2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 7

Wow! Somehow, we’re already a week into this year’s challenge. That seems impossible, but we’re there.

For today’s prompt, write a poem describing a scene in which two or more people interact without speaking. Such moments happen every day. Some are happy; some are sad; and some are angry.

Here’s my attempt:

“Where It Counts”

As the editor makes more copies
without counting them, the office
manager huffs into the supply room
and yanks open a cabinet before
slamming it back closed. Then, she sighs
as if the world has mounted her back
and pushed all the air from her lungs,
but the editor rolls his eyes and keeps
running out copies. He knows only
too well that paper does grow on trees.


Write an amazing story!

Many stories live and die by one simple storytelling element: Structure (or lack of it). Power Structure – Boxed Edition is the ultimate story structure software available to screenwriters, novelists, and other storytellers.

Click to continue.


You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

393 thoughts on “2012 April PAD Challenge: Day 7

  1. dextrousdigits

    Finally catching up on missed days.
    It’s just about finishing the race,
    even if its hours late.

    You look at me
    I look at you
    instant electricity

  2. Marian O'Brien Paul

    Sunday Mass at St. Joan of Arc

    I point to the holy water font
    (in case my kids forget)
    dip my fingers and sign the cross
    on my own forehead
    step back and watch, making sure
    each one does the same.
    Then leading them down the aisle
    I choose a likely pew
    genuflect and step to the side
    so I can direct who
    goes in first, second, then I
    then the other two.
    I know who’s likely to pinch
    or poke whom
    and just how long each can resist
    these temptations.
    I “keep my eye peeled” (as my mom
    did) so at the first hint
    of trouble I catch the culprit’s eye
    and administer
    the Mother Look, raising eyebrows
    high and eyelids,
    enlarging the dark pupils of my eyes
    to impale the guilty one.
    The nearly imperceptible shake
    of my head
    completes the effect and silently
    says “Stop right now
    if you want to live!” They always do.

  3. Kimiko Martinez


    There are nights
    when he cuddles in
    to feel her
    body close,
    a warm apology for
    all he has failed to
    do today.

    There are times
    when she accepts the
    naked truth
    that he is
    trying his hardest to be
    the man he really
    wants to be.

    On those nights
    she pulls his hand close
    to her chest,
    kisses his
    fingers and slips an icy
    toe toward his toasty
    feet and laughs.

  4. Mr. Walker

    Kitchen Bath

    My left hand is getting a little tired,
    so I shift it a bit, moving along your back,
    careful not to let it slip in the sudsy water.

    My right hand is holding your belly,
    making sure you don’t slip,
    and one of your hands is on mine.

    You don’t cry anymore. Now it’s fun.
    I love your constant smile,
    even when you suprise yourself

    with a splash, getting soap in your eyes.
    I calmly wipe it away, quickly and gently,
    smiling myself the whole time – and humming.

  5. po

    enough comfort

    she stitches
    the years in a quilt
    as he dozes
    by the fire
    his slippers and pipe
    forgotten in their
    silent days

    scraps of words
    all but forgotten
    weave into a
    comfortable silence
    and somehow they
    know it’s enough

  6. Akua


    After cranking open the door
    he sees the woman he’s watched before
    her perfume enters before her
    He holds himself in stillness
    he doesn’t want to show
    his pleasure, his deep inhalation
    in summer heat sautés her lotion and soap
    pulls the petals of her layers apart
    serving savory imaginings
    He measures her mood by her step on the stairs
    Does she spring up or is it deliberate,
    grabbing the rail to hoist an unseen heaviness?
    She greets him with an eager smile
    fumbles with her purse awhile
    just short of too long, so that his scent
    may rise from the well and the wheel
    a new cologne, an aftershave with sex appeal
    She looks again into his eyes
    drops the coin into the slot
    moves past the entry to grab a spot.

  7. Tanjamaltija

    Law and Order,
    An Acrostic

    Leverage factors, Lapsed Gifts…. Law’s an Ass,
    Attendant Circumstance, A Vinculo Matrimonii
    Waiver the Writ of Execution

    A Mensa Et Thoro, A fortiori
    Naked Nullity
    Directed Verdict, Decrees and Damages…

    Objections to Obsolescence
    Range of Value – Reciprocity
    Defendants and Depositions…
    Extenuating Circumstances…
    Revocation of Reward!

  8. Shreedhar

    That Kitchen Cupboard

    A black and white image,
    three quaint shelves,
    stacked bottles, plastic and glass.
    Masalas, condiments, and chewing gum.
    Jars labelled cloves, pepper and cinnamon.
    Two turned heads, eyes staring, hearts pondering,
    supermarket visits, hand in hand,
    a house lived in, by man, and man;
    arguments over a favorite brand,
    noodles and flour, bought for two.
    one hand and spoon, yet fed mouths, two.
    A single bed, that still fits two.

    Three quaint kitchen shelves, in black and white;
    The promise of an irreverent romance,
    but, with who?
    If only I knew.

  9. Natalija


    without prompting or guidance
    without further insistence
    he fills the briki with water
    takes the plates to the garden

    she turns on the stove
    adds sugar to the water
    grabs bread, butter, and jam
    which he takes from her hands

    the children are gathered
    around the outside table
    and watch squirrels and birds
    on top of the birdhouse gable

    the water now boils
    the briki’s removed
    coffee’s stirred in
    he hands her the cups

    the five gather now
    faces light up
    smiles all around…
    the alarm now sounds.

  10. foodpoet

    Without Within

    Without memories you cannot speak
    Without your clear edged mind I cannot hear
    I can only hold you and hold on
    To fragile broken fragments

    Without your clear edged mind I cannot hear
    I hold your hand and feel your strong pulse
    Over fragile broken fragments
    We sit together each separate

    I hold your hand and feel your strong pulse
    Skin soft and mind drifting
    We sit together each separate
    Each forgetting

    Skin soft and mind drifting
    I can only hold you and hold on
    Each forgetting
    Without memories you cannot speak

  11. David Yockel Jr.

    How come I can’t get the spaces I want to show up in the post…, i.e. the word “love” in the second stanza of this poem should be indented all the way past the word “made” on the previous line? Also, the entire third stanza should be indented 10 -15 spaces… It’s not the end of the world, but the way the poem looks on the “page” is half the point, don’t you think…?

  12. David Yockel Jr.

    Ain’t Love a Grand Canyon

    I will never forget your sleeping face
    or the way you used to hold me

    at arm’s length while we made

    or the night
    we slept with a canyon

    between us. I reached my hand over
    a mile to touch your thigh. You never

    felt it, but that was me

    saying goodbye.

  13. Marcia Gaye

    (I’m a couple days late but catching up.)

    “i” Limerick

    You never look into my eyes,
    Too busy typing on your “i – …”s
    I text you a note,
    You read what I wrote.
    Your icons react in surprise.

  14. tunesmiff


    Changing lanes
    I cut her
    off as I
    slowed to pay
    the toll at
    the plaza.

    She blew her
    horn, flashed her
    lights, and said
    (I’m sure), a
    few choice words.
    I just waved.

    At the booth
    I handed
    a dollar
    to the guy
    who started
    to hand back

    fifty cents,
    two quarters.
    Stopping him,
    I said, “Wait,
    “she’s on me,”
    and pointed

    Back at the
    car behind.
    He smiled and
    waved me through.
    After a
    few minutes

    the driver
    I’d cut off
    passed me, horn
    blowing and
    this time she
    was waving.

  15. JRSimmang

    Along the line
    they crouched,
    a voiceless challenge
    bespeaking an ancient rite,
    passing through them,
    crossing their lips,
    rippling over their muscles.
    They are not enemies,
    yet for this time, they will not say
    they are friends.
    For this time
    there is but one goal for each, different than each other,
    standing as the one obstacle
    to themselves.
    There is a snap,
    simple, understood,
    and muscle upon muscle,
    wit against wit,
    speed against speed.
    They do not heed each other.
    They do not see each other.
    They do not fear each other.
    They feel the distance between them as they
    careen to the crash.
    And it’s done.
    Now, they are friends.
    Bloodlust quenched, the taste a-bay.
    Tomorrow, it repeats.

  16. Jamal Abboud

    When I met You
    When I met you in space of my gust
    Words abandoned me thus
    I lived in mute vast world
    A calm ocean charged with passion
    Love rivered beneath my silence-in motion
    But your gestures denied my fuss
    For words, for frame of education
    Your expressions foretold the null of my existence;
    I searched for the truth of my presence,
    Beside your scent that of spontaneous prevailed
    As roses that bloom in insistence
    And never before failed,
    Over my silly attitude, over my cowardice buds
    Your support , I admit, in return was dutifully just
    But a blush always kept me beyond my crust
    Fair enough to mutate to walls or dust.


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