet
Fading away into mist
A memory of what was
A whisper on the wind
All of Us on Fire
Don’t fade away,
your fingers like
mist on a bucket
when the bucket
has tipped and
the sun comes
out from behind
the cloud where
it waits like some
frowsy starlet
who only appears
when no one
really wants her,
when we’ve all
forgotten her
name and why
it is she caught
all of us on fire.
There’s no
need to fade,
not when I
have this horse
that can take
you anywhere,
anywhere
except where
you want to go.
Incomplete Fade (A Haibun)
After waking up with the morning sun dust scattering around me as I turn the blinds inward, I sit humbly by the windowsill and watch two small mockingbirds flit from twig to twig, breathing sweet songs to the sky while catching mosquito hawks struggling free in their wake. I can’t help it but to think about the freedom I wanted two springtimes ago. How much I struggled to admit that my soul lied elsewhere beyond the fading shape of your face, the drought of my heart. But your harsh presence haunted me, flitting in and out of my dreams every other week night. I knew what you demanded, but I couldn’t formulate my own to let go of what I should have done before my world crumbled into a hollow, irreconcilable ache. You must have thought some things were much too late, but I had been willing to move past the rearview mirror and let you believe once more in me.
beaded dreamcatcher
I count the ways to walk
without your hand
EVER PRESENT AND GONE
I can never understand why
it is that some people fear
to walk at night. On city streets
under city lights, spaced so that
there’s no place to hide. The reason
is not to protect us, it’s because it
is meant to make us visible. All the time
but it’s not perfect. You pass the alley
between buildings. Something looms
at your side. If follows you all the way
until the yellow glare shines above
but don’t bother to look up. Turn to the side,
wave, as if you are greeting someone
across the street. The person that sits
at the monitor watching you wants
to see your face. If you turn
to the side, all they get is nuthin’. Once
past the candid camera, smile . . .
Hello, hi , g’bye, NYC’s finest,
have a good day. Living here is a
steeple chase, sometimes. Above, the
stars wonder where you are, lucky
the shadows loom against the buildings,
just a few blocks more. The men in blue step
a few inches closer to the curb, as
further in, I stay shielded by the dark
from the projector. They say it’s
one of the ways the City Fathers show us
how much they love us. Bless ‘em all,
bless ‘em, all, the long, and the short . . . and
one more building to go. Climbing
the narrow stairwell down, my angular grey
body guard disappears. Home sweet home.
Zev Davis
The Summer Affair
Just for a moment a narrow band of gold
Forces its way between the gray clouds
Piled up along the horizon. Do I say
Something clever like there is the ring
I will never wear? Instead, I stare, my
Face tilted to the gray sky. Now, curious,
You are looking, too. You mutter a few
Words about rain – it might or might not.
You tell me to “Have a nice winter”. I
Answer, “You, too” and walk away. This
Is how our summer of passion ends. As
I turn down our lane, I don’t look back,
But when I reach my door, I see you are
Still standing by the road, looking at me
So I send a quick wave and close the door
Behind me.
STRENGTH
all those young years of shoulda
why didn’t I know that
shoulda known that
shoulda been a psychic or just plain
omniscient
too shy too afraid
don’t color outside the lines
nearly quenched the spark of me
but it didn’t
all those later years that
stole my strength stole my energy
(fibromyalgia is indeed the F word)
threatening
to quench the light of me
but it hasn’t
and what if sometimes I embarrass you
because I talk to strangers
in public
because I
laugh too loud or disagree
I like the person of me
and I will not fade away.
April 30, 2012 – Day 30
Write a fade away poem
Holding on to Inner Sight
In the fading away of memories,
how sad to find the mind
indiscriminate. Good times,
bad times transform into
translucence with no regard
for our wishes.
A favorite shirt laundered
over and over, begins to fade,
and as the color pales, the shirt
becomes a threadbare ghost.
My friend is fading
a bit more each day,
his skin stretched taut
over thinning shoulders,
his face dulling to pale
gray, as to myself I say,
Will I recall that face,
one I’ve known for thirty
years, or will I merely see
colorless shadows, as snow
that slips over the screen
of an old film?
Living in Fading Light
Her loss of memory
bleeds the colors
from the flowers,
the greens and blues
from nature, the world
in black and white
and gray.
She is empty,
looking into air, at me,
wondering what
I want from her,
not remembering
a walk through
the blooms would
do her good, flowers
she planted with
her own hand in
better days.
Exhausted with
wondering, she
covers her eyes
with her hands
and sighs.
“What am I supposed
to do out here
in the dark?”
It is broad day,
clear and warm,
but she is living
in fading light,
her own life
blinking like
the last ember
among ashes.
Wow–this is strong and lovely.
KINDNESS
Flower petals
accentuate the ground;
bright colored confetti.
A few days earlier,
they comprised a rose,
I sniffed,
savored.
It showed perfect,
in elegant
art form;
petals unfolded
as one.
Touch,
like velvet.
May my kindnesses
be as lovely,
strewn in life,
scattered pedals!
People will look back,
remember, a sweet,
lovely flower.
Sidewalk Chalk
He has a gift for impermanence
that I envy, this boy
with shaggy hair and denims
claiming public space,
a sidewalk and bare wall
to create his illusion
of an archway festooned
with flowers, an entrance
to a garden rich with fountains,
children, benches, a world
in bloom, birds winging blue skies.
We long to enter into beauty
he sees and stay, become
shadows in his mind, while
he lets go with each sweep
of chalk, at ease with release.
We eye heavy clouds as we watch
his vision unfold, sidestepping
to avoid smearing the depth of chalk,
wondering how to preserve our
illusory hope, the boy now a smudge
of color himself, wearing his work
on his skin.
Afternoon rains mix colors,
streaking toward gutters,
the wonderful vividness
of his image lost, the only
permanence, the stain on his hands.
A week from now, passing this drab
corner and seeing whispers of color,
we will try to recall what was
once here, something lovely.
Last Light
From the porch swing
through the trees
I see a jag of mountain rise
late afternoon sunlight
spearing through branches,
the last light of day
fiercer now than at dawn.
I rock and wait for you
My coffee growing cold
Knowing you won’t come
Until I’ve given up
Gone in, the light faded
To slate gray,
A fingernail of moon
The only light left
To punctuate the sky.
I rock and hum to myself
that dulcimer tune
we used to play so well,
imagining a mother
comforting a child,
and I am both.
Snow-Covered Memories
snow-covered memories
fade and melt
the echoes of four girls
dancing through the drifts
dreaming of what lies
beyond that blanket of white
carried away
by the wintry winds of time
Hey, everybody, everybody. Thanks and congratulations and I love you.
DAniel
***
PLEASE FADE AWAY
and when I came home, I called my uncle
who lived one town over and asked if he
could come get me. Sat and waited hours
in the stony darkness wishing for a waft
of the subtropical heat I’d grown to hate.
When he finally came, I got in his car, not
sure of my orders, but figuring I could at
least sleep on his floor for a day or three.
We were never that close, though, and he
started right in about the war, pro foreign
policy that would circumnavigate the gray
area, shut up the reporters, and get every
god-damned problem solved today and in
perpetuity. “What in hell do you think we
were trying to do?” I said. “They’re people,
you know. And they fight when they have
their country on the line.” He wouldn’t hear
and the conversation went up in pitch until
in the middle of nowhere, he asked me out
of his car. I watched its headlights vanish
into the first inkling of morning, then found
myself a ditch out of the wind, covered up
my face with a rag and slept a day or three.
FangO
The Pen Runs Dry
Gentle echoes die slowly,
Reverberating failure,
Disappointment, failure
In my tender ears.
They bleed tears,
And I know it’s time
To say goodbye,
Farewell, goodbye,
But the dying echo
Whispers bluntly,
“You’ll be back.”
Beautiful capture of the prompt.
Adios and Farewell
Adios and farewell,
the long journey’s done
as the scenery fades
with the westering sun.
The battle is finished,
the voyage complete
and on new shores with new hopes,
we may once again meet.
Ever onward the road,
ever onward our lives,
as one purpose passes,
many others survive.
So into the sunset
we ride tired and tall,
looking forward to new dreams
and of living them all.
This April has been one of the hardest to manage, time-wise, between the full-time job and everything else… but it’s been, as always, quite exciting taking part. Thanks to Robert again for managing the challenge, and to you all for participating. See you all on the flipside!
…
Temicxoch
You milked the venom of wildflowers
all the colors of the rainbow to paint my mouth,
saying, now look; see: and I did, the way
nature must see in its heart of beating hearts.
You held me closed with widespread fingers,
stroking my throat to help the vision go down:
with it went time, and meaning, and this
collection of sensations that I call myself.
Why do we do these things? I mean things
like tying ropes around our waists to the world,
afraid to be skipped off into the water like flat,
flailing stones. Or building syllables into names
that are cathedrals of glass. What did the world
ever do to us that we’d seek to erase it?
(You rub my belly: at least, something elemental
which once bore the name of part of my body.)
Fear, cut and polished, opal-bright, trembling,
earthquake gem: death-fear that singes our edges.
I want no more of fear. You trace my nape lines,
vertebra by vertebra, while I allow memories
to billow out into a thin sheet. I will lay this
over my fears and think, I have died before.
Forests, fields, flowing rivers: the world is more
than the volleyball inscribed with our ending.
You lay your body next to mine, and we
run our waters together, as they catch fire
with dreams. This tribe built time out of black sand:
that one built separation out of their own skins.
Why do we let worn-out ideas trap us? Now,
we will forget everything except the sensations of
tenseless verbs and silent nouns, unified:
hand in hand, or what might pass for it.
Ask my name: I’ll laugh, I don’t know. Our joy
will be the glory of the clouds at sunset,
and we will be emptied of anything else.
This brings back such memories for me. Part of my family when I was growing up was a German Shepherd, and I still miss him. Thank you.
DP
Last day of PAD Therapy
FADE
I’m drawn outside
by the
first lilac on my tree
knowing
you’ll never see
leaving me to
rock and keen
the sudden
loss of you
Spring’s early heat
wraps its arms
around me
enfolds
like a mama holds
her child,
kissing my face
soothe
soothe
here now
here now
e
v
a
p
o
r
a
t
i
n
g
my
tears
This is just beautiful. Thank you for all your work this month, especially as you grieve the loss of your sister. Your words are such a testament of your love for her and I hope you continue to write and share.
thank you–i consider that high praise from you, and appreciate the encouragement.
juli
hm…that should be “julie.” i do know my name, really i do.
Too Long, Too Short
Thirty days hath April,
Poems coming still,
A challenge for all.
Nothing too small
To contribute in word
Thoughts, noun or verb.
Is thirty days too long, too short,
For birthing poems for sport?
Should we make this habit,
A daily ritual, or run as rabbit?
© Claudette J. Young 2012
the sound of your voice
its soft lilt fades in my mind
until all that’s left
is a near silent whisper
like an echo on the breeze
FIREBIRD
I followed her into the November woods
golden with oak leaves falling.
Her Shepherd-nose lifted
for the scents of morning, brown eyes wide
with watching, ears pricked-alert –
my search partner of so many years,
so many lost hikers, old men
who simply walked away, young girls
drowned. A green pool
still held scent of whoever passed
yesterday, last night.
Ahead of me she disappeared into brush
and deadfall, searching.
I heard her rustling among fading
leaves as she
disappeared before me.
Simply lovely language here, very nice!
Everything seems to fade
I slowly fade away
in the shadows, so I can’t be seen.
My love for you ,once was strong
even it, has slowly faded also.
The sun slowly fades too,
leaving the moon to takes it’s place.
Even the stars in the sky
slowly fade, as clouds slip bye.
Friends you once knew,
has slowly faded from
your life too.
Why must all,slowly fade away
leaving emptiness in it’s place.
Samantha Tinney
Daily Cycle
Every day―the same thing―we think―
we see the sun rise―from the unbroken
shadow of night―but we don’t―really―
we simply turn our heads―with the earth―
and suddenly there is light―a cascade
of photons―pouring over us―all day―
we watch the shadows twist and turn―
we watch them retreat and hide
under rocks and houses―under trees
and under blades of grass―and there
they stay―my father’s father was a shadow―
when I knew him―a skinny old man―
in widower’s black―a darkness
to defy the sun―and then
in the evening―when we turn
away from the light―I remember
the old man’s face―and then
step into the night.
Memory
Very little fades away with me,
Love, details, people,
They are like photographic
Memories.
I remember the feelings I had
From times I rode a tricycle,
The Aurora in the sky at four,
The black cocker spaniel next door,
Who drank beer.
Your face.
All of my life is like a movie
Ready to be played back
At any moment
What others forget, fading as
Unimportant,
I remember like observations
Under a microscope,
With feeling.
Today’s poem goes with another one I wrote right before the challenge started. I’ll put it here first, and then follow up with today’s fade away poem.
Life on the Street
Oh, it’s usually pretty quiet here
on the street,
not a lot of fuss or fury.
but it’s kind of fun that way,
and we regulars enjoy the
peace and serene
enjoyment
of each other’s
words and
thoughts and
mere presence.
There are weekly
hello’s and a
little bit of chat
and support
and all that.
It’s fun, in a quiet kind of way.
But twice a year,
in April and November,
our quiet street becomes
a seaside resort,
or Swiss spa,
or amusement park carnival.
And we regulars?
We like it that way too.
###
The Party Fades Away
Back on the street,
the last
exhausted
visitors are packing up,
getting set to go on their way.
The regulars are just as
exhausted, but know that
in a few days,
things will be back to normal.
With maybe a few more
regulars
to stay and play
through the
long quiet summer
and peaceful fall
until
November
gets us all amped up
and poeming like
crazy
once
more.
Rock stars sometimes say
It’s better to burn out than
simply fade away.
Diana Terrill Clark
LEARNING ABOUT T.L.C.
(a shadorma)
I watch her
as she watches him
tender hands
loving care
never far from his bedside
as he fades away
2012-04-30
P. Wanken
We made it!!! I just counted everything up, and including today’s poem, I have written 707 lines of poetry in the month of April. That’s an average of over 23 lines a day. Probably couldn’t hold a candle to Walt, for instance, but pretty darn good for me these days.
Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo: write a poem that uses the prhase “I remember…” at least three times. (That’s called “anaphora”, by the way.) So here’s the result:
Fading
I remember the day I knew my grandmother’s
mind was going, when she poured hot coffee
over the tea bag in my cup.
I remember the day my uncle went out for milk, then
called his wife ten hours later from two hundred miles away,
saying he didn’t know where he was.
I remember my father-in-law, dazed in his chair,
suddenly unable to tell me my name,
or his own, or what day it was.
I remember less these days too, little gaps
and tip-of-the-tongue moments more frequent:
where I put my glasses just a moment ago,
the name of a favorite actor,
whether I took my morning pills.
When we stop remembering, do we fade away?
The repetition is a wonderful way to put forth an expression of fading away, and you’ve done it splendidly. And I’m most impressed with the realistic use of family and situation. Thank you for a wonderful poem.
DP
Excellent work, Bruce. I love this poem. Let’s not fade away!
It is common in April
To hear castanets
Clicking
As roos move
Through the bush
Of roses in Maine
It is common in April
That the white cliffs of
Dover dive into the Laguna
Sea sparkling
It is common in April
To feel the Buffaloed snow
Fall gently melting in the
Sands of Hawaiian sun
It is common in April
For the wheat fields
To sway in spring breezes
Along the distant moors
As butterflies lift in melodious
Swarms of chromatic glory
It is common in April
For seas to sip rivulets
And spray purple deserts
As dandelions float on
Shared dreams
It is common in April
For strangers to fall
Into each others arms
And beds and minds
Tracing each face
With the braille of keys
Until each crevice revealed
It is common in April
For the tapestry to fly
Enfolding all for one
Shimmered month
Of intertwined thread
Golden….
It is common in April
Only in April
Now melting
into
May
Sorry guys…. a first run through … need work .. but truly from the heart…wonderful community….here…will be back to read later … and perhaps for more… I am purposely not reading… although Roberts and Kharas did catch my eye and Khara is still holding my breath…
Yep should have left that “melting like spun sugar” … well May for edits…. Still cannot read… See you later…..
Last Touch, in Shadows
We sit together in a coffee shop,
while early evening
shadows the day.
Glances exchanged
mean a touch of hand
and a another
to remember times shared.
A soft touch in soft light
brings soft memories
and gentle laughter
while a poet onstage
reads another verse.
Before I leave
I give you a hug,
and with you in my arms,
it’s time to say, “Goodbye,”
unsure of when we’ll meet,
to embrace a quiet evening
and dream.
POP
Admiral Byrd, inadvertently insulted
over a newspaper on a DC-3 in
the Caribbean by my father, a young and
fresh faced ensign, plays out across the table like
a movie, before being interrupted by
a question: “I can’t recall; is this the chicken?”
I realize this is a bit like the poem I posted earlier today, but I think this one’s a bit more uplifting…
“Invisible Ivan”
One morning, Ivan woke up quite fearing,
As he looked in the mirror, that he was disappearing.
But rather than fret about becoming see-through,
He would finally live out his dream! That’s what he’d do.
He had always wanted to perform on the greatest of stages,
And now he had an act! One to be remembered for the ages!
“Invisible Ivan” it said on the Shining Star Theater’s marquee,
The poster proclaimed, “One Night Only! The best show to see!”
The theater was packed, from front row to back.
The house lights dimmed, signaling the start of the act.
Ivan walked into the spotlight, as translucent as a ghost,
And he began by juggling three bowling balls, two cats and some toast.
Then he did a dance routine with grace and style,
And his stand-up comedy had them rolling in the aisles.
And when all that was left of him was barely an outline,
He bowed to his audience, and said, “You’ve been kind,
But I feel my time is up, I’m afraid I must go.
Leave a donation to the theater after the show.”
And poof! He vanished. The audience roared and cheered.
But Ivan wasn’t totally gone, as he had feared.
Yes, quite invisible, but still he was there, all right.
With a shrug, he walked out of the theater into the night.
So nowadays, Ivan just relaxes and walks about.
No one can see him, but he’s not put out.
He’ll pull the occasional prank, if he catches you unaware.
Just because you can’t see him, doesn’t mean he’s not there.
Last Touch, in Shadows
We set together in a coffee shop,
while early evening
shadows the day.
Glances exchanged
mean a touch of hand
and a another
to remember times shared.
A soft touch in soft light
brings soft memories
and gentle laughter
while a poet onstage
reads another verse.
Before I leave
I give you a hug,
and with you in my arms,
it’s time to say, “Goodbye,”
unsure of when we’ll meet,
to embrace a quiet evening
and dream.
For visual integrity, this should really be centered. I don’t have time to make that so, here. It’s centered on my blog (click my name).
Squashing the Sun
As kids
we played this game
where we squished the setting sun
(I’m crushing your head!)
between pointer finger and thumb
as it set in the crimson sky.
I remember feeling powerful, large
all of that fire, heat
snuffed out by my own small fingers
crushed to the earth like so many embered bones.
Do you remember?
Holding that blazing thing in our very hands,
shadows disappearing, dissolving day
edges softening in the fading light;
or are these memories
like all else
all these
miles and
chasms
between
us
melted,
gone?
.
Fade Away
That inner voice always says
To anything perilous, troublesome
Fade away, go away
Don’t trouble me
To eternity
That inner voice always says
To anything unsoothing, preposterous
Fade away, go away
Don’t bother me
To eternity
That inner voice always says
To my mind within
Quieten, hush up
Don’t let the world
Override you
That inner voice always says
In moments of disdain, despair, disparity
To stay in control, clench your toes
In your shoes
But let not that smile on your face fade
That inner voice always says
To moments of joy, gaiety, wonder
Stay, never, never fade away
And on one hand consoles the mind
Of their transient, fast-fading nature
That inner voice always says
To me, wise things of unfading wonder
Tells, talks, teases, teaches
Things of relentless grandeur
That stay with me, never fade away
Changes
It’s been a journey
I wouldn’t want to repeat
and yet,
as the wise say
if it were not for
the life I’ve often
endured
who I am would not
exist.
There is no
imagining
that will take torturous times
away
no dream that will silence
memories.
In this time though
healing has begun
often painful
angry
desperate.
Healing is taking over
what was the execution of my
soul
helping my heart to live in harmony
with what remains locked in my
mind
letting me grow into me
causing the me that had to
exist
for a time
to become
less…
Miss Emma, I have enjoyed your journey this month. I’m about to click on your name to subscribe to your blog. I hope you’ll stick around here, too. Writing is the best way to not only heal, but move forward. Your words have touched my heart. de.
Drop away
We scan internet message boards
and read about people who walked
by us down busy high school hallways.
We see the words cancer, heart attack,
stroke – these people who faded from
importance in our lives many years ago,
dropping like planes from the sky.
They are now all simply names in a small
column in a back section of a newspaper,
a small flicker that reminds us how briefly
we walk the earth. Their images randomly,
quickly flash in my brain, then they all drop
away, a fading, a sobering reminder of fragility.
The last Word
Should I now choose my pathway home
Hold close a deftly patterned poem
sweet sentimental, loving tone
as full moon shone; as full moon shone.
Pitch my soul’s song among the stars,
sweep over cleft , run among bar’s
musical chart: my avatar
strums from afar, strums from afar.
The healthy way to end is this:
Leave world a song none wants to miss
and die while dreaming in your bliss;
somnolent kiss; somnolent kiss.
Fading Away
I was afraid as Mother faded away
and breathed her last,
she would be forgotten.
Contrary to my fear,
she often comes out in my instructions.
“Drive carefully, dear.”
“Anything worth doing
is worth doing well.”
When wronged by someone,
“Consider the source and go on.”
Though her voice has faded,
her instructions live on.
Preservation
Throughout my days
I’ve watched words leach
from paper stored
in mothball guarded boxes
and realize
my children’s children
may never know
the stories held therein
So I set about transcribing
these human formed
inked scribbles
onto floppy disks
then CDs
DVDs
thumb drives
virtual clouds
But I wonder while playing
what do you see
with the very youth
for whom I preserve
these treasured stories
will these recordings too
pale
dissipate
fade
evaporate
more quickly than
iron gall or carbon
fluidly sketched
on pressed pulp?
I would like to thank you, Robert, and all the wonderful poets here who have so inspired me to write a poem a day for a whole month. And as long as this blog is available I will go back each day for more memories, inspiration, and companionship. Be well, all…
Whoops, line 18 should read
“what do you see?” with physical clouds
New Words Shining Like Brilliant Toys.
A sporadic poet is also a flibbertigebbet
So much food, so few orts
Zedongs are easy to draw
Matheletes don’t run
To the doctor go with a Bezoar
Gobo for food, Goba for fun
Isn’t this funtastic, brillimendous
Hang your hat in the air
grab a pen
let’s play
another day.
This WhimsyGizmo Girl loooooves this whimsical poem. I have enjoyed those dextrousdigits all month long. I hope you will continue to wield them for the PA Wednesday prompts, and Robert’s form challenges.
Thanks for tossing a bit of whimsy my way
can use it today to help me juggle arms, legs, necks and backs.
Thanks for the encouragement.
Pure Vision
Her eyes dimmed with age
As physical sight fades, her
Truth-vision ‘came clear
Much gratitude to all who have shared your work this month, old friends and new aquaintances alike. I have read far more than I have responded – but know that each of you have touched my soul through your commitment, your craft, your creativity, above all your heart. Walt wrote a marvelous summary yesterday. I tip my hat to his words and say hear-hear. As ever, many thanks to Robert and WD, and I bit you all a fond farewell… until next November (or next Wednesday). AK
Day 1, started with a bang the race had begun with let’s communicate
Pens, paper and minds were in buzzing with a response to prompts
Each Poet diving deep inside, searching for profound treasure.
Each day check what Robert, Walt, Khara, Maria E said
To apologize or not, to love or not, sci-fi or fantasy
favorite foods, problems, luck and trouble
words and form are always the tools
words to create movement
pictures, feeling, aha
words, words
words
OH. MY. GOODNESS. You just made the entire month of what I felt was completely lame poetry from me melt away into a puddle of I-dunno-what, but something gooooooooood. Oh, the company you put me in. WOW, WOW, WOW. Thanks so much, dexdig. Reading your outstanding poetry all month has been one of the highlights for me!
I Lay Waiting
Row after row they all look the same
Fading white marble with name after name
Grass growing slowly, groomed by the week
Occasional strangers; other names that they seek
Lying in wait, no one seeks my stone
No tears shed for me as I lay alone
Alone with thousands of souls just like me
Thousands who fell for the land of the free
A land that I love, and gave all to defend
And now I lay waiting for a loved one or friend
Loved ones or friends that so rarely stop by
Forgotten I lay here not understanding why
I sacrificed it all to keep freedom alive
My spirit cries out with a plea to survive
At least in the memories of those left behind
While I lay here waiting, entombed, confined
Unable to do much more than reminisce
About family and friends and everything that I miss
My memory is sharp; my whole life I recall
From the day I was born ‘til the day I gave all
But now I am saddened as I lay alone
Waiting for anyone to stop at my stone
With the post I immediately though of “Do no got gently into the night”. Here’s my tribute, a bit rough, but hopefully you’ll enjoy.
Do not go rushing to morning light
Do not go rushing to morning light
The brightness makes dreams fizzle and fade away
Hold, hold to the magic ether of the night
Beneath the moon, sparks ignite
When breathless lovers interlace their souls they
Do not go rushing to morning light
To travel to the places of which poets write
Where fairies fly and frolic and fickle phantoms play
Hold, hold to the magic ether of the night
When growing kids are tucked-in tight
Mothers hoping to keep innocence alive will pray
Do not go rushing to morning light
It’s how musicians give songs flight
To let the last notes linger beyond forever and a day
Hold, hold to the magic ether of the night
Between moon and stars dance angels white
But the night’s blackness is beginning to become gray
Do not go rushing to morning light
Hold, hold to the magic ether of the night
This is fabulous an appropriate ending to a 30 day parade !!!
This is terrific!
At last
This greying fleck in the dust behind you
this ampersand laughing scooping up
ochre earth in the summer breeze
is the fool who learned at last
how to love his own soul.
This lingering smile
just before I
fade away
call it
joy.
Oh, my, Andrew. THIS:
“this ampersand laughing scooping up
ochre earth in the summer breeze”
Fantastic.
Super, Andrew. Just super!
I must add one more, a tribute to Merlefest, the absolute best music festival in the country.
End of April
The bands pack up for one more year,
heading home, down the road
or across the country, tent stakes
are pulled up and packed away,
the litter picked up without anyone
having to ask. The deep fat fryers,
Bunsen burners, coffee percolators
are stowed on trailers even though
the scent of barbecue and sweetbreads
linger. Fans swap “best ever” reviews,
vowing to stay all four days next year.
Doc’s nowhere to be seen, his presence
like a blessing hovering over the grounds
or the final amen of the riverside prayers,
the Sacred Harmony sweetening
the Sunday morning memories.
As the chatter fades to whispers, far
over the hillside the sounds drifts
down, a benediction, sad sweet notes
ringing clear then fading on the breeze.
Nancy, Thank You for this touching tribute to Merle !!
Caught up on yesterday’s poems (long day at band camp prevented any poeming) so it’s time for….
Slipping Away Quietly
no spectacular finale
no fireworks
no dancing bears
no song and dance act
no curtain call
no three ring circus
no grand gestures
just a wink and a smile
and a quick
“see ya later”
Iain
I want to go to band camp (depending, of course, on what kind of band and what kind of camp!)
Haha! it’s really just me & my light rock/blues band rehearsing but we make it sound much more LOL!
Fade
I can’t erase
the images seared
on my eyeballs—
the last glimpse,
the horror—
while the sight
I want to visit
again and again
before the end
fades from view.
It was always Black or White with him.
In his teens and twenties
an ardent fundamentalist
seeing the world
through dark eyes
as us and them
the righteous holy and the infidels
Then he became a political activist
joined another group
one day walked into
a hospital and exploded
leaving a bodies strewn everywhere
one day a Planed Parenthood Clinic
set on fire
Three dead people found among the ashes.
Same story
different beliefs.
Flow
If you stand on one side of
the memory stream,
there they are:
the fading blossoms,
spots on the wrinkling fruit
the echo of out-of-tune final chords
–uncomfortable painted-over memories
that slowly spin in their
stagnant eddies,
never vanish
On the other bank,
grandparents stand fresh and smiling,
as the row of birthday cakes
from every party shimmer and blaze
the kittens and puppies roll in the lush grass
chase the proverbial butterfly
–joy remembered, lassoed,
pure and simple
But stand in the middle,
feel the irrepressible chill
yell around your ankles,
as thought after thought,
moment after moment,
chase each other down the mountain
into another timeframe
and the rest
is only you
watching the light’s dance
etch itself into
your quieted perception
Katrin, This is a beautiful poem. Well done.
Dear Moosehead,
Thanks for the snippy note
you moron! As if I don’t enough of those
from Jimmy the Greek and that crazy
broad down in Bird land. Haven’t heard
from her lately – surprising as we are frying
Orioles tonight! I imagine the Birds hopes
are already fading away. Speaking of cooking
we sure grilled them Tigers yesterday!
To continue the motif, I correct you – neither
you mother or sister can cook worth a damn
which is why I live on Buffalo wings and hotdogs.
Pick ya up at 6 – bring green for the aforementioned.
Yours looking forward to the feast,
Ringo the Howler
Poem On, Iain! Hope your team wins, too!
Thanks
they did!!
A Week and a Day
I see you
my phantom
haunting in the vestiges of the everyday,
lingering in the detritus of a life once lived.
Will your ghost endure
like swaying blades of grass in a summer storm
or will it grow fainter with the passage of time…
and do I really want it to?
The apocalypse will come not through the front
expectedly with explosions; all eyes
deadbolt the path. It’ll sneak inside at night
a rusty door in the cellar and hide in the dust
from our half-hearted vigilance fatigued
off lamb and wine. It grows as a cuckoo, fat
on our spoils, expands beyond the borders with
an appetite to plunder everything,
deny refuge for nothing to exist.
Our houses grow, accommodating life
too big to fail. When limits break,
so will our peace. The mansions made won’t fit
the lives we want to live anymore, and
Heaven lacks vacancy for our vagrancies.
Its golden gates are needle’s eye in size
to what we enjoy at home. Damnation
will come as worlds collapse beneath our weight
and all the swine run themselves off the cliff.
Hi all,
I wish I could have more time to read you all and leave my comments but this year, I’ve just been unable to find more time. Sorry for that!
Last days
They come quickly, straight to hit me on the chest
meanwhile I gather them all like expected
flowers that live just one day
or just one hour
to disappear
shortly after
leaving
empty
only
full
with
their
silent
echo.
I keep my head above water
Long enough to wonder
How soon it will all just disappear
Careening into nothingness
Propelling me into new states
Of ineptitude
Unless I stay determined to not
Fade away.
Hmmm… this one being easier for some reason, I’ll post today’s now. Still have to write and post yesterday’s… eventually. :-]
Might Have Been
For a few bittersweet
subconscious seconds
(between asleep and awake)
solitary butterfly senses
its own cocooned soul
within two (too) human
beings, cleaved
then the dream
fades
beautiful.
Slow Fade
Trace that filament on the horizon, the bleed of all we are, uncontainable.
The day is tumbling loose from this scarlet sky, and I
am filled, spilled, fallen too – in, out
of will, grace, time. Please:
hold these breaths,
stretch; let
them
die.
.
I knew it was you even before I scrolled up to make certain:) only you tug quite like you do! and we are blessed to enjoy it, quietly smile in admiration and wow!
Thank you, Janet. I love the gentle elegance of your work, and appreciate your encouragement so much.
your words
every day
longing
effusiveness that too full
feeling overflowing tendrils
effervescent
meaning seeking,
reaching, reeling for
glimpses
who what wanted
might haves maybes
popping like bubbles
in this ether
steeping seeping
to resonate
praying
oh my little baby your
mother says
oh my sweet little girl you always
say, if only, if something,
if somehow over and over
ever and always
never fading
away
fireworks explode
brilliant against the night sky
cordite trace lingers
Poet’s Parade
I’m wearily watching
this parade slip away
whistling and applauding
down Brewer’s causeway
as memories drift
in through the door
poeming was a day
worth living for
so paint this day with laughter
and fill this night with song
a treasure chest of smiles
is yours to pass along
Now hitch your wagon to a star
and give a wave ……….au revoir !!
until
we
meet
again
~ Randy Bell ~
You’re my friend.
Lunch in the cafeteria.
Sleepover on Friday.
Let’s ride bikes after school.
Help with homework?
Tomorrow, then.
I’ll see you later.
Next week.
I’m busy. New job.
Once a month.
Time got away from me.
Tomorrow, then.
Happy birthday.
Merry Christmas.
When did you get married?
Congratulations. She’s adorable.
I’m sorry for your loss.
Good bye dear friend.
This one hurts the heart in its simple, all-too-true-th.
so sad and heart breaking we all loose contact and sometimes it is to late
So sadly the truth.
WOWWWWWWWWW
always,
we are getting ready
for yesterday. Old hippies
fighting old enemies: going
door to door, mowing yards
and trimming hedges, we
live on the street. With our
limited resources, we are
generals preparing for last
year’s war. Hung-over,
checking yesterday’s mail,
we are nature making new
women fragments of their
mothers, today:
always wanting
broken-in jeans, for
tomorrow
SO. VERY. BARBARA.
Your poetry always beckons me to read again and again. I pull more smiles, more grins, more wisdom, more astonishment with each read.
LOVE YOUR WORK, ALWAYS.
wow! wow! wow! stunning…’we are nature making new
women fragments of their
mothers, today:…only one of a collection of amazing lines here!
please.
let’s
not
look
back.
just
fade
to
black.
.
Beautiful!
yes…sheer simple…beautiful!
Thank you both, so much.
Fade Away
How they tease, those scenes that slip beyond my grasp,
the double rainbow arcing across the sky
evanescing into nothing before my camera snaps,
that scent I recognize from long ago as yours
somewhere in this crowd, then gone,
the subtle hint of spice in the dish, evocative
of some other meal, subtle associations, lost for now,
the last bars of a melody, its name on the tip
of my tongue, but lost as the station slips to static,
the words I planned to say, my carefully crafted
question, fading away at sight of you.
o-o-o-oh!! WOW! Nancy oh, how I would love to write new poems using each line in this poem as a line to a new poem…each line in this is evocative leading to a perfect surprise ending!!!
Beautiful and elusive, Nancy.
THIRTY DAYS AND
All I could muster
was lackluster.
All lack thunder, wonder
why as I eye
outstanding art
commanding start-
to-end with penned
perfection
my affection for this
poetic nation grows
admiration of your
work, I lurk
and string not a thing
that sung -
strung out.
Nicely penned my friend.
Thanks again, Ben!
We all are our own worst critics. you are a beautiful inspiration and encouragement whether here or in The Garden:) Thank-you so much, dear sweet Marie!
Thank you, Janet! <3
I’ll Never Forget
I remember your exuberance
I remember your smile
I remember your zest for life
I remember your undying support
I remember your last day
Yes, I re-mem-ber
You
HEART OF THE TIDEPOOL
I sat down to listen
and in the silence I saw
a grand house in the future
with light shining behind it.
The door opened,
and my husband came out,
our two-year-old son Samuel
still clinging to his left knee.
Then my little dog, Joyful,
burst out into the green yard
and barked fiercely
at the shadow-men walking by.
I saw myself once more sitting
by the tidepool—a surprise.
I was myself, a woman grown,
not a child, but still naked.
There was glass in the tidepool, shards of glass,
and sometimes the water became all glass.
Then it changed back, to just shards,
and I knew they were my pain.
Nevertheless, there was something gold
in the water. I reached in and drew it out.
It was a gold bracelet made of hearts. I put it on.
There was a gold ring with an amber stone on my left hand.
My husband appeared on the beach.
He was naked, too.
I stood up, and we walked away from the tidepool
holding hands.
Then, I didn’t see myself,
but I saw Jesus
walking on water toward me
and the light was all around him.
It was in him, radiating out
from him, and I gave him
my heart.
He took my heart in his hands,
and when he did,
I went inside of his heart,
and rocked there, hidden in his love.
Jane Beal
Jane, your beautiful words that lift my eyes to my God had blessed me all month. Thank you so very much, Sanctuary Poet.
This left me breathless! WOW!
Fade to Black
There comes a time when we must leave.
‘Though on the whole, while good, seems we’ve
known all along: “Okay…all right…
so fade to gray…then black. Good night.”
In brightest hues, we’ll look back fond-
ly on the fun. But what’s beyond?
Me? I believe we’ll reunite.
Now fade to gray…then black. Good night.
Those words, our words…let’s hold on fast
to feverish dreams of future past,
of wind chimes, raindrops, candlelight…
then fade to gray…then black. Good night.
Some say the end is just the start
of nursery rhymes we’ve learn by heart…
but more than just those words we write…
we fade to gray…then black Good night.
###
This is so-o-o hauntingly beautiful!
Exquisite RJ!
When the bitter-sweet pangs of parting
Have eased their grip on my heart
When the tears that threaten behind my smile
Have quietly played their part
When the sound of the door as it closes
And the click of the latch as it locks
Leaves me with nothing but memories
And the perpetual ticking of clocks
I shall retrace us: not in sorrow
But with humble gratitude
That God saw fit to touch me a bit
With the beautiful gift of… you
Beautiful
Thank-you:)
Yes beautiful!
“Shooting star”
YoU loved YoU loved YoU loved
YoU
until wE could nOt tear Our
hearts AwAy frOm
YoU,
gOldenbOy,
lAdygOld
bUrnished brAnded bordeAuxed
brOthelled bAwdyhoused bAthed
in serenAdes of accolAdes
sO grand YoU sO grand YoU
like a plAgue like an Ache,
like a blAde, like a grEnAde
emasculAted,
gElded
vAnquish-
ing
vAnish-
ing
y
o
u
.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Thank you, Robert for an outstanding medly of prompts!! !!
Over, OuT, eNd, finAl, finishEd, fAde to blAck
for-NOT-ever.
Excellent and intriguing play on sound, meaning and typography, Lynn.
Not Whimper But Bang
A romance like ours can’t just fade away
becoming nothing; love like ours can’t end at all.
What seemed a slamming on of brakes
was merely a sudden change of gears.
I bought him grey for the nursing home —
grey pyjamas, grey socks … at least its neat
but does suggest perhaps a gradual fading,
a bleakness. We don’t know what is coming.
It is Samhain, the festival of the dead.
My eyes scan barely stay open. Emotion
is so tiring! But I need to light a candle
to honour the ancestors, before I sleep.
I feel as if I am living the Death card in the Tarot:
the death of a way of life or a way of being,
occasioning mourning. But we’re supposed to
come out the other side; it’s meant to be rebirth.
The cats are restless, coming in and out
repeatedly, as if looking for something.
Or someone. A pale gecko has got inside.
It ran away from me to lie on the ceiling.
I bought red wine tonight, even though
the image of an old lady on her own, drinking,
seemed pathetic. I drank it anyway, two glasses
with dinner. Now my thoughts are all over the place.
A friend advises Beethoven. I might try Wagner.
Something cathartic seems called for tonight.
I’d like to clash some cymbals. Or kick down a brick wall.
I go in my mind to where he lies sleeping. I hope he sleeps.
I’ve packed his suitcase; I’ve filled in the forms.
He knows now that we won’t live together again.
Tonight in the hospital we cried together, then
laughed at ourselves, then cried some more.
Some day soon, I hope we’ll find new gladness.
Yes, I suppose he is gradually dying, but aren’t we all?
Tomorrow they move him, tomorrow the new life
begins. I descend into depths of darkness.
Oops! *eyes can (verse 3).
i hope so too.
*OH*
so painfully, beautifully real.
Rosemary, this makes my heart ache.
heart achingly moving poem….
Hold your own words close and watch …. “it’s meant to be a rebirth”. Sweet winds on this leg of the journey … With love for your love
.
After the confirmation
the air is crisp.
Not only glass
is stained.
The blessed wait
for wafers, red
wine drips.
The elders untie
their clean
habits.
Sons and daughters
scrape innocence
from under
their nails,
surrender kisses
to stern fathers.
Mothers wait
with patience,
the pews yawning.
No one’s singing
in this church,
just a loud guffaw
from the organ
when hands forget
to clap rhythm.
“scrape innocence from under their nails”
WOW.
Denim Friendships
You don’t notice at first.
Lunches at the local restaurants
Walks in the park
Games around the kitchen table
become infrequent.
Then time stretches between phone calls.
Next thing you know you’re down to
the like button on Facebook posts.
Friendships are like favorite jeans,
once worn almost daily,
until they become faded, torn,
or stop fitting altogether—
to be put in the bottom drawer
with all the skinny jeans
with a wistful, someday…
Oh, too true. “next thing you know, you’re down to the like button” … ouch.
Awwww … Truly wonderful
“The Last Show of the Imaginalchemist”
When I lift off the Hat of the Storyteller
And place it away tenderly in its box,
When I shrug off the Cloak of the Charmer
And fold it up tightly and neatly,
When I remove my Coat of the Cosmos
With all its finely stitched stars, promises and hopes
And hang it up carefully on its hook,
When I step out of my Boots of the Bard
And set them side by side in the corner,
When I slip off the Gloves of the Jester
And tuck them away in the drawer,
Finally, when I sadly remove the Mask of Imagination
And place it, honorably, on the plaque on the wall,
I will stand before the mirror
And see what was lying dormant underneath…
But only for the moment,
As I know I will dissolve
Without my Hat,
My Cloak,
My Coat,
My Boots,
My Gloves,
My Mask.
I will scatter like salt in the sea,
Like seeds on the wind,
Maybe the shell will be left behind
But the magician will say the final incantation,
Thank you all,
Bow,
Disappear.
And I do thank you all for allowing me into your wonderful circle of poetry, support, laughter, and tears…I know this is not the end, but I feel like the PAD has pushed people here to new levels and it has been a blast reading what so many creative minds can invent. Thank you all for sharing your gift of poeming!
Hear! Hear! a toast to new beginnings and the realization that we are not alone in the blissful angst of word-torment!
Thank YOU!!! It has been such a great month! Thank you for your creative mind!
Can you hear me clapping!? This is fantastic!
Standing O!
This is wonderful!
At the very least, you were the best dressed.
What a clever and well written poem. Don’t disappear.
Standing on a chair applauding !
coda
when pen falls away from paper
and clicking keyboard returns to quiet
a poem shifts back to
its unexpressed form
beach rocks still absorb warm rays of sun
gentle waves lap upon them
birds chirp and flowers blossom
babies are born
moon waxes, then wanes
some dreams die
tears of joy and anguish wet the eyes
of humankind
the poet’s soul, now still,
is as full as a dormant seed
ready to grow
in another moment in time
Copyright © 2012 Nan P.
[I haven't been posting here this month until today, however, I did write to several of the prompts this month. Thank you!]
I would like to thank Robert for the wonderful prompts and ‘stretching exercises. Thank-you!
I would like to thank each and every poet for
moments of
inspiration,
standing ovation,
cheering,
laughter,
soft smiles,
sentimental smiles,
lingering long, after…
the heart-lurch,
the heart-clench,
the sob,
the tear,
the o-o-o-h,
the a-a-a-a-h,
the yes,
my dear,
the tender, blissful
mouthful of
sigh…
for we all know
this
is
not
good-bye
but only
until we meet
on
the
next
street…
see you around the corner:)
You’re absolutely right, this is not good-bye…although it is sad nonetheless…and we thank you too, Janet, for giving us the opportunity to read your inspirational poetry.
Meet you in the garden!
Can’t wait!
I see you peeking around that corner .l. And of course in addition to a bouquet of other growing places…. There are always Wednesdays ….right here… Hmm maybe a poem later….
We’re only a poem away.
BIG warm smiles to you, Janet!! It has been such a fun month along-side you poeming!!
Thank-you guys and see you either here on Wednesdays or over in the garden!
Dreams (a triolet)
First light filters through the blinds
preserved now in the mem’ry crypt
naked thoughts in pictures unwind
First light filters through the blinds
eyelids flutter awakens mind
drawn from slumber, dreamstate now slipped
First light filters through the blinds
preserved now in the mem’ry crypt
- Lyn Michaud
Oooooh, I love the format of this one! And the imagery is very striking, how light touches the “memory crypt” (which I immediately think of darkness when I read “crypt”, so there is this play between light and darkness here in a few short words). Nice!
Bravo! Beautifully penned, and extraordinary way to end the challenge.
Thank you for your kind words
This is amazing. I always think of Triolet when I write a humorous poem. This has totally turned me around.
My Prayer Prayer
May my prayers be
ever sung
honestly, easily
off of my tongue
May my prayers be
born from above
ceaselessly offered
woven with love
May my prayers be
rich with praise
vividly earnest
all of my days
beautifully said Marie Elena, especially “ceaselessly offered woven with love”
Aww, thanks mich! My work here this month has been lackluster, to say the least. Hey … I should write about that.
Love this!
“May my prayers be / rich with praise/vividly earnest/all my days.” Marie – this is spoken straight from the heart and to the heart. I love it.
Keep praying sister
May my prayers be
born from above
ceaselessly offered
woven with love
Such beauty and honesty in your words always!!! Thank you, Marie, for your authenticity! <3's and blessings!
Thanks so much, you guys!
The cry of the heart touching our God. Wonderful, Marie.
Robert!!! I just want to send you a shout of gratitude!! This has been the best PAD Challenge ever and I’m so grateful for your poetic words and the efforts put forth to create this experience. Such a wonderful endeavor. Cheers to you and all that you do in Robert-realm!! Smiles to you!
Hear, hear!!!!!!!
and here, here!
Absolutely! Thank you, Robert.
Are you leaving me
Dissolving into sea mist
Or are you leading
~PROMISES~
Do you feel the words receding?
Are they slip, trip, wondering away?
Have you found your tongue empty,
void of all meaningful resonance?
Is it that you’ve run your ragged reserves dry?
Is this the last relishing of words ringing
in long, looping lengths, floating kelp
surfaced and shiny with the glistening sun;
simple syllables strung like sea fronded arm?
Listen closely, I can hear a distant dripping,
I can sense that subtle sound shifting,
the stealthy feel of verbiage lifting
toward the rumbling riches of echoing abyss.
I can taste a cavernous welling, this fond filling,
the welcomed inevitable realization
that the tide will turn and pour forth willingly.
It’s a deafening roar as the torrent spills heavily,
readily upon the word formed walls
rich amidst ocean fashioned hollows.
Round empty space pulls poignant letters
full formed foam flees and rushes,
captured happily in this shoreline space
this secret, sea rendered alcove.
It’s found empty upon waning moon,
mysterious gravity, magical tide
with a promise to rise
once again and again and again.
I’m sure of this water,
certain of these fading words.
© H.G. @ P.A. 4/30/12
Ah, yes! …it fades only to come rushing back, renewed!’
It’s found empty upon waning moon,
mysterious gravity, magical tide
with a promise to rise
once again and again and again. LOVE this!
Thank you, Janet!! So sweet of you!
Oh, Hannah! Beautiful images…packed with meaning…it will not fade, but live on in our hearts!
And as I knew you would, you end the PAD challenge with a climatic triumph of words, beauty and emotion. This might possibly be your best poem yet, and I know your talent will “rise again and again and again” to the occassion. Magnificent, Hannah!
I couldn’t say it better. Ditto, and BRAVO, SWEET HANNAH!
Thank you, BOTH for your kind words!!! It means so much!!! Smiles to you both!!
Hannah, you’ve pulled another “Ninja” move on us today. And yes, I think we feel the words receding, slipping, wondering away as this April PAD makes its way, into May. Keep poeming!
I will, Benjamin!!! I want to thank you for this, “Ninja,” deeming!!! It REALLY makes my day and makes my husband and kids smile!! Ninja’s are awesome….thank you SO much!!
“full form foam flees and rushes” just wonderful imagery, Hannah.
Hannah, this is incredible. You have mixed two of my favorite things…writing and the ocean…and done so masterfully.
All Good Things
Wisdom of old
tells us that
all good things come to an end…
But, the ancients said
life is a circle
no end, no beginning…
As the sky fades
from denim blue
to eternal jet…
On the other side
of this great ball
it returns to azure…
As this poem,
a humble offering
closes on the Muse
Somewhere she will
inspire yet another
to add to the lyric…
And add and add and add, never an ending…love this, Linda! It’s been so nice to poem along-side you! Smiles!
Thanks, Hannah! I have enjoyed it, as well! So many amazing poets here…it is always a joy!
Oh, this is lovely and filled with hope for more.
Yes, so lovely.
thanks, Sara and Emma! I will miss you!
Wise Woman
==========
The dawn
in
her smile
turns
gray at
night
(tribute to a favorite A.R. Ammons poem, “Beautiful Woman”)
LOVE THIS.
Fight the fight
As skin changes as does hair
Should we use these face creams
And boxes of colours so many out there
Red ones black ones burgundy and blonde
Which one will I be today?
And where’s my magic wand
Eating healthy
Fruit filled basket of delight
Running, walking, cycling and swimming
Should we give up the fight?
Running around like wonder woman in our super pants
Doing so much we sometimes let out a shout and our rants
Housework real work going like the wind
One hundred miles an hour
Of time we spend
Yoga and aerobics
Relaxing breathing in and out
Sitting down tv time
Let it all hang out
Loose clothes favourite ones
Old tired and worn
Some of our favourites
Especially the ones that are torn
Comfort and softness
Comfy blankets and socks
Stiff drink and cocktails
Vodka on the rocks
Lifetime and special times
Times spent together
Watching the sun go down
Enjoying the sunny weather
So as you sit back after a long day of go
Enjoy yourself and relax
Live life to the max
All the things we do in life all the ups and downs
We go through so many phases
We try to loose the pounds
Be who you are
Be glad of who you become
Do not try to be someone else
Do not try to over come
Something you are not
Be confident in your own skin
Not fade away that would be a sin
This made me laugh, Ber: “Running around like wonder woman in our super pants,” I love the idea of super pants!! I’ll have a few for each day of the week, please!! Smiles!
i loved this too!
thanks Ina some days are just like this when you need super powers for all that multi tasking
ha we all have them so sometimes they get worn out time for new one ha
good to know i made you smile
Ber ? Do you have a blog? Website? Let us know!
I do this is the link http://berniejenkins.blogspot.com/2012/04/fight-fight.html?spref=tw or type in bec bernie jenkins in to google and my page i am on facebook also and twitter i go by my own name Bernie Jenkins
TERRIFIC!
))))
This line is a true gem, Ber!
“Running around like wonder woman in our super pants”
I read it yesterday, woke up this morning, and the line was still with me. Just perfect. I think it may follow me for a very long time… if it can keep up with me, what with my super pants and all.
“Not Fade Away”
Laughter and tears
share a bed
in this house
as memories,
which used to be locked
in the upstairs closet
are brought back down
by the new generation.
Pain, it seems, fades
like color under the sun,
replaced
with an appreciation
for just how hard it can be
and a surprising knowledge
that love
survives
as bold and colorful
as the day it was given.
Oh, yes, Jerry!! Perfect closing:
“that love
survives
as bold and colorful
as the day it was given.”
It’s been a joy PADing with you!! Smiles!
I don’t want to think that your voice will fade away until next April, Chev. I know a lovely garden, where petals never fade, hint hint…
i love the story of this, the concept of “memories which used to be locked in the upstairs closet” being brought out again, as pain ‘fades like color under the sun.”
I almost used the same title, but I’m glad I didn’t. Excellent work, Jerry.
May I join this chorus and sing . YES YES YES… Goodnight and hope to see you on The Street on Wednesday
An April PAD Song
An Assembled symphony
An April PAD song
A sensational vibration
Thirty days long
Reverberating
Immensely
Still echoing
Bounding
Reflecting
Traveling
Carried
Through
Wind
Distancing
As
an
Echoed
Word
Flown
Yet
Still
heard
Beautiful, Benjamin!!!
Thanks. This April PAD hasn’t quite faded yet!
They filled each other’s minds
Each joke hilarious and true
Now they stroke a cheek with
Trembled hands
“Familiar,”
Who.” they ask are you?
So sad. And I assume “stroke” a cheek has a double meaning. Brilliant.
Oooh Marie ..A brilliant? Now I shall sleep happy THSNK YOU
FADING FAST
“Dear, please move your feet,”
said I.
“What? Remove my teeth?”
was his reply.
Poor dear.
Poor me.
Oh dear.
His hearing is fading fast.
APRIL FADES
April’s final flash
Tulips fade
Brash colours call May
Into glorious summer
And June into strawberries
Oh, Misky! Your first made me laugh and the second filled me with the wonder of change!!! So nice to be writing poems everyday near you!
I agree with Hannah:)
Aaaah. So sweet. Thanks you two!
lovely, both.
Thank you.
This is all too familiar. It seems as if I’m always yelling into someone’s ear because they can’t hear me.
“April Fades” Enjoyed this nice little morsel as well. Love April, love tulips, love strawberry season.
I laughed at the first, but marveled at the second.
Ahhahahaha and Ahhhhh….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bh0h1ZSBXvc
FADE DANCE
they enter
gleaming
hallway
Legs akimbo
Shaking to the
Thrumming beat
one
by
one
Until they
turn
one
By
On
One
and
Leave
Hall
Empty
There is a terrific young dance captured in this video by Jay Z productions … A little fun:)
Fading Words Disappear
Sitting in the packed room
Shone away from all
Everyone else laughing
Words exchanged having a ball
Time lapses
Her eyes feed fear
Everything she knows right now
Seems to disappear
Flicking her hair over her shoulder
Wondering will this makes her more comfortable
Twitching and hands clasped tightly together
Hunger opens her stomach
She tries to fight
As silence begins to fill the room
And her heart sinks down
Her upset empties away
As her mind it challenged that day
Volumes speak out loud
Shuffling and coughing of the crowd
Speaker takes over the scene of new
Her focus is also fixed too
How she wishes she could feel more
Other than these feeling she is about to explore
Wondering thoughts fill her mind
It fills her vision
Fixated on its precision
As the day folds into itself
So does her appearance and confidence
Fading into who she was once before
Wishing she could mingle and communicate more
She shies away from all glaring eyes
From whispers of the gathered crowd
From atmosphere combined
As the door shuts closed behind her of this place
This derelict building held many a memory of those days
She was the only one who really sat in the room
She was the only one who could be there so soon
No one else existed she was the only one alive
Fading away into the background was their way of life
So as she left this place of times gone by
It almost brought her sadness
And a tear to her eye
Wishing that she had voiced herself when all were there to hear
Now all she could do was do it from an empty room and chair
Oh my …
Thanks Marie i hope you found is good i suppose my message is do not wait until it is to late to say what you want to
“Waving Goodbye!”
You life up, way out there
where the bed slowly rises
and the sheets ripple in the cold morning.
I imagine you coursing over large rocky
outcrops, the million year old breakwaters
you’ve broken down with your patience
in a time before we met you.
You laugh at me with your
white teeth. I’m coming for you,
you shout, your vocal chords
warming up for the final debate,
then you rise again
and roll your fists,
preparing for final blows.
You strike with all your might.
You roar, a Sunday afternoon grunt
covered in blood and mud,
smashing heads in a show
of force no living can withstand,
yet they do. The tiny barnacles
and sand shrimp laugh at your bravado
the big noise brushed off
by the basement dwellers.
And the rocks stand fast, not
paying attention to the politician
at the door, looking for votes.
Your explosion fades into mist,
and your limp body slithers back
under the covers, in defeat,
but not in humiliation or shame.
Your comrades line up for more trys,
and you know it’s the rocks
that will fall, crumble grain by
inglorious grain
until all there
is left
is
you.
lift up
“and you know it’s the rocks
that will fall, crumble grain by
inglorious grain
until all there
is left
is
you.”
I love this, PowerUnit and all of your aquatic references, great metaphor!! Smiles!
This was inspired by watching the ocean at Cape Spear Newfoundland one cold November day. It’s the most easterly point in North America, and the ocean feels alive out there. Pictures can’t convey the awe.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/power_unit/5232931488/
Awe, indeed! PowerUnit, I’ve very much enjoyed your work here this month.
I often think like this when i watch the waves rush from the sea bed to the shore like grasping fingers searching for something
Another example here of the wonderful work you have put forth this April. Bravo!
Early hours
in the west,
siren sound
of sleep calling
starlight fading
so am I….
You are posting too quickly……..sl o w ……d o w n………….
ZZZzzzzzz.z..z….
beauty of the bud
surrender color to sun
bowed head of last rose
Beautiful, Pearl!
This is so true it is like it is sucking the very last breath of sunshine into its petals and buds
Glorious
days
ebbing,
but holding
promises
of new dawns
exploding with
new glorious
poems.
Brevity and beauty! Excellent, Marjory!
Applause! Love the ending…it draws the seeker from his/her bed:)
His voice
Lingered lucious
On her ear lobe
Dangling
Bouncing from
The kitchen walls
Where he crackled
The morning paper
talking the news
His voice unmistakable
when she lifted
the phone
to hear
I’m coming home
On my way
Should have recorded
him she thought now
in the silent house
alone as she frantically
struggled to remember
his
v
o
i
c
e……
Whoops spacing wrong… will have to do… supposed to move widening across the page…eh..you get the idea
ah…i feel this one! Love it.
Awww eljullia … know that this month has been “beyond” expression … I am delighted to have provided you with a moment of feeling and a different kind of love:) Take good care of yourself. Come to The Street on Wednesdays for a new prompt
We will look forward to seeing you if you can make it! 
Aflame
bare feet arched
stamping small perfect
concentric circles
Hair slapping
her bare dancing back
whirling as a flame
pigment flying
unnoticed
in the dance
Until
silvered unexpected
hunks caught
the light
sparked
and
sizzled
in
fallen
shadow
she stopped
bent
and with
a hand on
throbbing
vertebrae
tied her
laces
hoared
hair white
as an empty
page
fluttering
tracing
concentric
circles
in the
dust
Pearl, you are really crankin em’ out of the ball park today. I’m having trouble keeping up!
Oooh I love “speaking” to you today!
What a way for me to end this always slightly melancholy night … THANK YOU !!!!
This is a Pearl day, I can see it.
Aw Sara – I am delighted that you can
Miss you on Wednesdays – hope to see you around The Street 
Thanks for the memory,
it was a
very good time
for learning,
growing
Poeming……..
Thank you too; I’ve liked reading your poems this month
Well thank you Marjory! I believe it is very mutual. Its a joy to see all of the poets here. Such manifested beauty.
well said
April fades and dies;
Still, birds in May also sing.
End, or beginning?
I like this, Anders!! It has been fun….yes, a beginning I believe!!
Perfect! I don’t care for endings so I’ll choose beginning!
An Error Occurred While Displaying the Previous Error
=======================================
Press left mouse button to continue,
guru meditation.
If you’d like to make a call,
please hang up and try again.
Page not found,
please try again later.
I’m sorry, Dave,
I’m afraid I can’t do that.
An unknown error occurred.
Abort, retry, fail?
An unknown error occurred.
Abort, retry, fail?
An unknown error occurred.
Abort, retry, fail?
An unknown error occurred.
Abort, retry, fail?
Abort, retry, fail?
Abort, retry, fail?
Abort, retry, fail?
Retry.
Retry.
Retry!
*sigh*
“I’m sorry, Dave
I’m afraid I can’t do that” was brilliant!
Oh, do we all know days like this!
There ought to be a category for poetry involving HAL.
Nice Anders, this gave me a nice chuckle.
This is great. What a fine job of expressing our frustrations with technology’s limits. The use of tech excuses equal to “Huh?” is splendid. And Hal can be heard with his soft, quiet voice. Great.
Tiny
embryo
exploding into
life,
experience
time and space
as known to man
until this
here and now ends.
But
in the blinking of the eye,
renewed,
transformed
into
promised
eternity.
Marjory, this is such a different take…instead of tragic, you have made this sound powerful. The hope: “transformed into promised eternity.”
One Good Pair
Begged cajoled
bargain- worked for
they were bought
arriving home
in tissue papered
splendor
denim, ebon
as a raven’s wing
now
after a month
of rebellious
hot-washed
Sundays
sadly
irrevocably
gray
on
closet
floor
yesterday’s
new
WOW!
I second that wow!
Thank you Marie! Thank you!
Oooooh :0)
This is phenomenal.
Ina “phenomenal?” this might have posted in the wrong place – but I’ll happily take it to bed with me. Thanks!
Pearl, you’re making me want to out and buy a pair of jeans. And I haven’t worn jeans in a long time!
insert the “go” above. Can’t seem to spell today.
Oooh Benjamin… Wear these!
Goodnight and THANKS 
A wonderful way to explain how we all feel i have so enjoyed this experience and have learned more from other peoples way of writing. Well done
Oh I truly adore your comment and interpretation of this poem
THANK YOU BER.. Your poems have all been delicious this month. Come visit on Wednesdays and if you don’t have a blog make one and if you do… email me @ drpkp.com or visit me at Imagine http://drpkp.com and let me know how to find you!
A winner, Dr. P.
Awwww thank you Sara — you are singing me out of April into May
Come visit on Wednesdays ! 
See you on The Street.
Love this!
Emmmmmma…. Thank you, Thank you , Thank you …. Do come around The Street for Wednesday prompts… Lovely month!
As April closes
On The Street the signs
appear on this last day
swinging in windows
Or taped to a door
Closed Tomorrow
Poets stroll, some run
In muscled discipline
A few simply stand
separate
And wide eyed
Under the oaks
white blossoms
gathering in
their hair
The suitcases
Have been packed
Smiling “See Ya’s”
a laugh , a secreted
sob float
as
one
by
one
a
final
poem
posts
and
they
leave
they
leave
they
leave
an
errant
unpacked
lyric
lying
inevitably
left
behing
on
The
emptying
Street
as
music
once
basso
drummed
rises
to
soprano
higher
even
higher
until
but
a
single
note
remains
rustling
in
the
oak
tree
shattered
by
a
butterfly
to
filament
into
single
specks
of
shimmer
centered
in
each
white
blossom
drifting
on
the
silent
shuttered
Street
covering
the
final
footprint
as
a
breeze
no
one
shall
write
blows
over an
unformed
prompt
and
gloaming
sun-
shafts
lengthen
finally
cool
in
dropping
dusk
adieu
adieu
adieu
Eh… It’s early and the time grows short as I fade ….
Love this!
Oh thank you Linda… Happy May
This is beautiful…a powerful ‘fading away’ cadence…
This is exactly how it seems, doesn’t it? No one could write this like you.
J. lynn – do you know there is perhaps no greater smile I could receive than the comment “No one could write this like you” Thank you
Aww JanetRuth… means a great deal coming from you
Oh my heart … is there a Dr in the house or has she left the building …
Oh Sharon – I stopped in to read (and who are we kidding to see if anyone commented) and here you are – my dear Sharon… so delighted you enjoyed… See you on The Street soon
THANK YOU
Bravo Pearl. I think my favorite part is the beginning, where it seems that the city is closing down for good.
Benjamin – you know I think you are extraordinary and so I deeply appreciate the comment … With a shuttered sigh .. I whisper ‘…. goodbye.. at least until Wednesday… Hope to see you on The Street
Ah…the breeze need not despair, even without prompt or celebrated month, the true poet – never rests!
Wow… I truly am delighted I stopped back in… PQ.. what a lovely lovely comment
This is lovely and strong:
“shattered
by
a
butterfly”
Awesome, Pearl.
Oh Emma … A wonderful “awesome” as the month ends and the night closes around me and a grin spreads across my face. THANK YOU
Hope to see you on Wednesdays right here 
Shades of twilight
In the night
the ghosts come out to play
the old ones
settle in their rocking chairs
and begin to knit
swapping echoes
of the gossip
of ages past
at their feet
children play
souls of those
time took away
too soon
their effervescent laughter
tinkling in the moonlight
a windblown chandelier
to those without the sight
to see
as the first rays
of dawn permeate
the haunted haze
the spirits shimmer
and fade away
only a faint
resonance
of life lingers
wafting gently
on the morning breeze
Ah – excellent – if only it were that easy to fade away!
Wonderful images! Explains those little wisps of marsh fog!
Yes, I agree!! Splendid!!
oh, this is lovely.
Wonderful images i love this
Me too!
Wonderful!
Reply…wow…I don’t want to reply and break the rhythm of that gentle rocking motion. I can smell the fish frying in the cast iron skillet.
OLD SOLDIERS NEVER
Battles waged and won,
lost or drawn have gone,
and I long for the days
when the newness of it all
would call me to answer.
But, I’m feeling that this
thing we do has been real,
it’s time to seal my end
of the bargain. Other “wars”
await and it’s getting late
in the game. Please,
remember my name,
and what I’ve brought to the table.
I know I’m still able, but
too much life requires
time in short supply.
And so, I bid adieu
to you, and you, and you
and you and you.
Old soldiers never die,
they simply…
Oh, Walt!
Till the next poem, Walt… Smiles to you!
I’ll be looking at the moon, but …
Lovely.
…keep fighting
Ohhhhh ….
Awwww…. see you on Wednesday
Follow the drinking gourd
And when you fall into the heat of day
you will trace your little river of blood,
trickling you to the sudden peace
that takes you back–back to when
your bones were new and known, back
to where your mother’s bones rock you,
back to where your ancestors call.
You will feel their pain run through you,
over you, under you, pulling you into tears
as salty as your nana’s hands when she
kneaded the spice and cayenne and cornmeal
into a thin sliced fillet of catfish, dancing
your heart with her gentle hums
as she set the fish to flake and sizzle.
You will feel the pain of a thousand souls
singing you to sleep by drinking gourd,
a north star song, rocking you like you
rock yourself to your knees, slowing
coming and going, coming and going,
back
and back
and back.
Oh my …
Breath-takingly beautiful!
STUNNING!!
Oh, Khara, your words just resonate so deeply! I love this:
“that takes you back–back to when
your bones were new and known, back
to where your mother’s bones rock you,
back to where your ancestors call.”
Feels so timeless, and unending call to bones through forever. LOVE it!!
Khara, your work has been amazing all month. I’d love to write something truly special like this. Just ONE this month would thrill me!
Wow, Khara. Yesterday’s and today’s both blow me away. Rich and loamy writing!
Khara, it’s been such a pleasure to read your poems this month. Every one is a gem, including this one.
I love this one.
Khara, when you publish (a chapbook, if you so choose, but I truly believe you could jump straight to a full book of poetry), I will be the first in line. I find your writing simply stunning.
Wow. That was some gourd! And yes, your writing has been subperb.
oops. Mistaken word. meant superb above. Your writing has been superb:) Mine obviously needs work!
Man … you can write …man … I am humbled … This reminds me of a song but I can’t for the life of me recall the title, maybe “Breaths”? It has lines like “…listen more closely to things than to people … it’s the ancestors’ voices in the stirring of the water …” I find your poem even more evocative, rich … just brilliant.
Carole King’s “You’ve Got A Friend” popped into my head.
Add my voice to the chorus: What a moving and memorable poem. And what a way to kick off the final day of the challenge.
My mouth is still open in amazement. What an absolutely BEAUTIFUL piece. I agree with the others in that this is poetry at its best.
This is so raw and well described in to facts of life of this person
Yes Khara … as I’ve said elsewhere and will say here… your writing is brilliant and this a wonderful send-off … Until we soon meet again… Tears only of catharsis at the cascade of wonderful words and images that you have showered all of us with all month on The Street …. Exquisite talent
Khara, I hope you are taking all of this in.
(Read: submit this as one of your five. Then choose any of your others, because they are all completely, radically amazing.)
Oh my goodness … I just came by to read some more poems and saw this. You all are amazing, and I am so humbled by your comments and feedback. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Thank you!
Whoops my reply posted in the wrong place
Stunning!
Khara, your work is amazing.
Emma