November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 21


Three weeks! I can’t believe how fast this month is moving. Wow!


Today, I want you to write a confessional poem. And then, get to enjoying your weekend.


Here’s my attempt for the day:


“Kong in the Congo”


And that’s why I never climb trees anymore.


I mean, after you fake your death once, you realize
you may not get too many more chances to stay
anonymous. But I gotta tell you, that fall from
the Empire State Building was murder–and a few
of those pilots grazed me on purpose, I’m sure of it.


Yeah, I didn’t get the girl in the end, but women
will only kill you if you keep ‘em around too long,
and that’s the honest to goodness truth. Besides,
she was always screaming and crying and being
a bad sport. She never actually cared ’til I was “dead.”


And believe me, Kong will dead; I really will.

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79 thoughts on “November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 21

  1. Terri Vega

    Day 21 – confessional poem

    Perhaps I have acted badly
    it wasn’t really my desire
    it’s my nature; I cannot
    help who I was born to be

    An assassin, an accomplice to
    a dead man’s sentence, the means of
    an end to those who have given
    up their lives willingly

    Some have taken in my poison
    unwittingly, so for you I lend
    this advice regarding my nature
    of destruction. I will kill you
    if you are not careful.

    My roots have been mistaken
    for parsnips, my leaves and flowers
    for wild carrots, even my seeds can
    deceive the brightest who would seek
    the flavor of anise.

    I would think that the scent
    of mice would be enough to
    fend off most, yet my port wine
    spots and streaks go unheeded.

    I have killed your children who
    have made whistles from my stems.
    I have killed your animals who
    have feasted on my foliage.
    Keep your fields clear of me or
    you may join Socrates in the final
    farewell.

  2. Kathy Kehrli

    XXI. A Simple Question; A Profound Change

    I never intended to cause a stir—
    But then again, I never do.
    I did it for my own peace of mind.
    I needed clarification
    Before placing your mortality
    Into strangers’ hands.
    It was just a simple question,
    Born of a blunt comment
    I was later told should never
    Have been uttered to me.
    “When exactly does treatment become ‘life-sustaining’?”
    Flitting in and out of conscious awareness,
    You couldn’t have known it,
    But I changed hospital policy that day.
    Spurred by unseverable ties,
    One person still
    Can alter the world.

  3. Juanita Snyder

    did I tell my mother
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    did I remember to tell my mother
    how much I really loved her?
    did I reiterate enough to be convincing
    before her dead cousin came fetching?

    were my mother’s last thoughts
    of her daughters’ welfares?
    could she get past the years
    of habitual fretting over
    choices my sister and I fought
    hard for the right to make,
    despite her lack of faith?

    or did my mother simply
    roll up her negativity like
    a take along travel bag,
    shaking her head and rolling
    those same dark eyes my sister shares
    in the wee hours just before her death?

    did I leave her with enough words
    to lend comfort in those final hours?
    did she get that the rest was just
    stupid bullshit to ignore or forgive?
    did she understand why there was
    a time when I couldn’t wait to
    get away from her fast enough?
    was she tired of the mind games
    and control issues that kept
    getting in the way too?
    was she aware how thankful
    I was to have returned and
    taken another shot with her?

    did I remember to tell my mother
    how much I really did love her?
    was I convincing enough?
    or was it all just a little too late?

    © 2008 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  4. Jane penland hoover

    Room at Dawn

    I awake as light spills in,
    hear water splash against the sink
    and imagine your attention
    to your face, lathering, shaving
    last night’s darkened growth.

    I curl around my pillows,
    draw yours closer, listen as
    wing-tips brush soft
    against the plush of carpet.

    “Morning sleepy head,” you say
    and lean to kiss my lips.
    I rush a smile
    into your wide embrace
    press my palm into your tie,
    yellow silk,
    smooth as your cheek.

    Ready for your morning meeting,
    Yet no movement toward the door…

    And later
    when you’re late
    and gone, I think
    that if I have a million days
    and ten million nights
    I will feel forever
    that lush yellow.

  5. Monica Martin

    I’m scared of us living together
    because I’m afraid it will be
    the end of us. I’m afraid we’ll
    fight because each will have
    something to prove, or we’ll be
    too stressed out or something. But
    I’d rather live with you than
    without you.

  6. Iris Deurmyer

    I pretended not to know you
    that I could not recall your name
    In reality I never forgot you
    My heart still bears your mark

    I said I never loved you
    Because you hurt me so
    In essence I never stopped
    I just did’nt want you to know

    You still haunt my dreams at times
    Your face I see in a crownd
    I cry whenever I hear "our" song
    But I pretend your memory is gone

  7. Carol

    CONFESSIONAL – yes this really did happen.

    STARLINGS
    … and it’s just in that moment
    when all there is, is
    ground, distance, wind,
    that they come rushing down the track,
    pouring in from the field on my right,
    flying past, over and beyond me,
    and I’m roller-coasting with them
    though my feet stay on the ground,
    I feel the excited connections,
    know their undulating beat,
    am gathered with their motion,
    until the last bird has passed.

  8. Tyger

    I Confess

    I did not think there was enough
    to make it happen
    Not enough black folks who
    would get out and vote
    Not enough whites without prejudice
    Not enough good ideas
    on your platform
    not enough resilience
    in your political makeup
    Not enough snap in your speeches
    to best the republicans
    not enough fiercness in your face
    to scare the Russians
    Not enough know-how in your background
    to string-pluck Congress
    Not enough guts in your belly
    to build a great government
    So in the primaries,
    I voted for Hillary
    But through the months I watched you
    your integrity and grit impressed me
    Your careful, thoughtful words
    hummed a different, deeper note
    and on that Tuesday in November
    I voted with a full heart
    Not just for the Democrat
    but also for the man.

  9. Jolanta Laurinaitis

    My Secret

    Sometimes at night
    I don’t light the candles
    And I turn on the lights
    So then the movie isn’t
    So scary

    Judge me from above

    Sometimes I sneak paper
    Into the garbage
    And don’t recycle the cans
    Then I use plastic bags
    To line the bins

    Humming wings in disapproval

    Sometimes I walk past
    The rubbish on the ground
    And say I’ll pick it
    Up on the way back
    But later it’s gone

    Adderbolt hovers sadly

    Sometimes I have long
    Showers and stand there
    Just letting the water
    Run over me for no cleaning
    Reasons, just to relax

    She cries tears for my selfishness

    And sometimes, just sometimes
    I just forget that there is a problem
    And that nothing is wrong
    And I don’t need to save, recycle,
    Reuse, reduce
    And care.

  10. Rodney C. Walmer

    Sins of the Past

    We are all haunted by that which we did
    though we never told anyone
    in the deepest recess, our guilt is hid
    wanting to have it undone
    we know we can’t take it back
    it’s there,
    every so often it lays in wait, to attack

    For some it’s the skeleton in the closet
    after the first, each becomes easier
    that is for some
    for others, it’s that first one they deposit
    never to be withdrawn.

    In our guilt, it affects who we become
    the true us that’s reborn
    that is depending on what we’ve done
    along with how hard our badge of guilt is worn

    The good news
    most of what we’ve done is not so bad
    it’s the new path we choose
    every day, that defines who we are
    there’s always a chance to make the better choice
    that is if we are willing to go that far
    listen to the supportive voice

    Oh, we might go and confess
    then do no less
    then again
    we might take pen
    make a list of ways to make amends
    turn our life around
    be wary of the message our change sends
    the goal is not to astound
    just for some form of salvation for our sins to be found. . .

    © Rodney C. Walmer 11/22/08 confessional poem.

  11. Penny Henderson

    day #21 confession

    I was a semi finalist
    for the National Merit Scholarship!
    I have lots of stuff in my brain.
    I know the value of pi,
    (tho’ I don’t recall what to do with it).
    I know species and phyllums
    of plants and animals.
    I’m good at finding out
    those things I don’t know.

    Is God smiling?
    Do we remind him
    of kids playing school?

    I don’t get why pride
    is such an easy sin.
    My smarts all amount
    to dandelion fluff
    in the presence of
    his divine intellect.
    Blow me away, Lord.

  12. linda

    Shannon, great poem.

    Judy, another well-written piece.

    Alessa, good stuff!

    Could comment on lots of good stuff here, but there isn’t enough time or space.

    Damn, Patti—you took my starting line. (I am not the woman you think I am). Guess I’ll just drown myself in red wine now. (Still love you…no time to write until Monday anyway. This darn biotechnological project plan i am translating into english is almost done–40 pages of blah. Then I can get back to the fun writing.) Oh, and your poem was good, Patti.

    Linda

  13. k weber

    do not disturb

    you climb
    inside my head
    and suck
    the marrow
    out of every
    choice i make

    your love-hate
    ways are brazen,
    your tricks
    exhaustive

    not everything
    requires
    your attention
    or your self-
    serving
    business

    when you mother
    me or try
    to be
    my sister, you
    have another
    motive

    get your god-
    damned mess
    cleaned up
    before you
    show up
    with
    or on
    your broom
    trying to take
    care of mine

  14. Margaret Fieland

    Down and Out Blues

    Whip your jimmy from your pocket,
    climb on in and start the car.
    Somewhere on the road to nowhere,
    stop and go into the bar.

    Drink some liquor, look around you,
    something here just isn’t right.
    That old guy is staring at you,
    guess he wants to start a fight.

    Down your drink, then wander over
    with another in your fist,
    Throw the shot right at his eyeballs.
    Your hand’s shaking. Bro, you missed.

    While you’re swaying here and yonder
    comes a fist right at your chin.
    Take a while to recover.
    Cops have come. They take you in.

    Soon you’re right back in the slammer
    ’cause they found you stole the heap.
    Grand theft auto, what a bummer.
    Goose is cooked. Man, you’re a BLEEP.

  15. PSC in CT

    Oh my gosh — again SO MANY good ones! Can’t hit them all, but let me try for some:

    First and foremost — Rachel: Glad to hear your son is home from the hospital and hope that life is returning to normal.

    Iain – Liked your cat comments today.
    Bruce – Love your confession! Keep "playing" your music.
    Taylor – Your doubts were well done. Liked the ending.
    Connie – Cute! (Love how you wove everyone’s theme in!)

    Karen – I like the hope & faith that comes thru, in spite of the fears. Q: Was the MLK "twist" deliberate? (I have a dream vs I didn’t dream)

    Patti – Well done! (I don’t think any of us are who "they" think!) and "I don’t Love You" = sad, but well done.

    Shannon – nice confession — very nice! ;-)
    Paul – some beautiful thoughts and phrases here.
    Nancy P – Nice job! I can see that conference scene.

    Judy R – another perceptive, poignant piece. You capture your thoughts & feelings so beautifully. I am still so sorry for your loss, but you have such potential for helping others with your gift and understanding.

    Shann P – Perceptive, well done!
    Vanessa – Nice.
    Peggy – Excellent! I like it!
    Victoria – Nice job.

    Kate – Don’t get out of bed next November! ;-)

  16. PSC in CT

    I Confess

    I Confess

    I claimed the
    Last cup of coffee
    From the pot

    Scraped the
    Last spoon of jam
    From the jar

    Helped myself to the
    Last heel of bread
    For my toast

    And in the last
    Calm, peaceful
    Minutes of the morning
    I savored breakfast
    (All the more)
    For being
    So dear

  17. linda

    haven’t had time to read more than the first few poems posted but let me say….

    connie, another great one. who knew one could write so much with dominoes as the theme. did you know that here in Germany at Christmas time there is a popular treat called domino. i find them a bit too sweet but my mother-in-law loves those chose petit vours (not sure if thTat is written properly.) anyway, thought you might like to research it for a poem.

    Bruce, now you’ve done it!! every time i read one of your poems, i will see you playing air guitar.

    Linda

  18. kate

    Off my theme, nevermind.

    Veggie Patch

    Of course I set out with good intentions
    the seeds I planted
    sprouted and straggled
    teetering on too long legs
    pushing up at the plastic,
    without the cover they slumped and shrivelled
    a quick snack to grasshoppers
    swamped in the next shower,
    not one survived.

  19. Kateri Woody

    Random Joker Cinquain

    My name
    evokes nothing
    just a hollow bitter
    sound in the back of your choked throat –
    Joker

    I never went to church,
    not even for my wife’s funeral
    because I had her cremated
    and no one has a mass for an ugly urn;
    but I’m sitting perched on a pew,
    eyes turned toward the cross
    hanging forebodingly ahead –
    a sign of what’s to come,
    surely, and I can’t seem to wait
    for my crown of thorns, my spear
    to the side. I must confess
    that I never saw myself as the antichrist
    as I spread fear and chaos
    across the City, no. I just
    see myself as the second coming
    of Jesu Crist himself. A teacher,
    a lion, a maker of men. Damned
    to die nailed to something.

  20. Kate Berne Miller

    I confess
    I think I’m haunted
    by the ghost of injuries
    past. Here it is November
    and I’m on crutches
    again.

    Last November
    it was an exuberant golden
    retriever running backwards across
    the dog park lawn, my knee
    bent oddly
    backward.

    The dog at least
    licked my face, its owner
    hauled me up and hurried off
    to his car. I confess I never knew
    dogs could be
    clumsy.

    I confess that
    the previous November
    I had been thinking unkind thoughts
    about the ghost in my friend’s house
    as I went downstairs for water, missing
    that last step, flattening my arch, opening
    my palm on a nail in the
    doorframe.

    It was Thanksgiving
    night, the emergency room deserted,
    the staff kept making jokes about turkeys and knives
    even after I told them we were vegetarian,
    had just eaten mushroom soup, risotto,
    and a nice
    Cabernet.

    It’s November
    and I’m on crutches again,
    my left foot swollen like mystery meat
    and not a dog or a ghost in sight.
    Whatever it is you want
    me to say I
    confess.

  21. Victoria Hendricks

    Mary K, yours really struck me today – I don’t count on tomorrow either.

    Broken Boundary Confession

    I have slammed doors,
    let drawers hang ajar,
    barged in without knocking,
    passed by, blind eyed,
    failed to knock at all.
    I have shut myself out,
    you in, myself in, you out,
    spiiled your secret drawers
    I have even broken down doors.

  22. Iain D. Kemp

    A.C – I apologise for my friends abruptness. Just to get things clear,,, ain’t nuffin’ like lovin’ the Yankees like lovin’ ‘em in Winter.

    Yours in da Bronx

    Ringo

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