2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 1

Here we are. Another November PAD (Poem-A-Day) Chapbook Challenge. Wake up your friends, bring your fellow poets. Let’s poem the heck out of this month!

This time around, I’m going to try using prompts supplied by participants. (If you’re interested in providing a prompt, there’s still room. E-mail me at robert.brewer@fwmedia.com with the subject line: November Prompt.) For instance, today’s prompt comes from Mariya Koleva (click her name to learn more about her).

Mariya’s Prompt: Write a matches poem. The matches could be sticks that make fire. Or it could be matches from a game. Or the verb of “to match.” Or as in the phrase “He’s not a good match for you.” Or whatever other match you can make.

Here’s Robert’s attempt at a matches poem:

“In Heaven”

Have you thought about the last time
your hand met mine? How you repeat
each blast of heat? You are my dream
angel. I scheme and angle for
one minute more in the night time.
Internal rhyme schemes hold nothing
on your loving ways. Please, baby,
stay and maybe we’ll always be.

*****

Now get poeming! And remember to learn more about Mariya Koleva.

*****

Learn more about me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

*****

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299 thoughts on “2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 1

  1. ivywriter

    I am so behind with this chapbook challenge, but I want to try to catch up because I need to write some new poetry, so here goes and see all of my poetry at http://marchthirtyone.wordpress.com

    title: prom date

    When I went to prom

    we wore matching outfits

    purple and gold lace

    my first bustier

    you wore a matching cumberbund

    and bowtie

    too bad

    our futures didn’t go together

    no high school sweetheart for me

    c) Kellea Tibbs and march thirty one, 2012. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of original march thirty one material without express and written permission from the author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

  2. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    collecting matchbooks
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    he collects matchbooks ~
    a way of soothing the sulfide beast within,
    keeping in check the tinderbox monster
    from otherwise igniting an impressive array
    of military, bank, restaurant, night club,
    and tourist attraction incendiary art
    he’s accumulated the world over, twice.

    a magpie with a lust for potassium chlorate
    as well as neatness and order, he arm wrestles
    daily the arsonistic accountant likewise within,
    pouring over binders and shoeboxes
    just to finger the plastic sleeves
    protecting his personal picassos
    from demon saboteurs.

    © 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  3. Andrea Z

    “Sensing You”

    Upon walking into your house
    I want to see you
    waiting to envelop me
    in a crushing hug;
    I want to see you
    curled up in the corner
    of the endlessly soft burgundy couch
    watching a cheesy horror film;
    I want to hear your giggles
    as you sneak Christmaas presents
    into the back bedroom for wrapping
    I’ll even take the smell
    of lingering cigarette smoke
    in your sun room, your sanctuary;
    I’ll have to settle for feeling your spirit
    as I try to live without you.

    for Melody, my step mother

  4. Mike Bayles

    River and Shore

    River and shore travel
    toward the gulf,
    and they make the perfect pair
    like sun and sky
    making the day
    and air and wind,
    nature’s song.
    For there can be
    no river without shore
    no shore without river,
    and each defines the other
    as I watch on a summer day.

  5. chrsye

    Mismatched

    Sitting on the pavement my feet itch,
    my socks are dirty and mismatched,
    I feel like it’s been a long time since
    I have belonged anywhere, a long time
    Since my feet have been bare

    My boots stay on, tied on tight,
    I don’t regret being who I am
    Yet I can’t figure out this world that
    Just keeps on keeping on and hates a
    being that doesn’t match up with its
    Society.

  6. sonja j

    Brimstone

    The bitter night house, hands
    stiff with radiant cold and bones.
    Birchbark, white pine twigs, dry
    split ash. Just one strike, one fast
    pop, sinuses quick with sulfur vapour,
    breathing in the salt marsh on fire,
    praying for the catch of tinder, kindling,
    pray in winter that the whole box,
    the whole yellow forest could light up.

  7. cstewart

    Somekinda Match

    I can only say what I am not,
    I can only say what I am.

    The wind presses through the slats in the wall,
    The water passes below near the deep well,
    The searing light shoots in when I open the door,
    The sound of the timbers crack, move in time,
    To the implication of gravity against anything.

  8. Eleanore D. Trupkiewicz

    Matches

    The star with the star,
    the rose with the rose—
    the snifter with that
    decanter, full of an
    amber liquid—used
    to be clear, but it’s
    tainted with your
    very presence, which
    I hate with all my
    heart. The circle with
    the circle—unbroken,
    mocking—why am I
    always the excluded one,
    the outcast? The diamond
    with the ring setting
    —princess-cut, half a
    carat, just a glittery
    rock I never deserved.
    That bloodless little
    shred of my soul with
    the wound you left
    when I let you talk
    me into making a mistake.
    I can’t start over, can’t
    be matchless anymore.

  9. bluerabbit47

    We’re a match,
    the two of us,
    you with your
    temper and me
    too tempered
    you with your
    careful pacing
    and me
    with my wild
    last minute
    dashes.
    We’re a match
    of seeming
    opposites, seamed
    so closely together
    that sometimes
    there is no space
    between us
    like sky
    and sea at
    sunset on the
    Pacific.

  10. julieee

    The swift, slick snap of the match
    The wisp of sulfur, then the flame
    Wavering in the crisp, fall air

    Heather cups her mittened hand
    To block the wind

    The tip of my cigarette burns red
    The flame flaters, smokes
    Blows away as the leaves dance
    Between our feet

    I hold my burning end to Heather
    As she lights hers from mine

  11. barbarab

    MISMATCHED SOCKS

    When I look at my feet, I notice my socks they do not match,
    Worse than that, I notice my sock has a hole that needs a patch.

    I am not embarrassed that one sock is black and one is blue,
    No one will ever notice ’cause my socks hide inside my shoe.

    I am not embarrassed that my sock has a hole and needs a patch,
    Holes in socks are handy in case I have an itch and need to scratch.

    If my mismatched socks are the main topic at the local coffee klatch,
    Guess what-I have another pair at home like my pair that does not match

  12. aviseuss

    Day 1: Match

    “Made Hand”

    Marked prematurely, false terror in my eyes
    A trap surely, rethink your alibis
    Time to fold your cards; I know exactly what you are
    Chill down my spleen, unlock this player’s latch
    He’ll go grab the kerosene, and I’ll go grab the…

  13. po

    Matches Are No Longer Made In Heaven But In DataBanks

    When your father and I were
    growing up we had to find
    find our matches the hard
    way. We could not rely on
    computers to match our
    interests in a data base of
    several hundred thousand.
    Maybe soon the computer
    will make the phone call.
    Why stop there–virtual
    control of the whole process.
    You kids have it so easy
    these days.

  14. po

    Matchless to Mach Two

    Socks, always matching socks.
    I’m sure my washer ate them
    for try as I would when my
    sons were growing up there
    were always stray socks.
    In high school they taught
    me a better way. They would
    grab any old two, pull them
    up matched or not, strap
    on their tennis shoes, and then
    exit out the door–mach two.

  15. po

    Matches to Matches

    A blue flame catches the sun–
    two ends to a puzzle. Sparks
    fall as puffs of smoke twirl
    away in a warm light huddle.

    In Sunday School burnt matches
    were lined up to make the face
    of Jesus. On birthdays Mom
    would hold the match until her

    finger burned lighting the
    candles. Matches were, like
    everything else hard to come by.
    Endless sparks of molt lost

    in liquid sunsets. Candles
    extinguished in a heartbeat
    of burnt red and orange, holy
    blue and yellow.

  16. The Wired Journal

    They all look the same

    Two blonde’s on a beach Sunning in the heat

    With Two burgers and some fries Just makes me want to cry

    In bikinis’ looking fine Wish I could wear mine

    If I only I could lose that weight My waist too would look great

    All those burgers and French fries Have fattened my waistline

    I wish I was those blondes on the beach With their tans looking so great

    So thin like the laces in my shoes Ii makes me sing the blues

  17. Ann M

    in the back of the red shed
    the leaves pile,
    turning to wet rot and muck,
    thicker and denser
    by the day,
    until even if a match was
    flicked and dropped,
    even if gasoline tipped
    and spilled,
    or an actual flame tried
    to lick and burn,
    the pile still wouldn’t turn to fire
    and I still wouldn’t
    be moved.

  18. LoriP

    Ugly Fence

    The storm knocked it down
    while I was traveling.
    Just part way down
    while I was traveling
    to London and Tuscon
    and Cortez and Paris.

    It just sat there
    while I was wandering.
    Just stayed right there
    while I was wondering
    about my job and laundry
    and life and Christmas.

    An ugly fence
    that I can’t take down.
    An annoying eyesore
    that I can’t tear down
    because I don’t have
    the time or tools
    or truck or patience.

    Finally called a guy
    to cut it down.
    A guy is coming
    to tear it down
    and take it away
    for scrap or a treehouse
    or termite bait or matches.

  19. SJStephens

    Instant delight in the coupling heat of
    words. The obsession begins with a
    craze to cure a lonely heart.
    In the fervor of need that claws and
    climbs and ignites unresting souls.
    Sweet compliments of flesh in the
    rising touch. Detonates the infatuation
    and crushes the flame. Madness
    sweeps into the inferno of coupling.
    Burning out before the fever reaches
    its fullest arousal.

  20. posmic

    Late, because I decided only today to go ahead and post all 30 poems here like I did last year, rather than holding most of them close to the vest in order to ward off the dreaded “previously published.” Further explanation forthcoming later tonight, on my blog. :)

    Match

    Whittle it down to matches;
    the tree is only the start of fire,
    sunlight locked in its heart
    like a memory of leaves.
    No leaves now, it is wood
    in a box; strike sulfur tip,
    bring to wet, lichened log.
    Cousin!, the match says.
    I have returned.

  21. Karen H. Phillips

    Day 1
    No Match
    (Written as if spoken by a survivor, KST)

    You.
    I can match you stride for stride,
    though I’m tired from the fight,
    because you’re no match for my God.
    You.
    Cancer.
    I’ve got a new husband.
    I’ve got a daughter to live for.
    I’m bald and beautiful and sick and scared,
    but not scared or sick enough for you to whip me.
    I’m kickin’ you to the curb.
    Yes, you.

  22. mbjensen16

    My poem never posted from yesterday – still says “awaiting moderation” so I’ll try again…

    Strike the Match

    A fire burns in my chest and rests
    long enough to consume all the air
    in the room to breathe. I can’t.
    I reach my hands up and yell no words
    to see if you care enough to help.
    I swallow it down. My throat sore and dry
    from all the yelling and no helping, no air
    or a care. I’m drowning in these flames
    that came from no where; from every where.
    Can’t you see? Me? Provoked. Puffing out smoke
    from the corners of my smile. Stay awhile and see
    what happens when you strike the match one more time.

  23. Bruce Niedt

    Wildfire

    She met him through a computer service,
    and it was a match made in Heaven,
    or at least on the Internet.

    Like a match to kindling,
    they struck sparks, fed a fast flame,
    and soon had a roaring, crackling romance.

    But before long the arguments began,
    and she would prove his match.
    Their differences spread like wildfire.

    A few months later, their fire burnt out,
    with little lost, but nothing won –
    game, set, match.

  24. mjfingerprints

    I tried several times to reply to many of the great poems that I read yesterday, and had the same issues that other people mentioned above. Here is my poem from yesterday’s prompt.

    Match

    Looking
    for a
    match to spark
    the embers of creativity
    and inspiration forming ideas that
    fill my white page
    with the black
    flame of
    words.

    ©M. J. Lord

  25. shann

    matchbook sonnet

    Your bodyheat caught me unprepared,
    the acrid burn of hell and heaven
    as our elbows touched, I was consumed.

    Defined by intensity, we played
    pretend, lips sealed in understanding:
    to match is not to go together.

    Alone, I am incomplete, jagged
    edge catching on the delicate gauze
    our story wears in such circumstance.

    You are my everyday devotion,
    the scripture I carry in my hand,
    fingerprints left on piano keys.

    On the horizon a meteor
    flares and disappears. We are done.

  26. viv

    I hereby declare that I shall read and appreciate the poems, but decline to comment for fear of wearing out my computer in the multiple attempt process this site seems to insist on.

  27. Natalija

    Dissonance

    Should I draw you a picture
    or would words suffice
    seeing how they get twisted
    when you stop being nice

    When laughter turns to silence
    when eyes simply turn away
    thirteen months ended up
    being one hell of a price to pay

    Should I leave you a snapshot
    or an album of fading memories
    seeing how our past would be erased
    and replaced with falsified stories

    The firm grip of vexation
    I now leave behind
    the haunting of your stern look
    forever embedded in my mind.

  28. June

    matchmaking

    tiny spark fire

    fly glow

    worm in the fence

    row out to the deep

    water life

    giving life

    taking chances

    are we almost home

    coming full circle

    skirt the edge

    of night time

    to dream

    lover come back

    away down south

    in dixie

    cups champagne

    toast burned to ashes

    dust to dust

    the piano

    player in the dark

    room to develop

    photo in the solution

    to the cross

    words are puzzles

    awaiting answers

  29. julie e.

    PROCESS OF MOMENTS
    We drove
    around Wyoming and Nebraska
    in a great big car hearing tales
    of my uncle’s days on the range
    as a real life cowboy
    sounded like a novel to a city girl like me
    and there was never another moment just like that

    I sat
    trembling on the hospital bed
    after giving birth to a baby girl
    I couldn’t believe I was holding her
    I was a real life mom
    seemed like I’d done an impossible thing
    and there was never another moment just like that

    We went
    to Australia and sat by a lake
    where turtles swam and lizards as big
    as my arm sat on a log next to me
    in a real life rainforest
    felt like a dream to a suburban mom like me
    and there was never another moment just like that

    I watched
    my first grandchild being born
    waiting to say hello to
    a brand new generation
    I was a real life grandma
    it seemed unreal to the girl in me
    and there was never another moment just like that

    I talked
    to my brother-in-law on the phone
    he said she was gone
    suddenly in that morning
    real life meeting real loss
    how could I never hear my sister’s voice again?
    and there was never another moment just like that

    each moment
    shaping me
    each moment
    who will i be
    each moment
    I have the choice
    to grow, to learn, to see
    each moment
    matchless
    new
    making me.

  30. MeenaRose

    No Contest

    By: Meena Rose

    Go ahead!
    Betray me, stab me;
    Sabotage me, just try me!

    A lesson in leverage!
    Push me, shove me;
    Just try to dislodge me!

    My stance is firm!
    Woo me, fool me;
    Won’t work, I know me!

    You can’t sway me;
    You can’t break me;
    Clearly, you’re no match for me!

  31. joann555

    the fire still a hope

    swirls of pink, layers of richness
    sweetness drips from its side,
    chocolate luscious chocolate.

    Toppings of petals, soft lovely florets,
    slender bright and sparkling towers
    eagerly await to be quenched by fire.

    endeavors linger, wishes unsung
    missing ingredients never to be lit
    the fire still a hope with matches found.

  32. Casey

    “The Search”

    That matchless part of you I will recall
    when next I need a steady hand to hold
    when in my terror of a nightmare’s sprawl
    when visions come and I’m no longer bold.

    Comparing you with others I have known
    Fulfillment falls so short; so pale; so stark.
    I seek the look within your eyes that shone
    I cannot find another with such spark.

    I search to fill the mounting loss of you;
    the cost is counted with my length of life.
    The longing stays amidst the searching, too.
    to find a quiet lull in my heart’s strife.

    I’ll end my search before it has begun;
    there are some loves in life that matches none.

  33. Mike

    2 for day 1

    book of matches
    left out in the rain
    no cookout today

    ——

    MATCHING
    brown with tan
    blue with black
    or maybe gray
    not sure what
    to do with the
    lonely white one
    laundry day
    doing my best
    to match
    the socks

  34. Melahlah

    My face has never matched my feelings
    Wrinkles and gray hair are deceptive yet revealing
    When young, I looked older
    Yet getting older I feel bolder
    Wasn’t youth supposed to be fearless?
    That wasn’t me, I was scared spitless
    So I’m glad for this thing called time
    It has rhythm and rhyme
    So, as my outside nears fifty
    The inside feels quite nifty
    For it toggles ‘tween ancient & teen
    With barely an eon felt in between
    And as time flies to these earthly eyes
    Whether immature or wise
    I like my gray hairs and lines
    I do, because they’re mine.

    All things change in time

  35. Susan Budig

    Strike the Match

    “The color of your eyes, they match…”
    Yes, I wonder what he’ll say next
    My eyes are brown

    What exactly might resemble brown
    And still be…polite?
    “A match,
    the moment it’s struck!” Uh-huh, next

    He’ll be fawning over my rose-red…Next!
    Speed dating! A blast of one-liners, no brownie
    points for depth. The goal? A one-night match.

    Singlehood matches my mood, except when the boy next to me turns on his flame to brown my love-clock to the perfect hour.

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