All right, folks! After today, we’ll be 20% of the way through this challenge! And you’re all kicking some major booty, because I think y’all posted as many poems through the first 5 days as we did in all of April last year. Great job, and let’s keep at it!
For today’s poem, I want you to write a poem about something missing. It can be about an actual physical object or something you just can’t put your finger on (like “love” or “the spirit of Christmas” or something).
Here’s my attempt for the day:
“The Photographer”
She introduces herself and gathers
the whole party up before and after
the ceremony. She wears a nylon
sleeveless, patterned shirt and black
leggings with a little lace near her
ankles. Her dark brown hair is highlighted
blond and she straightens her back
as one pair after the other walks
down the aisle. Her fingers are covered
in rings, but she isn’t married. Instead,
she chews gum and holds her camera
close to her face, ready to brighten
the church with her flash. She doesn’t
smile or tear up, her face serious and
clinical. It’s not until she’s saying
goodbye to the woman in her white
dress that she allows herself to smile.
No time to read all the posts, just skimmed through.
Elizabeth Claman and Barbara Ehrentreu, thanks so much for the "thumbs up" for My Daughter’s Trip Home. That one just seemed to pour out of me, even though it is based on a friend’s experience and not my own.
Salvatore Buttaci, Nancy Posey, Gratia Karmes, Stephanie Ibbekea, and Sally Valentine—I like your poems for today.
Still Missing
I scanned the bookshelf, looking
but not looking,
for something in particular.
Found myself down in the S’s:
used copies of Franny and Zoey
and something by Sedarias, then a skip
to Lord of the Rings. My eye,
lost in another time, backtracked,
and I thought
"they must not have it today,"
until I remembered that I
hadn’t published it yet.
Day 6:
Something Missing (Free Verse)
Where did I leave my glasses?
Where did I put my car keys?
Where is my wallet?
Where is that book?
Where are those photos?
Where are my passwords?
I have also apparently lost my mind!
It would seem that these objects can be
found someplace nearby.
With one exception…
******************************(revision, with title)***********
*Missing*
My home has been misplaced
exactly where I left it.
**********************************************************
Ellipse
Wind lifts
woodsmoke
and hair
branches fragrant nod at
skittering leaves
In my mind, kites quilt the sky.
Toothpicks
Today it was toothpicks, and my nail brush.
Tomorrow it will be the cat’s food ball (again)
and, always, scissors
(even though we have six pairs).
And coasters —
didn’t we buy eight?
How can only three be found?
The wipes we bought at Costco,
so there should be umpteen packs,
and instead we’re down to two.
Where do they all go,
spirited away into the
graveyard of clutter and chaos?
How do we track them down,
or do without,
like unpaired black socks,
when I got tired of waiting
for a match.
K.E. Ogden
April 6, 2009
Prompt: Something Missing
IT’S AS IF ALL THE WORLD HAS GONE QUIET
The tops of the lampshades
are dusty and grimy. I want to
wipe each Ficus leaf–rip away
the broken and half-chewed branches.
Above my head an iron angel rusts,
her starry wand pointing at
the air conditioner. When my lover
breathes, his nose whistles. It is empty,
this heart. I often think of my father
lathering shaving cream, then running
a razor along his throat. It makes me
hungry, this sorrow. It makes me think
there is nothing to do except turn the
lights on, all of them, until the house
burns bright in the blackest darkness.
"Oh, If Only Granny Good Witch Were Here For The Fun"
Oh, If only Granny Good Witch were here for the fun,
for her daughter had daughters and her daughters had sons
Her sons, some have wives and some wives have sons,
then some sons and daughters have no daughters or sons!
Now Wait… Is this right?
Does Anyone Know??? Did he marry her or
did she marry him?… help!…
Where is Mic… Jef… Ste… Pete… Chri… Krimm!
How did this start? Where did it begin?
The heel of the shoe broke, so the long story goes
All in the backyard of Uncle Abel’s and Aunt Jo’s
March 6th, was set for the start, with a promise to flourish ‘till death do we part
The honeymoon blessed them with an October girl,
Michele Patricia, "Mickdoozie" with curl
Dad blames mom on those cold February scenes,
for the next few October’s brought
Cathy and "Jethrine"
Now who chased who dad,
when the "Stieff Count" was born?
Who caught the Bull and who blew the horn?
Now imagine this, dydie dunkin’ dad, in full force,
finger pinches nose all par for the course!
Do you think they cried when the next rabbits died?
Oh no, They were happy as larks,
‘cause those dead hares brought
"PeteMo", "Ipso", and "Kimberly Clark"
Shoot down the stork…
No, no, don’t let it fall!
Here comes "Drew-drew-Bug" and then Paul
(We call him Chubby)
Now our house was too small,
overcrowded but gay,
so we packed up our stuff
and moved to P.A.
The corn in the field, the horse in the stall,
the children all nestled, yes, even Paul…
But much to our surprise, yes, all of a sudden,
mom got the itch, she got it real loud!
Next thing we knew, it was like…
feed "Miss America" and change "Black Cloud"
Now, mom didn’t know, that itch she done delved,
was just a mere case of pregnancy,
Product: "Hummelbird" #12
Good Witch spoke out, "Now enough, is enough!"
"Gee Gee" was so cute when she came in the buff!
The next one…She came from heaven,
Patty was born to us at eleven!
Thirteen children, we all did make,
trips to the store and trips to the bank,
Food was a must at $300.00 a week,
some off to college and some off to seek…
But, something was missing
what should we do???
Don’t call the roll…
Don’t let it start…
Not ‘til you hear the footsteps of our "Amy-Tart"…
The Van Kooten’s are reuniting
and this is the list:
Mickey, Jeffrey, Stephen, Peter, and Chris,
Kim and Patricia, Drew and then Paul,
Amy, Tara, Cara, Little John, and Georgie, That’s all!
We’ll never forget Cathy, Tamara, and you,
Granny Good Witch and Pop-Pop too!
Well, here you’ve got it!
The scoop on the run…
Oh!
If only Granny Good Witch
were here for the fun!
I miss him.
I spend my days breathing in and out.
My heart beats.
My body moves through the motions of daily routines.
Everything looks to be in perfect order on the outside.
Bright smiles will hide the emptiness I feel.
Words can hide the pain I’m in.
I have a hole in my life that is empty.
No matter what material I use, I can’t fill it up.
I miss him.
Missing
“It’s missing,” she cried, as she ran around inside.
“I’ve lost my keys, I’m dead,” a young teenager said,
As he looked around the flat, late to school and all that.
“And I have lost my head” his mother also exaggerated.
Her son took a deep breath, said, “Well, it’s not death,”
As he looked at his mother, then they breathed together.
His mom his keys saw, and he accepted them with a “ta.”
But before he left, he said, “Why so bereft?”
And in ten minutes they sat, truly talked and all that.
Then they exchanged a hug; new morning seeds they had dug.
The Dragon in my House
There used to be a Dragon
Who lived inside my house
He stayed down in the basement
And rarely came above
He filled my house with smoke
And left burn marks everywhere
The only thing he’d drink
Was a hot and steaming brew
He was wise beyond his years
Far older than myself
He always told me tales
Of stories that he knew
There used to be a Dragon
Who lived inside my house
But now he’s gone you see
For I can’t find him anywhere
Something Was Missing
Something was missing when he opened his briefcase
when he sat in the meeting
when he drew a pie chart on the white board
when he plugged his Bluetooth into his car charger
and began the long commute home
it gnawed at him, that feeling
but he couldn’t put his finger on it
Something was missing when she windexed the mirrors
when she cut the children’s grilled cheese sandwiches into quarters
when she opened the back door and called for the dog
It all felt empty. It felt all wrong
Something was missing while the children waited for the school bus
while the politicians debated and defeated the latest bill
while the actress endorsed a product
while the pills rustled in their prescription bottles
and the air grew warmer, and you could almost feel a stifled scream
ping like the tiny chip that cracks open a sheet of glass
Something was missing while the villagers starved
Something was missing while the dissidents loaded their guns
Something was missing as the astronauts ascended
leaving behind them a trail fire
It had been gone for so long that no one knew
what to call it anymore
But they couldn’t live without it
That much they understood
as they closed their eyes
Oops, looks like I posted this in the spot not for the object poem, so previous posting is in the wrong place 🙂
Wanting to clarify…..
Thanks,
Kathryn
A green bouncing frog soap-dispenser
It somehow became a “he” and got called Frohicky.
A pale green, not a lime-green, a warmer color,
Two bugging-out eyes, white with black circles pointed right.
He bounces because his head is made that way,
You touch it and it jiggles, it’s wider than his body.
Then, a bit bigger, taller than his head in length,
His body has that same color with the same circular
Green dots around, sizes varying, but none too large.
The dots are also on his side-feet, sticking out like
Grasshopper legs, or frog-legs.
Little green feet are in front, sitting on a dark-green
Plastic, shape of a lily pad.
Smiling like he is, at his left, is a bee whose antenna
Are a bit the worse for wear—for my playing with them,
Sitting in the middle of a pink plastic flower.
To his left, a dragonfly—four purple wings, blue body,
Yellow eyes, set on a spring so it can bounce too.
He was a present—a fun one—I keep and enjoy in the now,
Regular reminder of the friend who gave him to me, and a bit of a
Toy to play with and to smile about, with Frohicky-ness mixed in.
He also can dispense lotion, though I replaced his dispenser
With a green push-top one from one of my friend’s store-bought
Soap dispensers because the other one got clogged up.
A potential for clutter or “more stuff,” not really necessary,
But appreciated for multiple reasons, Frohicky sits on my side-table,
A green bouncing frog soap-dispenser.
Missing
My rag doll with yellow yarn for hair– stolen
along with my sister’s and returned after
our mother posted a sign offering a
reward that couldn’t have been
much. The rings my mother wore as a girl and then entrusted to
me – the first, amethyst, lost when I still lived with my
parents, the second, jade, taken when my studio apartment in Noe Valley was
looted after a fire. I didn’t know where to go and some friends took me
in. David, director of the Antediluvian Theater Company, opened the bathroom
door as I stepped out of the tub.
Laurel Kallen
Dark Matter
We can’t see it
but we know it’s there
hiding in the curves
of galactic haloes
made up of
exotic particles
holding the universe
together invisibly
pervasive
incomprehensible
but it must exist
its mysterious
presence
felt everywhere,
a signpost of
our ignorance,
our terra incognita
that must be mapped out
Like the bottom
of an iceberg,
we know
sometimes what
we can’t see
is what matters most.
I am waiting for that feeling
That says there’s something missing
Tiny footsteps on the carpet
Tiny faces ripe for kissing
Squeals of laughter, twinkling eyes
Whisps of breath that smell so sweet
Won’t everyone be so happy
When I finally admit defeat?
Where did you go? (SECOND POSTING)
By Sonia L. Russell
Where did you go?
You were here just a moment ago
I know because I felt you
Warm and comfortable
Consoling and empathetic
Where are you now?
You can’t possibly be too far
I need you more than ever
I long for you to cup my face
You embrace me with softness
I can hear you calling
You are imploring me to come back
I know I hesitated for a second
Have to go to work to keep you
You so love satin and silk
Okay, so I was about to go
But I can’t leave knowing you are missing
Did I hurt you when I tossed you?
I was asleep I did not know
And now I want to hold you tight
Stop playing and come to me
I will stay with you just one more minute
I will allow you to seduce me
Bring me to complete submission
My lover, my pillow
"time keeps passing by"
just this morning
as i was putting on my makeup
you saw me, and knew what that meant
you asked me to put your shirt on
i did
you asked me to put your socks on
i did
you asked me to put your shoes on
i did
and yet, i didn’t see it coming
i walked toward the door
and you stomp-ran behind me
calling "mommy-mommy-mommy-mommy!"
all in one word
closing the door of the house
is always the hardest thing to do
but i have to work
so you can pull on shirts
so you can slip in socks
so you can stomp in shoes
and yet . .
every time a baby cries
i flinch, and think
of all the times i’ve broken your heart
because you can’t understand
how hard the world can be
and you know, baby,
it breaks my heart, too
how much i’m missing you
“Moments”
The precious times once shared
Fills our minds with joys and sorrows
Joys we want to keep and sorrows we wish were lost
Our minds don’t forget, relentless book keepers as time goes by
Oh, the joyful times that we had
We replay over and over as we reminisce
Stories are told of these great moments
Changing with each telling to stir the emotions once shared
How I wish our minds can project like in a theater
For the mind forgets not but our memory does
To have a picture or video of the event
But no, this is a moment missed
For the story has been revised with no going back
I Won’t Put Your Face on a Milk Carton
You broke
my ceramic bowl
on purpose—
left microscopic pieces
on the hardwood floor. I still can’t walk
barefoot in the kitchen. You smashed
my jelly jar of pot and the dust bunnies were inseparable
from the buds. You held a fist
in my face and I didn’t
flinch or cower. I wanted you
to know I wasn’t afraid
of what you’re capable of. Today
you picked up your glasses, borrowed
the car, and never came back.
“December Storm”
Today the sunlight is missing.
It has been absent for days on end,
but this day the winter weather also brings
torrential rain and gale force winds
that blow the rain sideways
and pound it against the double-glass panes.
They rattle and flex, yet do not break.
I watch my reflection move with the windows,
even as I remain still at my desk,
staring out at a world gone dark grey.
Soap suds of ocean foam,
blown from the beach two blocks away,
run down the windows,
as if trying to wash them clean.
One lone seagull attempting to fly against the wind
hangs in the air, beating his wings furiously,
but making no progress in the storm.
I watch the trees swaying erratically,
but continuing to stand,
while two long strips of metal siding
come loose from the house next door
and flap around noisily on the ground outside.
But the power stays on,
and for all the fury of the elements,
I am not afraid, here in my house,
my fortress, my safe haven,
where nothing is missing,
and all is calm.
Ghost school
I wander through the halls
Doors creak eerily
Lockers clang shut like six-shooters in a draw
The bell rings
Teachers monotone voices bore holes in my eardrums
“Now class, let’s begin”
Period after period
Handing out homework sheets
Which flutter like tumbleweeds through the corridor
It’s the same way day after day
But no one questions
Where are the children?
AGAIN?
Hunting
ever hunting
for keys
that walk off
by themselves.
Not again
the keys
are missing
not hanging
where they belong.
On the table?
Maybe
On the bed?
maybe.
In a pocket?
maybe.
But
not hanging
where they belong.
Half my life
is spent
hunting
missing keys.
They won’t
stay put.
They have a
mind of their own.
Again and again
missing keys
to be hunted
throughout the house.
Why won’t
they stay where
they belong?
Instead of forever
being missing.
The Afghan Wedding [Part 1]
You’d miss
the surveillance
plane that passes
co-
ordinates
to the gun-
ship
even if
you knew
to look past
the falcon, past
the clouds
from the
patio
where the young-
est brother
of the bride
is telling
a booger-
joke five
times, 10
times and
the others
are forced
to listen.
Mustache
Trimming his mustache a little too much
on the left, right, left, right, left…
felt like a march in the wrong direction,
that led to no mustache at all.
He barely recognized the stranger in the mirror.
It would take him a while to get used to the new look,
And he dreaded the comments, the stares he would get.
Then when no one mentioned the new bare lip he felt…
Relieved? No, ignored.
Something missing
Answer the phone
Pick up paper
Pick up—
No pens!
Several bought,
Only last week.
Where do they go?
What is Missing
What is missing on this boomerang of a commute
is the sun itself, gone missing it did, just like that,
and we only have the small hands of rain to blame
wringing the grief from clouds upon our heads
and the land itself is grateful for renewal.
Meanwhile in Antarctica, an ice shelf
has worried itself away from the confines of shore.
Leo
Sunday night was cold.
A sharp frost for his first night
out in the ground.
I keep looking into the sitting room
where he slept his last days
curled up on a towel on the carpet.
Each time I come back to the house
I’m fooled again by glimpses
of brown.
I make another cup of tea
for solace, for consolation.
Tell myself he was only a cat.
WE CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE
Eurosyntax Congo is
a 1931 Trader Horn dream,
this no-twilight land of where
fence posts and leather mold grow daily.
S’posed to be called b’wana.
When people-of-color meant
people-to-do-your-stuff,
‘way back then
was a when that we thankfully
don’t do any more.
Lost
Disappeared on her birthday
About this short, brown
hair, eyes
always bright,
really quite
well-behaved, smart
girl, answers to
"Kid."
Found in her place
Slightly taller, brown
hair, dull eyes,
not a sight,
really quite
annoying, smart
mouth, answers to
"Teen."
Vapor
At times
it seems like I have nothing.
Nothing in my hands,
nothing to offer
nothing to hold on to.
Vapor.
Life is passing me by
but, I only have myself to blame.
I walk around
looking up,
head buried deep in the clouds
never expecting God’s Glory
to break the clouds.
I was expecting the other shoe to drop
because it always does,
faithfully.
But I remember that the glass
will not always be full.
The empty half of the glass
is occupied by hope.
So I’ll sip on it
like a cool drink of lemonade
and wait for the clouds to break.
The foot that fits this tiny sock
The little hand that goes with this glove
So many tiny smiles that almost mock
Knowing I don’t have my own to love
No tiny cries of hunger or pain
Except mine at the loss
– But that’s hardly the same
Missing You
Missing the sound of your voice calling my name,
Missing the way I felt whenever I talked to you,
Missing the way I would think of you and smile,
Missing the way my heart felt whenever we talked,
Missing the way dreams seemed so beautiful
Just because I talked to you,
Missing the love that we had,
But you disappeared from my life,
You vanished without a sight,
And I was left trying to repair my heart,
And it seems sometimes it feels a bit broken still,
Tried to move on time,
And time again,
But now that I am free again,
My heart wonders back to you,
My soul wishes that you were never gone,
Would I ever hear your voice again?
It seemed likely not,
But a part of my heart wonders,
And a part of my heart wishes,
To hear those words again,
To feel those emotions once again,
To feel,
To feel again,
I sit here in the darkness alone,
Wishing I could hold you close to me,
But that just seems to be just a far away dream,
A dream that will never come true,
But a part of me wishes,
A part of me dreams,
A part of me wonders what if,
You were to come back into my life,
Would you still feel the same?
Would you still care the same?
Would your love still be there?
So,
Here I sit in the darkness,
Missing what I once had,
Wishing with all my heart,
To have you in my life,
To have you in my heart,
To have you forever,
Just like the way it was before.
Prompt #6 – April 06/09
Missing, Missed – Judie Land
In the thunder of hands,
in the cascade of laughter,
in the glory of cheers,
there is a little dark spot of silence
in this crowded auditorium,
a skipped heartbeat
in an empty corner shadow.
And when the encore swells,
I applaud till my palms ache,
and their uproar fills the space
where my father’s pure two-fingered whistle
should be reverberating
off my son’s triumphant trombone.
This is a second draft of one I posted earlier:
Second draft
Resurrection
There’s a hole in the tale:
the cave mouth gaping,
boulder rolled away,
but no one there, no one at all,
only the unwound linen,
rough grey walls,
the faintest scent of myrrh.
They saw him in the garden,
the women, or so they thought,
or so they said, or someone
said they said, later when tales
were whispered and the man
whose living words gave insight
to the blind, gave food for thought
to those who hungered, taught them
mercy, became a kind of god
forced into old prophecies
rewritten, and the story
embellished, embroidered, unlike
the plain linens left in the cave.
Haunted
Ghosts frequent every family party,
Uninvited but not unwelcome,
Glimpsed from the corner of an eye,
Reflected in a distant window,
In the glint of sunlight you shade your eyes from,
Or in the smile of your cousin’s youngest child.
The air is thicker around photo displays,
Words spoken and unsaid,
Memories dim with age,
Fighting for space
In the gaps between the living.
At special birthdays, anniversaries,
Weddings, engagements and births,
Their pressure is an echo,
So near you can almost hear them,
Wishing that if you wished hard enough,
They would be standing there,
Would celebrate with you,
Meet your new partner,
Welcome their grandchild’s new baby,
And surround you again in their love.
Your Loss
The middle child asked about it again
though so many months have passed since its loss.
It’s strange how I almost forget sometimes
though mine is still there to remind me.
I wonder if you remember it’s lost
or if it feels natural to you by now.
I can’t help but think it may be easy
for you to pretend it was never there
when you are out with the guys and someone
gives you a glance when she doesn’t see a ring.
This doorway
where a shadow has strayed
in this room, of possibility and collections of junk:
jumbles of crayon, paint tubes, varnish, stain and taint
shards of ceramic, spears of mirror, postcards once quaint
and piles of torn paper, shreds of paint peeled from a tray
(smooth, yet stretchy), bottle caps with a certain stain
of rust, dollhouse chairs, a dollhead bust
pictures torn from a ‘zine, a rectangle of canvas board,
unpretentious and clean, the door stands open
a story of caprice and shadow begins
Question for the departed
Into the endless void
we stare and blink.
See nothing always,
but always think
where are you?
Are you?
THE MISSING 50 FOOT WOMAN
She’s gone now
after standing there for decades.
not many people remember
That fifty foot woman
who use to stand just off Highway 90
to the right,
shortly after you entered town.
“They” had her taken down
because she was an “eye sore”
or something like that.
Our town leaders said
that she violated some “code” or “ordinance”
one of their making.
Because of their decree
she couldn’t be there anymore
Even though graduating airmen
had their pictures taken with her
ever year
Like some kind of rites of passage, but
she became a code violation and was removed.
She laid there on her side
behind an abandoned Motel
like a miniature of that Mexican mountain range
Just across the Rio,
but she’s been missing now for
A long time
Fading in memory.
"Keys: A Fib"
My
keys!
Pockets?
Where are they?
I just had them here.
You have got to be kidding me!
Thanksgiving
Pass the potatoes.
Try the cranberries.
Crack the window, it’s hot.
Sit already.
Join hands.
It’s a little late for that.
Careful now.
Watch you don’t choke.
Let me get that.
Thank you.
I’m good.
No, thanks.
You look like my mother.
My wife is no more.
Your sister should be here.
You forgot.
Can I have the salt?
Cry a gravyboat.
Something Missing
A jigsaw
Without it’s last piece
A fancy dinner
Without candlelight
A lone man
At the table
Looking across to see
A desolate chair
One glove and
One cold hand
Each without its mate
A Christmas without snow
A candle without a match
Loneliness is the absence of warmth
And something missing
Can make things even colder
4/6/09
A.J. Schuch
"Loss at 11"
Abrupt, yet drawn out
A disappearance
I’d not notice it
for nearly a decade
And yet it was there
Slipped from my grasp
With the death of family
It drew further away
as my parents did too.
Yet I thought I had it.
Now I wish it was here
For at least another year
But I’ll never have it back
And forever will I lack
My childhood.
What Today’s Kids Are Missing
by J. Thomas Ross
Since ancient times
adults have bemoaned
what their children lack.
Still today we say the same,
how much our children miss
that we had, looking back:
Freedom to play in the street without fear,
to dally all day with the kids on the block,
to wander the neighborhood, safe and secure,
to never need keys for houses weren’t locked.
Yet youngsters today
perceive no lack
Indeed, they’re quite satisfied.
They do not miss
what they never had;
they like video games played inside!