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2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 30

Categories: Poetry Challenge 2012, Poetry Prompts, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog.

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).

Click to continue.

 

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About Robert Lee Brewer

Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

401 Responses to 2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 30

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

    test

  2. Yolee says:

    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.

  3. Caren says:

    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

  4. foodpoet says:

    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

  5. Fade into the darkness
    Cloak absorbing the ink
    Shy away from the shine
    And let the black ooze
    Into your blood

  6. po says:

    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

  7. gtabasso says:

    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.

  8. Pat Carroll Marcantel says:

    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.

  9. ceeess says:

    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

  10. lionmother says:

    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

  11. Tanjamaltija says:

    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.

  12. “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.

  13. Arrvada says:

    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

  14. Michael Grove says:

    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

  15. Linda Voit says:

    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

  16. Dan Collins says:

    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.

  17. LCaramanna says:

    Five PAD challenges complete! Thank you for the prompts, Robert – and for sharing your time and talent.
    Thank you, Poets – for all the poems.

  18. LCaramanna says:

    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.

  19. Lynn Burton says:

    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.

  20. Lana Walker says:

    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.

  21. PKP says:

    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 :)

    • lionmother says:

      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!!

  22. (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

  23. Michelle Hed says:

    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.)

  24. deedeekm says:

    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 :)

  25. bclay says:

    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…

  26. Michael Grove says:

    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

  27. Angie K says:

    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.

  28. TezfromOz says:

    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 …

  29. 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

  30. De Jackson says:

    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.

  31. cam45237 says:

    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

  32. RASlater says:

    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

  33. Marie Elena says:

    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!!

  34. drwasy says:

    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…

  35. Janet Rice Carnahan says:

    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!

  36. 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.

  37. RobHalpin says:

    Fades

    Barely there,
    the leftover shades
    of bright stars
    burned out. Fades;
    alive, but not quite living;
    gone from memory…

  38. Andrea B says:

    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

  39. 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.

  40. Rosangela says:

    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…

  41. 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!

  42. seingraham says:

    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 …

  43. pmwanken says:

    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

  44. RASlater says:

    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

  45. posmic says:

    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.

  46. 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

  47. zevd2001 says:

    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

  48. Marianv says:

    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.

  49. eljulia says:

    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.

  50. Sara McNulty says:

    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?

  51. Jane Shlensky says:

    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.

  52. cumberlandcarol@live.com says:

    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.

  53. Jane Shlensky says:

    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.

  54. Jane Shlensky says:

    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.

  55. 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

  56. DanielAri says:

    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

  57. Miss R. says:

    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.”

  58. wolfbolz says:

    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.

  59. 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.

  60. renfield67 says:

    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

  61. eljulia says:

    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

  62. claudsy says:

    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

  63. Tracy Davidson says:

    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

  64. 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.

  65. hurtin-heart says:

    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

  66. renfield67 says:

    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.

  67. cstewart says:

    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.

  68. Domino says:

    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.

  69. Domino says:

    Rock stars sometimes say
    It’s better to burn out than
    simply fade away.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  70. pmwanken says:

    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

  71. Bruce Niedt says:

    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?

  72. PKP says:

    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…

  73. Mike Bayles says:

    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.

  74. tunesmiff says:

    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?”

  75. 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.

  76. Mike Bayles says:

    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.

  77. De Jackson says:

    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?

    .

  78. Paoos69 says:

    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

  79. emmajordan says:

    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…

    • De Jackson says:

      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.

  80. 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.

  81. Jackie Casey says:

    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.

  82. Sally Jadlow says:

    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.

  83. Maurie says:

    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…

  84. dextrousdigits says:

    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.

  85. Dare says:

    Pure Vision

    Her eyes dimmed with age
    As physical sight fades, her
    Truth-vision ‘came clear

  86. 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

  87. dextrousdigits says:

    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

    • Marie Elena says:

      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!

  88. Earl Parsons says:

    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

  89. 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

  90. 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.

  91. Nancy Posey says:

    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.

  92. 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

  93. Nancy Posey says:

    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.

  94. dextrousdigits says:

    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.

  95. Katrin says:

    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

  96. 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

  97. RJ Clarken says:

    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?

  98. 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.

  99. mlcastejon says:

    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.

  100. Beth Rodgers says:

    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.

  101. PSC in CT says:

    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

  102. De Jackson says:

    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.

    .

  103. 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

  104. RJ Clarken says:

    fireworks explode
    brilliant against the night sky
    cordite trace lingers

  105. 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 ~

  106. JRSimmang says:

    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.

  107. barbara_y says:

    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

  108. De Jackson says:

    please.

                         let’s
                              not
                          look
                     back.

                            just
                        fade
                           to
                             black.

    .

  109. Nancy Posey says:

    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.

  110. Marie Elena says:

    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.

  111. laurie kolp says:

    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

  112. 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

  113. RJ Clarken says:

    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.

    ###

  114. JanetRuth says:

    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

  115. “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.

  116. 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.

  117. Margot Suydam says:

    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.

  118. 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…

  119. “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.

  120. nan says:

    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!]

  121. JanetRuth says:

    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:)

  122. mich says:

    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

  123. Marie Elena says:

    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

  124. Hannah says:

    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!

  125. Genevieve Fitzgerald says:

    Are you leaving me
    Dissolving into sea mist
    Or are you leading

  126. Hannah says:

    ~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

  127. 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…

  128. Wise Woman
    ==========
    The dawn
    in

    her smile
    turns

    gray at
    night

    (tribute to a favorite A.R. Ammons poem, “Beautiful Woman”)

  129. Ber says:

    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

  130. “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.

  131. 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

  132. PKP says:

    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?

  133. MiskMask says:

    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

  134. PKP says:

    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

  135. Ber says:

    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

  136. PowerUnit says:

    “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.

  137. Marjory MT says:

    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….

  138. PKP says:

    beauty of the bud
    surrender color to sun
    bowed head of last rose

  139. Marjory MT says:

    Glorious
    days
    ebbing,
    but holding
    promises
    of new dawns
    exploding with
    new glorious
    poems.

  140. PKP says:

    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……

  141. PKP says:

    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

  142. Marjory MT says:

    Thanks for the memory,
    it was a
    very good time
    for learning,
    growing
    Poeming……..

  143. April fades and dies;
    Still, birds in May also sing.
    End, or beginning?

  144. An Error Occurred While Displaying the Previous Error
    =======================================
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    guru meditation.
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    Retry!

  145. Marjory MT says:

    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.

  146. PKP says:

    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

  147. PKP says:

    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

  148. mschied says:

    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

  149. Lara says:

    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.

  150. 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…

  151. Khara H. says:

    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.

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