November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 18

So after today’s poem, we’ll be three-fifths of the way through this November challenge. That’s pretty impressive. And, as has been noted by several of you, it’s not just the quantity of writing that’s been amazing about November; it’s also the quality. Oh yeah!

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a point-of-view poem. Write from the perspective from someone or something obvious (or not so obvious) related to your theme. If you’re writing a series of accounting poems, then today is the day you can write a poem from the perspective of your spreadsheet. If you’re writing a bunch of baker poems, time to share the voice of your dough (or even your apron). If you’re writing a series of poems from the perspective of an accountant for a bakery, then, well, I guess you have some options.

Here’s my attempt for the day:

“Silver Bullet”

I’m the only sure way to kill a werewolf,
the only way to make sure a werewolf stays dead.

If you blow them up,
their body pieces will find a way back to each other.

Regular bullets just slow them down,
and wooden stakes only kill vampires.

Cages can confine,
but only I kill.

After all, guns don’t kill werewolves,
I do.


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80 thoughts on “November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 18

  1. Lynne

    Child’s Point of View

    Mommy come here quick!
    The sun came down to play
    with me and look! the
    sunbeam is jumping from my
    window to fuzzy yellow flowers
    on the grass. Oh please let’s
    go outside, Mommy, please!

    Listen, Mommy, bees are
    singing me a fumbuzzly
    kind of song and they’re
    playing tag with the flowers
    and the butterflies look like
    they want to play too and me
    too oh I wish I could fly and play.

    I hear birds singing too, Mommy,
    Where are they? Oh, Mommy,
    a whole bunch just flew out of
    the big tree. Lots of ‘em,
    maybe lebenty-three and they
    made those pretty red and yellow
    leaves fall down, now they’re
    playing loop de loop up in the sky.

    Look, Mommy, Mr. Charlie is
    raking all his leaves up. I want
    to jump in his big pile and you
    cover me up with leaves, okay?
    Oh wait I just want to watch this
    ladybug first, Mommy. This is fun,
    Mommy, the leaves are crunchy and
    smell like sunshine. I’ve got an idea,
    let’s get my little rake, the one I use
    when I help Daddy, and I can help
    Mr. Charlie too, can I Mommy?

    Who is that man, Mommy, and
    why does he have that big cloth over
    his nose and mouth? He looks funny.
    I don’t want to go inside, Mommy,
    I’m having so much fun, this is my
    best day ever and oh look Ladybug
    Ladybug fly away home. Hurry little

    Why did we walk inside so fast, Mommy,
    wait, please don’t close all the windows.
    I want to listen to my humbuzzling
    bees and hear my birds sing to me,
    please Mommy, pretty please.

    What is that man doing, Mommy,
    he looks like he’s spraying water
    on my dandelions. Yes, I know
    what poison is. Oh no! why does
    that man want to kill my flowers,
    Mommy? Why is he so mean. Make him
    stop, Mommy please make him stop.

  2. Kathy Kehrli

    XVIII. The Mathematics of Vital Signs

    My cardiac leads suction-cupped to the chest,
    I’m a graphical marvel
    Of algebraic tendency.
    My perfect sine waves
    Marred by PVCs,
    Which I count off by the minute
    Like a drill sergeant metronome.
    My pulse-ox meter,
    Clipped first to nose
    And then to index finger,
    Illustrates Numbers and Operations,
    A lesson in percents:
    92 out of 100, or 92%.
    My dual blood pressure monitors,
    One cuffed to bicep
    The other cathetered through the groin,
    Are a blasphemy of proportions.
    And you, who once earned yourself
    A reputation as mathematical whiz,
    Find yourself detesting
    My sodomy of the subject.

  3. Tyger

    From the Television Set

    Did anyone ever ask me
    if I want to spout all this
    right-wing rubbish?
    Did anyone wonder
    if I really want to broadcast
    Fox news?
    when Sarah Palin winks
    through my screen
    don’t you think I shudder?
    And didn’t you see me
    virtually glow with glee
    when the map turned blue?

  4. Peggy Goetz

    My theme is Change (and its many meanings)

    I like this riding warm in a pocket
    next to a thigh, so I can feel the
    muscles move. At night I rest
    on a dresser, breathing the bedroom
    fragrances, aftershave, a bit of perfume.
    My Lincoln face is dulled
    no more the shiny new penny
    that delighted a child
    with sticky fingers
    when I was fresh from
    minting. I’ve traveled
    six times completely across
    the continent, lived in a cash
    drawer at a New York pizzaria
    Starbucks in Sausalito, in a
    Cosco in Kansas. For three
    years I lived in a bottle kept
    by a boy, with hundreds
    others, until I was dumped
    in a collection bin Pennies
    for Prevention. Maybe if I’m
    lucky someone will throw me
    in a fountain, Rome I would
    prefer, make a wish, kiss
    and live happily ever after.

  5. Rodney C. Walmer

    Unwritten Poem

    Here I sit all alone
    I’m not much,
    but an unwritten poem

    Here I wait
    for him to take pen in hand
    perhaps to debate
    that which most will never understand

    With so much out there to inspire
    it’s a wonder
    that he never tires

    With a prompt from Robert
    a change in the economy
    what would it hurt
    for him to write just once about me

    It’s not easy being an unwritten poem
    sitting here in the dark, all alone
    when all I want is a place to call home. . .

    ©Rodney C. Walmer 11/20/08 Perspective poem.

  6. Kateri Woody

    If you squeeze my bulb any harder, I will vomit –
    I will spill my acid all down your suit.
    It serves you right, preemptively ejaculating
    my contents at undeserving pedestrians!
    I want to spew forth on the face of the Bat,
    can’t you hear my pansy eyes weeping Daddy,
    my green lugubrious tears hiss as they fall
    from my petaled face and die on your own bosom!

  7. Jolanta Laurinaitis

    I am her death

    I blanket her
    And keep her warm at night
    Sheild her from the painful
    And keep her out of sight

    Dark and nuturing
    Safety fears forming
    Old perspectives are dead
    New ones come with morning

    An over protective parent
    I am smothering my child
    Till she can no longer breathe
    Leaving her corpse to be defiled

    I am the balckened city smog
    Pollution and death is soaring
    Old thoughts are numbed
    And new ones come with mourning

    (written from the perspective of the city pollution smog.. but you already worked that one out! :D)

  8. Shannon Rayne


    We swarm
    into the sweaty heat
    of dance floors,
    we are nothing more
    than the amplified swell
    surrounding bending bodies.

    the dancers respond
    you would think
    that our vibrations
    assaults their senses.

    I do not know what
    this generation is fighting
    against. In years past
    we were greeted with tilted hips
    hands steady at the side
    ready for us to fill their senses.

    Tonight they slap their bodies
    against us, greeting us
    with pummeling fists.

  9. Iris Deurmyer

    Rock’s Lament

    You pummel me all day long
    For centuries you have beat against me
    tearing away until I am only
    a small portion of my former self

    I was once a gigantic boulder
    where sailors stood to catch your mood
    But your angry waves have carried
    grains of me into your depths or
    deposited me on uninhabited beaches.

    Some of me is even now
    covering an ancient shipwreck
    while other particles remain
    intwined in meremaids’ hair

    Here I stand as a small monument
    to your tenacity
    Oh great and mighty Pacific
    Hail, to your salty waters

  10. Kate Berne Miller

    I am the liminal
    The space between
    ½ of ½ of ½ of ½
    never arriving, never merging
    never whole. What holds you apart no matter how
    tightly you cling together.

    I am what lies between
    Here and there, the transition , the fade
    between night and day, that point where the horizon
    starts to blur,
    the stillness before the first cry,
    the breath before the last.

    I am the borderlands
    between two vastly different worlds,
    barren, dry, so hot even language
    melts away. There are those that die
    in the crossing and those who survive

    Kate Berne Miller

  11. PSC in CT

    Thank you Michelle! 🙂

    Oh my gosh — so many good ones today, it’s hard to list them all, so here’s my "short" list of favorites:

    Nancy P – (The Scratchy Stack) Very nice! I remember them fondly. And Van Gone — I like it!

    Karen – love your "tomboy" trying to be tame.

    Shanon R – And to think I felt sorry for myself for joining almost a week late. You’ve got guts enough to play catch up for weeks. You go!!

    Michelle – Bare Naked was cute — but I loved Leaf!
    Linda – How true! And pretty good for a quick draft.
    Paul W.H. – very sad.

    S.E.Ingraham – some I recall from WD Forum, some were new to me. Too many, all well done, to choose a single favorite.

    Judy – such a terrible loss, so tragic & heartbreaking, and you keep on capturing it so painfully well.

    K Weber – (The Shame) I feel like an idiot — like I should understand this one — but it a riddle to me. Still, I really like it! (Want to enlighten dopey me?)

    Jane – very simple, very nice.

    Sara V – interesting idea, water seeking tranquility (Me too!)

    Victoria – your door poems have been engaging — short & succinct.

    Steve L – (Book) – Very interesting, and unexpected, perspective, since I anticipated reverence and care. Still, I understand well, how that book feels. I don’t like to be peeled open and read either — so why do I write (or try to write) poetry?? Nice job!

    Juanita – well done!

    Thanks, everyone, for yet another day of excellent poetry! We are .566667 way there. Write on! 😉

  12. Juanita Snyder

    (ok, since my theme is the Pacific Northwest and includes a couple poems on the pacific ocean, thought this particular point-of-view/rant-back fitting. –spidey)

    Poseidon Speaks
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    I am not your Enemy, though
    at times you render me with such cruelty.
    Lives I have taken, yes
    but never without Reason,
    and never with Greed.
    Death is such a delicate matter,
    to always be carried out with great Honor
    and Respect, in spite of your own record.
    Your hands are not entirely clean.
    You engage my children in blood sport,
    pollute my reefs with garbage & chemicals,
    come to my home and drill giant holes
    in blatant disregard of the consequences,
    how else am I supposed to feel?

    You cannot enslave or bully me.
    I cannot be bought or sold.
    I’ve been in existence far longer than
    when you first crawled out of the ooze.
    While you were busy whittling sticks
    I was carving out coastlines and
    tumbling rocks smooth as glass.
    While you were busy building your cities
    and expanding your territory,
    I sent my own painful reminders,
    hurricanes and volcanoes,
    tsunamis and quakes.
    Never think yourself my equal.
    no matter how many trips to the moon,
    or how small I seem from your space station.

    You will never be my equal.

    © 2008 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  13. PSC in CT

    Calendar’s Lament

    I tallied days with tender care
    I never could relax
    I couldn’t let one single day
    Just slip right through the cracks

    Appointments and your special days
    I tracked with care and reason
    Recording every holiday,
    Full moon and change of season

    But, though I kept track of it all
    I see the writing on the wall
    The year is quickly winding down
    I fear a new kid’s come to town

    I haven’t got a lot of time
    And so, I’ll keep it brief
    The days are quickly slipping by
    Oh Time, that awful thief!

    My days are numbered, it is true
    But friend, one day this may be you
    Trying hard to be not bitter
    Tossed aside like so much litter

  14. kate


    I’m the second incarnation
    the first is shoved on top
    of a dusty wardrobe
    one arm hanging by a thread
    face disfigured by nail polish
    and grime.

    I have power to create sound
    a contented sucking on my dummy
    wails when it falls
    from my mouth’s plastic O.

    Bottle, scratchy shirt and me,
    the trinity she needs
    to get to sleep.

  15. Shann Palmer


    Fingers hovering
    over keys, after
    comfortable words
    she plays them out-
    it’s their rite.

    People sometimes
    tell her what hymns
    to use, though
    they won’t know
    from their vantage.

    Those left behind
    will hear the song
    later, and every time
    remember, remember.

  16. S.E.Ingraham

    Day 15 – prompt – "nightmare dream" (almost caught up)

    Dreaming Dreams

    “We are near waking when we dream we are dreaming” Novalis

    It’s always the same
    The door to the cage
    Lies open, unlocked
    And my heart
    Beating a tattoo-rhythm
    Feels, even within the dream
    As if it might rip
    From out my chest
    But my legs are heavy
    Too heavy to move
    To cross the short
    Distance needed
    To escape
    And helplessly
    I watch the cage-door
    Slowly sliding closed
    As my legs refuse
    To obey my heart
    And my mind goes black
    And I dream I am
    Awake and then
    I am and still
    I am not free.

  17. Steve LaVoie


    Eww, why
    Are all your fingers
    Poking and prodding
    And moving layer after layer
    Of me around without asking?

    The worst part is I just feel
    So naked when you open
    Me up! Why must you
    Always stare at my naked words?

    Sometimes you don’t even own me.
    You just grab me off of my perch on high
    Pull me toward you
    And almost tear me open
    And after that not even give me
    The satisfaction of being worthy
    Enough for you.
    You are all just terrible!
    How would you like it if I peeled you
    Open and read what was inside?

  18. S.E.Ingraham

    And yet another – catch up poem #14, prompt "cautionary"
    Learning the Ropes

    Edith is showing me around the ward
    Giving me a heads-up about what’s what
    She means well but she is scaring me
    Half to death and I wish she would just
    Shut up now and let me go back to my room
    If she points out one more person I should avoid
    I think I might start screaming or maybe I’ll just
    Start to run down the hall and keep running
    Until somebody makes me stop or somebody
    Makes her stop – what? Oh – wait – she’s
    Going into someone’s room now and I
    Don’t have to, don’t want to, don’t go there
    Go back down the hall now and find a nurse
    Ask her where my room is, I can do that
    Don’t listen to Edith calling after me
    Soon I won’t be able to hear her
    Just keep walking past the Security Desk
    Is he getting up? It doesn’t matter, just
    Keep walking and soon I will be at the Nurse’s
    Station and then I will find someone who
    Will help me and get me back to my room
    Just keep walking, walking, walking
    Don’t listen to anything at all, don’t think
    Just keep walking, walking, walking
    Where is that room? Where is that room?
    I can’t walk anymore; I will just sit here now
    And not think and not walk, just sit, that’s all.

  19. Michelle H.

    Hi Everyone, I really enjoyed these poems today:
    Earl – "What I’ve Seen"
    Lori – "Vein Truth"
    Linda – "Mr. Paper complains"
    Meesh – Toliet Handle poem – very funny
    Sara V. – "Still Waters"
    Goodnight all! Looking forward to tomorrow and a slower pace! 🙂

  20. Nancy Posey

    Van Gone

    She said Van Gogh had made her mad.
    On her first museum trip, she’d pushed
    her way up close to view the picture she
    had only seen before on calendars and
    cards. She said that once she got there,
    though, the picture disappeared—only
    brushstrokes—and it made her mad.
    She wanted to back up enough to bring
    the image back, but the room was full
    by then, so she just left him for Degas.

    Nancy Posey

  21. S.E.Ingraham

    And yet another – Day 12 – prompt "By the Numbers"

    Keeping Track of Going off the Rails

    Charting your disorder and the various attempts
    To heal your fucked-up mind can drive you
    More insane than you ever dreamed, if you let it
    Or – you can begin to appreciate the elegance
    Of mathematics and pure science and hope to
    Pursue the answer to your crazed existence
    As a purely academic exercise wherein you will
    Play the part of chief subject in the experiment
    Or, if Lady Luck smiles with particular favour on your
    Real life laboratory, you may just end up being THE ONE
    The pseudo-scientist who discovers the answers to questions
    Needing to be asked and answered for you and others
    But – and this is a huge but (no pun intended at all here)
    First you must commit to chart keeping on a monumental scale
    Learn to devote time and energy to systems and files
    And research so that you are almost as educated about
    Your illness and its possible treatments as those who treat you

    It becomes important to realize that the number of times
    You become depressed will influence – get ready for it
    The number of times you will become depressed – that’s correct
    Kindling – it’s called kindling
    – each episode sets off little fires
    That makes each successive depression
    that much easier to set aflame
    Talk about depressing – those numbers are that, yes?

    This is just an example of how arithmetic and sanity connections
    Abound in the mental health arena –
    there are dozens more, maybe hundreds
    But the lab is calling and the disorder
    a fierce mistress who appears on a whim
    This self proclaimed subject must off to work
    or will find herself incarcerated once more…

  22. Victoria Hendricks

    So many strong and creative poems. Judy, the degree of empathy in yours just makes me shudder and want to hug you now and your son then.

    Here’s mine – short and simple after a long work day.


    Shut, I separate.
    Open, I invite.
    Approach with care.
    I invite, open,
    I separate, shut.

  23. S.E.Ingraham

    Catch-up poem #12 – prompt "tiniest detail"


    The scars were healed and in time
    Would fade to un-noticeable lines
    The doctor assured her parents
    And the thoughts were gone from
    Her mind also, they, and she, assured them
    They kept saying, as if saying it often
    Enough would make it so and no one
    Noticed as she continued to pick
    At her bedspread in the hospital room
    There weren’t enough chairs so
    She sat on the bed, straight as a soldier
    At right angles to those assembled
    And she laid one hand in her lap
    But the whole time, she kept picking
    Tiny, miniscule really, pieces of lint
    Off the spread, near her thigh, with the other
    She appeared to be listening to them
    Her parents, the doctor – nodding
    Saying – ah, and mmm – at the appropriate
    Moments but really she just kept
    Mindlessly picking, picking, picking
    And no one saw her, no one, no one at all

  24. SaraV

    Robert I loved your poem–great ending!!

    Still Waters

    I seek tranquility
    Is that such a huge thing
    To ask?
    No ripples, no splashing
    No webbed toes paddling about
    Stillness is what I seek
    I am dead tired of all this activity
    Look at my beauty
    The sun creates twinkles on my wrinkles
    Sunset paints me petal pink
    I don’t mind so much if you stop and sip
    Pausing for a little drink
    But then,
    Be on your way
    I don’t need all you critters
    Mucking about
    I have sunrays to catch
    And to boughs to reflect
    I am deeper than you think

  25. A.C. Leming

    I apologize in advance for this one. It’s late and I’m tired and something my husband said at dinner spawned this one. So, here it is…

    Grrrrrr (or "The Bitch")

    Why is he always in my space?
    He pushes me off the good bed,
    the one I’ve warmed up so my
    belly won’t freeze. Now I have
    to circle three times again before
    I lay down on the rough blue bed
    while he had the tan bed, the other
    bed, the good bed. I’ll whine until
    my humans tell me to “Lie down!”
    faces redder and redder until I
    obey them. Why did they ruin
    my life? Why did they bring
    that spotted monstrosity home?
    Why didn’t I kill him when
    he was the size of my head?


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