April PAD Challenge: Day 10

In some circles, today is known as Good Friday. In other circles, every Friday is good (mostly because the weekend has begun). For the rest, Fridays aren’t anything special.

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a poem about Friday. Do you like Fridays? Despise Fridays? Of course, you can also write about something that happened on a Friday–or write an ode to Fridays. Or, as you know, I’m all for seeing you attack this from an angle I haven’t thought of yet.

Here’s my attempt for the day:

“Whoever invented hangovers”

Should be shot before being drug out
into the street. I remember my first
in high school, thinking I’d done the world
wrong, that it was collecting a debt
on my head. Still had to get up and
into work. But getting older, I don’t
even need to drink to feel it in there.
This Friday done knocked me down
before I turned out of bed. Could be
I was up working too late. Could be
this durn Georgia pollen. Could be
the April thunder showers rumbling
outside and threatening to spin out
a twister. Anyway, I’m glad I’m alive,
and thank goodness for pain relievers.


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924 thoughts on “April PAD Challenge: Day 10

  1. JL Smither

    Dark Friday

    They call it Good Friday, but
    that never seemed right,
    because even if a funeral
    is supposed to be a celebration
    of someone’s fulfilled life, you still twinge
    when you realize he won’t be around
    anymore. This year, my parents went
    to a Methodist church service
    with the lights off, and they snuffed out
    candles to the sounds of Bible readings
    and thunderous earthquakes of organ music.
    Sounds a little cultish to me, so I’m glad
    I just stayed in the office most of the day
    and stepped out to a ghost-pirate-
    themed bar for dinner.

  2. yolanda davis-overstreet

    Day 10

    Friday is tomorrow –again
    Can there be a change
    this Friday – in my life?

    Tomorrow Friday-
    I no longer want to walk in strife – in my life.

    This Friday-
    can I see the light – that is change?
    No strife…
    Only Light, light, light – this Friday.

  3. K.E. Ogden

    K.E. Ogden
    April 10, 2009
    Prompt: Fridays


    Today I will call mother &
    sing blues with her. Sometimes
    her blues is too heavy to sing

    alone. Then I will call sister &
    sing blues with her. Sometimes
    her blues is too heavy to sing

    alone. Then I will call father &
    sing blues with him. Sometimes
    his blues is so ripe I end each

    chorus smiling.

  4. LindaTK

    Day 10:
    Friday (Free Verse)

    From five years of age
    to the age of sixty,
    Friday was the
    most amazing
    most looked forward to
    most longed for
    most coveted
    day of the week.
    Then I retired.
    Now it’s just another day of the week.

  5. Lissa


    1 – Lop off the frondy top.
    2 – Then cut away the base.
    3 – And bevel the spiny sides.
    4 – To lay its weightiness down, down and slice.

    This is your week.

    5 – Eating the juice-golden mosaic tiles,
    knowing you could devour
    it all before sitting down.

    This is your Friday.

    Best to save some succulence for the rest of the weekend…

  6. Linda H.


    If while playing outside your
    child ran after a ball that
    rolled into the street and your
    dog tried to prevent her
    from running after it,
    sacrificing himself to the
    speeding steel monster,
    would you consider
    this a good day?
    Not really.

    If a superhero were called
    upon to rescue us from
    a burning ball of fire that
    could strike earth,
    killing us instantly, but he
    was captured by the
    evil villain, would you
    consider this good?
    Of course not.

    Then why is it that the
    day we commemorate the
    crucifications of Christ,
    the death of our Savior,
    is called Good Friday?
    Shouldn’t we have named
    it Black Friday and in
    return called Black Friday
    Good Friday? Just another
    reminder to me that
    humans were not created
    to be perfect.

  7. Amanda Caldwell

    My Man Crusoe

    What’s the deal with all these fences?
    Does he know he’s not in London anymore?
    Hey, man, relax and enjoy the beach.
    You’re in a fricking tropical paradise.
    Might be time to act like it.
    It’s not called a desert island for nothing.
    It means it’s not so much filled with people
    that you need to defend yourself and your stuff from.
    So chill out and let the goats run free
    and crack open a coconut
    and chat with me while you wait for rescue.

    Hey, as long as we’re talking,
    is there a reason you think you can name me?
    Like you’re so much better than me,
    when I’ve been living around here my whole life,
    and you only just arrived and don’t know crap?

    Is it all just fear, Rob,
    fear of losing control?
    Of losing power?
    Of losing your memory
    of when you were someone
    and who you were meant something?
    Fear of this island
    becoming your graveyard?
    Fear of the wild that surrounds you
    and will not be tamed,
    no matter how many fences you build,
    no matter how much you section off
    and plan and zone and try.

    Let it go, Rob, let it go, my man.
    Let it go.

  8. Alyssa Watson


    Friday fish and Friday fires
    Traffic jams and flattened tires
    People milling left and right
    All this noise, it’s out of sight!
    Watch them, see them, racing by
    Smog’s grey trail obscures the sky
    This is when you should be home
    In bubbly baths, relaxing foam.

  9. Midge VanEtten

    Fridays are for losers

    Ask Mel at the bar
    She hangs out Sunday through Thursday only.
    Men who drink on weeknight usually
    ain’t so particular
    about the company they keep,
    and will buy an old girl a drink now and then
    for just a little conversation. .
    Fridays are for losers
    and there ain’t no losers here.

    Midge VanEtten

  10. Stacey Cornwell

    Today is a Friday
    But it’s the start of my week
    I work later today
    And through the weekend

    I don’t want to work
    When others are off
    But I can’t say no
    Cause I need the cash

  11. Melissa Rossetti



    Yet another poem that apparently "went away" some time during the 30 days…glad I re-checked!!

  12. Elise Huneke Stone


    When I was eight, I thought
    it was named for the fish
    all the Catholic kids ate
    in honor of Jesus. I didn’t understand
    the connection. How could Mrs. Paul’s
    be holy just that once, between Thursday
    and Saturday? And how could bread become
    the body of Christ, and if that was true,
    why did Shawn’s grandma always take the pieces
    she brought home from church
    that the heathen grandchildren wouldn’t eat
    and feed them to the birds? All those holy sparrows
    turned into carrion eaters, like the gulls.
    It didn’t seem right.

  13. Robin Mason

    F – R – I – D – A – Y

    Friday Friday, Freaky Friday
    Rest is just a day away
    Intent on promised play
    Dilly dally all the day
    Anticipating all the day
    Yippy ki yi yay ~ hooray!
    Finally Friday ~ time to play.

    © Robin E. Mason
    30 April 2009

  14. Joan Huffman


    The projects light up
    with frustration, anger:
    a trickle of assaults,
    baseball-batted brows,
    a stream of stabbings,
    flesh wounds,
    a deluge of shootings,
    wing shots,
    mortal injuries,
    The Trauma Center
    on Friday nights:
    job security.

    Joan Huffman © 04/10/2009

  15. Lytton Bell

    She Who Must Not Be Named

    She as the first sexual woman I knew of
    who wasn’t dismissed straight off as a whore
    Some people tried it, but she bought those people
    and shrank them with her disdain
    collecting them in a glass case, porcelain figurines
    Look at all the schmucks who tried to quantify me
    she’d say, with an indifferent brush of her hand

    I read in a magazine that she used to be driven in her limousine
    through the slums of every major metropolis
    where she’d trawl for hot men, hauling them inside with her
    for a quick, stolen embrace

    I was twelve years old, starstruck
    wearing my shirts off the shoulder, moussing my hair
    just starting to figure out what it might mean to be a woman
    sexism and double standards
    and her antics: the nude photos, the masturbating on stage
    taught me you did not have to be a sex object or virgin-angel
    You could be yourself – without apology and
    want what you wanted while the grace of a pure animal
    coiled in your skin

    After I saw her perform, desire unfurled in me
    a snake awaking on the forest floor
    I sensed it there, and it sensed me
    and we bent together into the curve of my every movement
    along the damp road alone, to the next turning

    And I do not feel shame
    that my hunger for experience, my quest for intimacy
    has steered me into many lives, many beds
    No one is going to use me; I decide what I want
    with a yes bigger than all your questions about me
    bigger than all your doubts and condemnations
    and the boxes you tried to shove me in and failed

    I’ve got lace gloves with no fingers
    rubber bracelets up my arms
    my earrings don’t match
    my hair curls, my red lips pucker
    poised to deliver a sarcastic comment

    Go ahead
    tell me all my flaws

  16. Raven Zu

    Dunbars at Macrocarta

    Mike stands, snaking cables,
    two of The Fiddle Chicks ready to perform
    in amongst the Grains and Flours,
    Cereals and Fresh Fruit.
    Over there a cafe in the corner selling
    coffee, beer, wine and food – all organic.

    There was a time when a shop was a shop,
    selling this or that. But no more.
    Now we have musicians amongst
    jars of assorted herbs and spices.
    Friday nights in Mt Barker are
    suddenly looking very good.

  17. Sharon Ann

    The Friday Blues, Greens and Purples

    I’ve got the Friday blues, greens and purples.
    I am motivated by the sunshine in the blue sky.
    The lighting calls to me to paint.
    I am captivated by the green trees blowing in the wind.
    The energy draws me to my paints.
    I am drawn to the purples in my palette.
    This day leads me to create.

  18. Cheryl Pearson

    Therapy Friday

    I annihilate you Fridays, then come home wanting tea,
    the kind that only you can make
    to the right degree of beige.

    Murdered, you are no quieter.
    Your smoke-hoarse voice wisps in, and out, and in again,
    blue and separate; it tastes of disease.

    Months ago, I flashed you a rude wrist
    jagged with its scar, I cut you with the sideways stab of a hip and I confessed
    the empty plates
    the secreted food
    and the guilty, loveless trysts in darkened bedrooms
    smelling of sick.
    Did you know that when you’re nervous, your cheek jumps with a tic?

    So. Here we are. Elbows jangling. Fighting
    to finagle even a ghost-sized space
    where our words can unstretch from their bitter cramps.

    You are only dead: I want to be (or close enough).

    I was a headful of bones, a lantern with a candle
    in place of each eye, burning, burning, but now

    I am only human. My ankles are ringed with the too-tight brandings
    of boots which used to puddle sadly, empty mouths.

    You are killed, now. You are stone-cold. But oh,
    you are blades and bullets and oh, you grow in me like cancer,
    and oh, how you hurt, your words are gunshots,
    brisk as wet sheets snapping tightly on the line.

    I feel naked when I swallow;
    you can see my heart.

    But not my bones any more, no,
    not my bones any more.

  19. CLJohns

    Friday, oh Friday!
    Waiting patiently for your return.
    But it’s not the weekend
    For which I yearn.
    On the door of the office
    At half-past-two
    Comes a knock from the man
    Dubbed "Muffin Man" – yahoo!
    Baked in the morning
    Delivered while new
    These muffins are scrumptous
    And good for you, too.
    And so we all gather
    So happy to see
    When the Muffin Man comes
    Bringing baskets of glee.

  20. Tracy Valstad

    Comes once again
    Now it’s time to get
    Our groove on

    In taverns
    Or with
    Just get out
    And get
    Your groove on

    Friday was made
    For relaxing
    From the stressful rigors
    Off the
    Work week
    Dance and
    Dress up
    In your finest
    Or shabbiest
    Because now is our time
    To get
    Groove on

  21. Tony Walker

    April 10th prompt: Friday
    “Friday night at the Firelight”
    Another Friday night
    I am on a barstool at the Firelight
    The lighting is dim
    They don’t want me to see too well
    The music is soft – bland but melodic
    They don’t want me to get irritated
    I hear laughter and talking
    I hear the sound of the dart players
    And the pool players
    They want me to believe everyone is happy
    The peanuts are salty
    They want me thirsty
    I drink another cold beer
    Eat more peanuts
    I like this place
    I am alone again
    I hate this place

  22. lynn paden

    ‘but friday, don’t hesitate"

    i wait
    for friday
    when i can sleep

    i hope
    for friday
    so i can speak

    the curses
    on friday
    are full of fire

    all saved
    for friday
    i let loose the ire

    but then
    the fridays
    that i get to work

    is when
    on friday
    that i must clerk

    so that
    one friday
    i can be well bred

    even if
    that friday
    i feel half dead