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2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 16

Categories: 2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge, Poetry Prompts, Poets, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog, What's New.

In case you missed it yesterday, click here to check an interview with me on the Poetic Bloomings site.

Today’s prompt comes from Joseph Mills.

Here’s Joseph’s prompt: Use the last line of yesterday’s poem for the first line of today’s poem.

Robert’s attempt at a Last Line First Poem:

“And we can”

And we can dash into the forest forever
forgetting the bells, the whistles, all the people
cursing their neighbors, dancing in their flooded streets
when the rain is too much for the drains to contain.

And we can dash into the forest forever
but our hearts won’t forget, our minds won’t cease beating
the blood of our parents, our connected story
sparking fires nothing short of those rains can contain.

*****

Thank you, Joseph, for the great prompt today! Click here to learn more about Joseph.

Click here if you prefer sharing poems on the Writer’s Digest Forum.

*****

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About Robert Lee Brewer

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70 Responses to 2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 16

  1. Day 16
    Prompt: Use last line of Day 15′s poem as first line of Day 16′s poem.

    What I Don’t Choose

    Choices were made for me before birth:
    Birthplace
    Year of birth
    Parents
    DNA, gender, chromosomes
    Intelligence
    Class/income

    Certainly many factors of my life
    lie out of my control,
    spiraling to make me who I am
    and what I will become.

    Circumstances surround me
    as God and nature choose:
    Tornado misses our house.
    Dryer fire and oven fire end with children safe.
    Sleepy accident in the night spins my husband
    safely into guard rail with no cars nearby.
    A canoe trip in my single twenties could have
    turned out so differently if I hadn’t made it
    to a rock from the filling canoe
    through the floodwaters but instead had
    plunged unsuspecting over a waterfall armed only
    with a puny old style lifejacket.

    Those are the kinds of things I don’t choose.
    But I do choose how I respond
    and how my life can be more
    than how I’m made and what
    happens to me.

  2. Yolee says:

    Yesterday’s Poem

    The crack in our bell
    reminds me evolution
    does not mean beauty
    is lost but redefined.

    Light enters where once it was denied.

  3. heiditoad says:

    The Saddest Truth

    Where the memory of me used to stand,
    A photo in some box does sit
    To offer proof I did exist.

    I wonder what that photo tells
    To those who did not know me well?
    For one day too you shall be gone;
    The friends I’ve made as years went on.

    Where the memory of me used to stand
    A photo in some box does sit
    To offer proof I did exist.

    It doesn’t matter what I gave
    What came before, what path I paved
    For lives untouched or touched the same
    For I am still without a name.

    Where the memory of me used to stand
    A photo in some box does sit
    To offer proof I did exist

    And who of you remembers me?
    No branches grown on family trees;
    A nameless face in someone’s hand
    Is all that’s that left, that’s all I am.

  4. Running a wee behind this day…

    To Kimmie…

    I only want what’s best for you.
    I’ll cook your favorite chicken stew.
    I wish you health, a bright mañana
    and lots of fun with Faith and Johanna.
    I’ll send you off to Paris or Sydney
    and if you ever need a hand or kidney,
    I’ll give you one, for I have two.
    I only want what’s best for you.

  5. PSC in CT says:

    The One

    At her feet
    lay the sun, moon, stars, (every
    gaseous planet in the
    arms of Orion and most
    of the rocky ones as well) but
    all she really wanted
    was the world – just one
    minuscule
    blue-green marble
    miracle of the Milky Way
    (which no one offered up)
    so she walked away

  6. rustydude says:

    Stuck, Tradeoff, Last line First line,

    I’m stuck in a time zone and employment that keep me late hours
    So the daily poetic challenges become tall shadowing towers

    I bid some slack and request a trade
    A story comprised with bit of the three made

    Please refer to the following rendition
    A cowpoke, pondering his condition

    Stuck in the Saddle

    Stuck here in the saddle, follow’n a herd
    Been a right long time, haven’t heard a word

    Got stories, recollections, chase’n in my head
    Colt strapped to my side, six pieces of lead

    Rifle in the scabbard, loaded, ready to aim
    The trail we ride, none any too tame

    Cougar wait’n up a tall pine, wolves by the pack
    Rattlers slither’n quiet, hide’n in a crack

    The paint believes he’s the favorite, since I saddle him the most
    Truth be told, he slips through the timber, easier than a flee’n ghost

    He’s sure on his feet, ‘n keeps a smooth stride
    Makes gather’n the herd, a most pleasant ride

    The cows don’t talk, but you can tell what they say
    Scent of water in the breeze, they be headed that way

    Should reach that river soon, just below Shirley’s Ridge
    Clean, cool current, flow’n peaceful, under a natural bridge

    Plenty of grass for the herd, we’ll make camp for the night
    Sunset, snowcaps to the west, simply inspire’n sight

    How that ridge took her name, take more than a written page
    First laid eyes on my beautiful wife there, tend’n the stage

    She’ll be wait’n there, fire ready, biscuits ‘n coffee, hot
    Stand’n tradition, every ride, we meet same ol’ spot

    I’ll bring a fresh grouse, to fix with her wild berries and sage
    She’ll prepare it all, with tender love, never tired with age

    Come daybreak, we’ll finish the trail together, stride by stride
    An old cowpoke in a saddle ‘n a pretty lady, ride’n side by side

    No where else I’d rather be, than along side my bride, follow’n the herd
    Must admit, “stuck” in the saddle, was a poor choice of the word

  7. Marie Elena says:

    Early Alzheimer’s Patient (Patience!)

    She doesn’t recall
    At all.
    Or at least she is rocketing down that path
    At a rate we can’t restrain.
    “Are you ready to go?”
    “Where are we going?”
    “I’m taking you out for breakfast.”
    “What do I need? Do I need my keys? Where are my keys?”
    “They are right here on your wrist bracelet.”
    “Oh yes! Here they are, right there!”

    She heads for her bedroom,
    Returning with a flustered, “I can’t go! I can’t find my keys!”
    “They are right here on your wrist bracelet.”
    “Oh!” A thankful smile.

    “Are we ready then? Where are we going?”
    “We’re going to breakfast.”
    “Oh! How nice! Do I need my keys?”
    “You have your keys right here on your wrist. Ready?”
    “Where are we going?”

    At this point, I put my arm around her,
    Gently leading her to her door.
    “I’m taking you out for a nice breakfast.”
    “Oh! How nice!”

    She opens her purse, fumbling for her keys…

  8. julie e. says:

    OPEN

    Eight hours sleep
    was enough
    to open my eyes
    to the beauty
    of rain on Autumn
    leaves.

  9. Linda Hatton says:

    Darn it! I posted this on the wrong page. The one time it works on the first try. Oops .. that was day 15.

  10. Rorybore says:

    it seemed like a great way to end at the time…..much harder to start with!

    Just the Way it’s done ’round here

    spit and shake:
    now the deal is struck
    no contracts to sign;
    just blind faith, or luck?

    it’s a system of old
    when a mans’ word was true
    not determined by service fees
    or how the wind blew

    just service with a smile
    and the customer is right
    “You have a good day now m’am.”
    “Thank you, to you a good night.”

    Yes, my town is so small
    no Starbuck’s you’d find
    But life is much simpler —
    and I can’t say that I mind

  11. sonja j says:

    This was a great prompt, thanks Joseph! It got me to write about something I never would have thought of. There are a lot of really good pieces posted today!

  12. sonja j says:

    The Friendship V in Late October

    With the trawlers and the humpback spray,
    grey salt fields thick with buoys and lines,
    and Egg Rock just off to the left, the boat is
    headed to Petit Manaan, not that you can tell
    in this sea fog. Three foot chop, forty degrees,
    and no horizon.
    The city people are getting sick into brown
    bags that the crew hands out, especially
    those as went inside to stay warm. We won’t
    see any whales today, neither seabirds,
    unless they are mergansers or buffleheads
    rafting just off island. Only creatures that float
    in close to the hull – maybe some grey seals
    or harbour seals. That’ll be it.
    Zack still talks away over the intercom, telling
    them the history of the islands they can’t see
    passing by us in the fog, the porpoise and dolphin
    that must be racing off our sides, if only it would
    clear. He’s been doing it ever since we were
    kids in college. He knows what to say even
    when the ocean isn’t there.

  13. RJ Clarken says:

    The Shape of a Sip

    Desire’s more unsinkable
    when glasses are most clinkable.
    Just take a sip of noble grape
    and life takes on a whole new shape.

    You’re suddenly attractive and
    I gain some boldness, loss the bland.
    We’re superheroes in a cape.
    Our lives take on a whole new shape.

    A daring personality
    emerges. Immortality
    is in our reach. Just close the drape:
    watch life take on a whole new shape.

    So here’s to us. Let’s drink a toast,
    you’ll flirt; I’ll give a quite riposte
    that’s sly but hints of sweet escape…
    and life takes on a whole new shape.

    ###

  14. posmic says:

    What He Made

    he made, all his dealing days.
    I meant to say, he made
    some really bad ones.

    excuse, please, if I
    leave things out at times,
    words, punctuation,

    capital letters. those can
    be heard, you know. or
    you hear when they

    are missing. missing.
    anyway, jim and all his
    dealings, he never made

    anything much good
    except two children
    with Irene who always

    said he should stop
    making deals because
    great as it was to have

    a huge fish or a pop-up
    camper, there were times,
    too, when jim got took,

    knew he got took,
    banged his head
    on the door jamb

    it’s a long way down
    to where you’re crying
    in front of your wife,

    those kids. those kids
    always wondering
    what daddy had

    in his pockets. irene
    wanting to know
    what jim had

    to show for himself.
    not enough, is it no
    never enough

  15. Miss R. says:

    Slightly Mistaken

    “And go back to sleep,”
    She finished,
    “Because there are
    No monsters under the bed.”
    As she left the room,
    A low chuckle
    Cracked the silence
    Soon to be shattered
    By a bloodcurdling scream.

    • claudsy says:

      Looking good for a Friday, everyone. Hoping all has a good weekend before the coming harried holiday week.

      Only Within One’s Words

      Only within one’s words
      Can expression of innermost
      Thoughts and feelings
      Inform the world of one’s
      Personal truth of life.

      Only within one’s words
      Are the colors that make-
      Up the nuances of one’s
      Beliefs as they influence
      Deeds performed in the world.

      Only within one’s words,
      Hidden deep inside secret
      Recesses of dream life,
      Can eruptions in times of rest
      Fill minds with possibilities.

      Only within one’s words
      Are promises of worlds
      Yet to come to fruition,
      Amid poets and dreamers
      Writers and schemers.

  16. DanielAri says:

    Oh, man. I gave myself a pretty tough leave ;/
    I went two days ago…

    Poolitics

    If we throw enough mud, some is going to stick.
    So we keep throwing mud, and they keep throwing more.
    When we pause, the less-smirched candidate takes the trick,
    while the more-smirched candidate gets to take the floor—
    and recommence to throwing mud. That’s politics.

    Chimpanzees left, chimpanzees right and monkey corps
    in the trees, shrieking and echoing news of who’s
    been hit, by what, and if it stuck, and if it’s war,
    and which morsels have been extracted from which poos,
    and who emerges alpha of the bailiwick.

    Who isn’t sick from all the shitsmeared evening views?
    Flora. All the green earth accepts the dirty bombs
    as bounty, sustenance for the changing chartreuse,
    the firm speculations of the fern’s feeding calm.
    There’s a frame in which monkey mud slinging restores

    a balance, grants a blessing and applies a balm.
    Let’s lay down on the ground and stare up through the palms.

  17. po says:

    Root Obsessions

    On the trading front in winter
    a dragon is shedding his swagger
    swollen with flame.
    He can only release
    a dog-eared breath at red noon.
    Reckless when stung
    heaven cracks releasing
    stubs of troubled newscasts
    of bourbon and stone.
    Nixon is troubled about
    root obsessions.

  18. Sara McNulty says:

    Robert, your poems of yesterday and today are so beautiful. I am not able to do much reading or commenting right now, but I will catch up at some point.

    Poetics Asides November Challenge – Day 16
    Use last line of yesterday’s poem as first line of today’s poem

    Art and Craft

    Trade beads and trinkets
    could never
    tempt Native
    American Indians,
    who sewed with skilled hands.

  19. Bruce Niedt says:

    I did drop the first word “and” from yesterday’s line:

    The Show

    You are the player to be named later,
    anonymous afterthought in the big deal.
    So don’t clean out your locker yet,
    just make the best of where you are.
    Work on that curve ball, swing for the fences,
    take the extra base, get ready for the “show”.
    Sooner or later coach will call you
    into his office: Have a seat, kid.

  20. Cara Holman says:

    autumn ginkgo
    only bare branches
    after you’re gone

  21. julie e. says:

    WISHING

    Eight hours sleep
    is almost enough
    to get me there by
    airplane.
    I’d say let’s meet
    between somewhere
    ‘cept between us lies
    an ocean.

  22. Jane Shlensky says:

    The Last Line

    The heat, if I walk away
    is a hell of memories’
    smoky tendrils curling
    the edges of my mind
    dark creeping char
    catching orange and blue
    flame as it eats toward the center.

    The heat. If I leave without trying,
    all those what if’s splinter
    like kindling, fat logs of maybes
    or should haves tossed
    on flames, and suddenly
    all the happy times are
    blistered and scarring.

    Time to cool off,
    regroup, rethink
    or, like the old ones say,
    if you can’t stand the heat,
    get out of the kitchen.

  23. Mike Bayles says:

    Musings

    For my company
    you tell a story
    about past lives and the present,
    it doesn’t matter
    what story you tell
    just as long as we speak,
    and we can share
    over coffee
    or lunch
    we tell stories
    to share the depth of our lives
    heartfelt depths of soul.

  24. bluerabbit47 says:

    Of the Needle

    Of the needle
    I need to say
    little, as it so
    readily makes
    its own point,
    leading the way
    among crisscrossed
    threads, pulling
    a joiner behind,
    teasing notes
    out of grooves
    in vinyl or just
    teasing someone
    who may or may
    not be a friend,
    towering in
    freestanding
    stone in a canyon
    or in steel
    among city
    skyscrapers
    of the needle
    I need to say little
    as it so readily
    makes its own point.

  25. Michelle Hed says:

    I’ll Be There

    When you need me
    I’ll be there -
    and if my flesh
    has turned to dust,
    my spirit will coil
    around you
    and you will feel
    my presence.

    My voice will
    come on the wind,
    echoes of memories
    will knock
    on your door -
    and comfort you.

    When you
    are ready,
    I’ll be waiting
    for you -
    For I never left,
    I was always
    with you.

  26. HISTORICAL

    A golden crown
    over the doorway. But there’s nothing special
    about the rug except it holds decades of odors.
    They say the place is haunted. Just look at
    the catch-rails and deadbolt locks, the sliding
    window-stops. People live in fear of falling.
    Even the ceiling gives off expelled breath.

    I stand in the middle of the room, eyes closed
    under the great chandelier with its crystal
    tears. As if earth opened beneath my feet.
    They say the ghost of a black hunter-dog lives
    here. Will my shepherd-dogs sniff my pant-
    legs for his spoor? Can dogs scent a ghost?

    I walk outside. It smells of wind in oak trees.
    Clouds pass on their way from hill to mountain
    and beyond. I’ll spend the day with my dogs.

  27. JRSimmang says:

    The world will not be able to tell us apart
    after we have melted into the faces of the clock.
    Tick tock
    there we go,
    around and around and around,
    dizzying our e-yes,
    I am shouting this at the top of my lungs!

    Are bodies are absolutely impervious
    to God-knows what,
    but that doesn’t prevent us from bullying our ways
    through the sludge and grime
    and eventually finding ourselves knee-deep
    in our own prayers.
    You know what they say,
    shit in one hand, promise in the other and we’ll see
    which one fills up faster.

    We melt, you and I,
    unavoidably spilling our insides to one another.
    It gets so hard to carry on,
    like the soldiers of Andromeda,
    straining to see the fortune in man’s final hour.
    And what of that hour?
    Is it the last time we see the pretty colours of the sunset?
    Is it the last time we have a chance to say our good-byes?
    Is that the hour which finally defines us?
    We are not dictionaries.
    We are calloused thesauruses,
    always combining ourselves into synonyms,
    flipping pages back and forth without ever finding out
    what it is
    we mean.

    You and I.
    Tick tock.
    Our hands around the everlasting circle.

  28. julie e. says:

    LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE

    Eight hours sleep
    is never enough,
    sleeping dogs agree
    and stretch
    and sprawl,
    eyes closed,
    ears flopped,
    limbs limp.
    Maybe
    they’re
    right….
    *Yawn*

  29. Last Line First

    Better than anyone ever will,
    is how I answered the kind-
    hearted woman (okay, more
    gossipy than nice about it)
    who asked me how well I
    really knew my fiance, the
    one of whom nobody ever
    expressed approval, even
    after I commended him to
    everyone. I know him better
    than anyone else in the whole
    universe, and he loves me
    the same way, I said, and
    that woman gave me a pitying
    look and wished me well in
    a voice that clearly said the
    exact opposite—don’t you
    just love it when people do
    that to you, make you feel
    as though you’re less
    competent than your average
    mushroom?—and when she
    walked away, I exhaled my
    frustration hard on a teary
    sigh, and my fiance, having
    grown especially intuitive
    about these things, came to
    my side and pulled me into
    him as if I was the letter and
    he the envelope in which he
    wanted to fit me, and he
    breathed in my tears and
    breathed out peacefulness.

  30. jared davidavich says:

    At The Surface

    We are busy
    Like bees or ants
    Each with a task to complete

    We serve the queen
    Though we’ve never seen her
    We are assured she exists

    We believe, she must
    Be more than just an invisible hand, or legs
    Laying eggs and giving commands

    We acknowledge and follow
    Orders, others, around our hollow stations
    Never questioning life beyond the surface

    We are not individuals
    But parts of the whole,
    Accepting our roles to work, not think

  31. Glory says:

    ALWAYS YOU
    (Day 16)

    You don’t exist,
    you are what dreams
    are made of,

    you are the stranger
    I see on every street,

    you are the picture
    I carry in my heart

    you no longer exist
    not you, the you
    I once knew.

  32. JWLaviguer says:

    Freewill and Eternity

    Is it Oz or is it Satan
    do you ask for a heart
    or sell your soul

    A mortal life
    or eternal strife
    a choice must be made
    but what would you trade
    whose sacrifice is it to make
    a little give and a lot of take
    we live with our choices
    but hidden in the voices
    is a cry and a plea
    listen closer and you’ll see
    we are here together
    you and I forever
    as we travel down that path
    you must do the math
    one plus one is two
    but one minus one is nothingness.

  33. Michael Grove says:

    he sacrificed all
    for a taste of the rare fruit
    and one chance at joy

  34. foodpoet says:

    November 16

    Not another call in the night
    Waking reaching across grumble meows
    Dreading the news of frozen memories
    Now locked away
    Dreading the news of failing bones and
    Unable to knit the future between fragile hope
    And realities venon.

  35. elishevasmom says:

    This one had my mind tied up in knots
    this is my first attempt at a cascade.

    Independence Any Time
    ( a cascade poem)

    Independence any time.
    It’s there when we wake up.
    It’s there when we go to sleep.
    It’ll always be there, right?

    We’ve never known anything different.
    Independence to become the
    best ‘us’ that we can be.
    Independence any time.

    We have the right to protest
    against it—in public or
    private—in word or deed.
    It’s there when we wake up.

    We’re entitled to it.
    It’s our God-given right.
    It makes us special.
    It’s there when we go to sleep.

    Take it for granted?
    Most times we don’t even
    think about it.
    It’ll always be there, right?

    Ellen Knight

  36. Misky says:

    The Wake

    Blown away
    on the sharp edge of the wind,
    sliced cold and scattered

    across the hills. Dust
    to dust, what remains of you
    stretched like a cloud

    into the winter-thinned sun, low
    and breaking the horizon. Calcified
    bone and memories, skeletons

    in closets clucking like thick-waisted
    and heavy-bosom mourners
    paid for the pondering of you.

  37. You Can Keep Your Dreams

    You can keep your dreams
    But don’t pack them away
    Like old skinny jeans
    You may never fit into again

    You can keep your dreams
    Like a beloved pet
    Nurturing it with the best food
    And tender loving care

    You can keep your dreams
    Like your daily journal
    Adding bit by bit
    Through thick and thin

    You can keep your dreams
    Like a prized plant
    Watching each new leaf
    Unfurl in shining beauty

    Yes, keep your dreams
    Nurture, add to, watch over
    Until they mature,
    Giving birth to new dreams

  38. Domino says:

    Totally Worth It

    Pets
    Naps
    Croup
    Picnics
    Stitches
    Teething
    Camping
    Old Maid
    Bike rides
    The circus
    Black eyes
    Disneyland
    Class mom
    Science fair
    Sleep-overs
    Art museum
    Chicken pox
    Potty training
    Cotton candy
    Board games
    Carnival rides
    Baking cookies
    Science Center
    Birthday parties
    Movie matinees
    Museum field trip
    Tenth-grade Play
    Dying Easter eggs
    First day of school
    Christmas morning
    Principal’s honor roll
    Rainy day at the zoo
    Fireworks on the 4th
    Break-up heartbreak
    Little League baseball
    Call from the principal
    Fishing at the city park
    Jack-o-Lantern carving
    Playland at McDonalds
    Baking soda volcanoes
    Drippy ice cream cones
    Singing “Happy Brithday”
    Children’s puppet theater
    Fifth Grade Band Concert
    Bring-your-kid-to-work day
    Thanksgiving hand-turkeys
    Saturday morning cartoons
    Planting a tree on Arbor day
    Cardboard tube sword fights
    Practicing for the driving test
    Six hour flight with three kids
    Elementary school Fun Faire
    Stitches at the doctor’s office
    Set-building at the high school
    Holding his hand at the dentist
    Finding the funnest park in town
    Handmade Halloween costumes
    Breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day
    Finding the perfect tux/dress for prom
    Driving around looking at Christmas lights
    Picking them up from their first day at work

    Diana Terrill Clark

  39. Marianv says:

    Tree

    It never says a word
    but lets the wind, the breezes, gales
    make all the noise -
    A language that is understood
    by all who live upon this earth.

    This tree is old. The children believe
    that native children played beneath
    its branches. They waded out into the water,
    perhaps they built small shelters on the sand.

    The older children talk about bringing blankets
    Blankets to toss over the lower limbs
    and make a shelter, We parents say no.
    Our danger is not wild animals like the native
    peoples fought, but two legged
    predators that look like Mom and Dad

    Danger can be everywhere – whether
    We recognize it or not. The tree itself
    So serene, leaning into the rosey sunset sky,
    It could turn against us in an instant
    shattered by hurricane winds, its branches
    stripped into deadly missiles, ready to pierce
    our soft, human flesh.

  40. Marjory MT says:

    FIB

    I’m
    sure
    you’ll see
    that I am
    right ,so please just go
    clean your room if you want dinner

  41. Nancy Posey says:

    Hawk

    Quaking, but so warm, so alive, the hawk
    lay broken under the tree and trusting,
    let me lift him, gingerly folding his wings
    and carrying him indoors, settling him
    in a box, lined with papers shreds and leaves.

    Then thumbing through the books
    on my shelves, encyclopedias used
    only rarely now, outmoded, slow,
    unchanging, I search for instructions
    left for me by some ancient Merlin,
    how to heal a hawk, repair a wing.

    Knowing full well he belongs there,
    nearer the clouds, atop the trees,
    he seems ashamed, sheltered in the box,
    dependent on me, that thing he fears.
    His yellow eye follows me; his heart
    beats with fear so strong, he shakes
    my house. Or perhaps that’s my heart.

  42. Inescapable

    To test that theory
    I’ll use the old
    punchline:

    “who are you going to believe,
    me or your lying eyes?”

    I cannot see
    the air I breathe
    and depend upon,
    yet I know it is real,
    because I see
    what happens
    when it is taken away.

    It is
    the same
    with God.

    Just because
    you can’t see God
    doesn’t mean
    God doesn’t exist.

    If I try
    to take God away
    to see what happens,
    I can’t.

    God doesn’t exist
    just because
    we believe in God
    and therefore
    will God
    into existence.

    Thomas Talbott called
    God’s love
    inescapable,
    and for me,
    that makes it
    as basic as air.

  43. TIT FOR TAT

    Too many tradeoffs made without fair compensation,
    are never worth it! It’s tough to say what value can be placed
    on situations not embraced. Lead with your heart and you impart
    a sense of sentimentality when the reality rests in your mind.
    Use your head and your heart will follow eventually.
    Never give up more than your mind can handle.
    Never give less than your heart will allow.

  44. FROM TWO

    That’s just what it takes to make one out of two!
    First, it takes two unique individuals willing
    to spend their lives filling each others’ hearts
    with everything they’ve hoped for and desired.

    It is the fire of love that consumes them,
    it presumes that life couldn’t get any better.
    But, you better not get complacent, because
    adjacent to the good things, the bad resides.

    It hides in the shadows smirking; lurking,
    ready to pounce and make any smooth sailing
    wrought with prevailing winds and thirty foot waves.
    It is that true love that saves you from drowning.

    Commitment and dedication have no separation
    ad that should translate into a great rapport;
    one of trust and communication that keeps
    those feelings growing, sowing that kernel of life

    between husband material and his future wife.
    For as that seed grows, it knows enough to grow strong,
    for the long haul head, instead of offering many weaker tendrils
    of patchy and sporadic emotions. It is in sealing the deal

    that the fruit of all labors gives a true indication of what lies ahead.
    One trunk rooted and grounded instead of two seeds divided.
    One love rooted and grounded from two hearts in synchronicity.
    It is this simplicity that gives love its complexity.

    Two hearts beating without retreating,
    completing the circle of life.

  45. County Road 9 (a Big Ten form)

    …the baby will scream until you look up
    peppering the walls with raw emotion
    because there simply are no words to say
    The world is ending! The world is ending!
    Just so, every fiber of my being
    is screaming white lines while our bravest words
    twist in the night air, graceful as a swan.
    You see an angel but I am sleeping
    and somehow we walk free across a field.
    We are alive and the crying has stopped.

  46. pmwanken says:

    I AM Not Lost
    (a shadorma)
    *based on Psalm 56

    To my tear-
    drops: fall where you may.
    You are caught
    and counted
    by my Father in Heaven.
    He knows my sorrows.

  47. Miss R. says:

    I apologize in advance for the cynical tone of this poem. That line just didn’t want to go anywhere nice this morning.

    Look, Ma! No Cake!

    But that’s the tradeoff:
    You can’t have your cake
    And eat it too,
    Even if your mama
    Always let you.
    I know she always said
    That you were special,
    But that was a mother’s
    Point of view.
    Guess what?
    The rest of the world
    Doesn’t quite agree,
    As I’m sure, one day,
    You’ll see.
    You want to be
    Taken seriously
    Out here in the real world?
    Then watch as your new
    Place is unfurled:
    You’re no longer
    The centre of the universe.
    Wave goodbye
    As your pride
    Leaves in a hearse.
    No screaming, now;
    Don’t curse. Quietly
    Get on the bus
    And join the rest of us
    Mere mortals, small
    And ant-like
    On the ground.
    Welcome to reality,
    My friend.
    We’re so glad
    You’ve been found.

  48. This is an awesome prompt. Thank you, Joseph!
    Of course, my last line yesterday is so awesome, otherwise I wouldn’t be so happy :-D

    ***
    Thrilled by you
    Never let me be
    Otherwise
    ***

  49. barbara_y says:

    You can’t win.
    A flat line from the white voice
    at my right acromioclavicular joint.
    The rueful shake of my head
    displaces a paperdoll robe,
    and in the eyecorner blur is a barbed tail
    coiled, neatly, around red ankles.
    I sigh. And the ache of my left shoulder
    sighs. Friday begins
    in a moment of rare accord.

  50. viv says:

    It serves me right for being cheeky: the PAD prompt today is to use the last line of yesterday’s poem as the first of today’s. I was too tired to write yesterday, and merely posted this on the PAD forum:

    Day 15: A trade off poem

    If I write a haiku
    can I be let off today
    and go to bed now?

    so I get even cheekier today (but I didn’t go where the line might have led me)

    Day 16 – last line of Day 15 poem first of Day 16

    And go to bed now –
    To sleep, perchance to dream
    If that’s what turns you on.

    A real cop-out. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

  51. Nimue says:

    This was quite a challenge.
    And yet , It was awesome prompt to let your thoughts wander ..

    ===

    “This is where I will make
    the best deal”,
    she whispered to herself.
    Standing at the edge
    of an unknown territory,
    marked with cautious smiles
    and uncertain eyes.

    A hesitant step with open palms,
    a soft squeeze to his hand,
    a feeble smile for his shocked one,
    a nervous glance at people around.

    “This is where I will make
    the best deal”,
    she whispered like a
    new found mantra.
    Standing within his easy reach,
    listening silently to
    quickened heart beats,
    an awkward hug it looked to be,
    but for them,it was the beginning.

  52. Rorybore says:

    uh-oh.
    rather regretting the use of “spit and shake” now…..this should be interesting. LOL

  53. Ber says:

    Loving Hearts

    Your running veins of living
    Keep on giving and giving
    beyond your loving heart
    beyond your misgivings

    Speechless words
    fall on deaf ears
    words that once meant something
    now hurt causing tears

    Open up your eyes
    curve the edges of your mouth
    speak only good
    don’t give in
    don’t give out

    A wondering heart
    pulled along for to long now
    pounded by life
    cuts deep like a knife

    Veins of flowing living
    following lifes wonders around
    open surprises of yesterday
    beautiful mesmerizing sounds

    Backing up memories
    hidden for far to long
    loving the lyrics of music
    hearing that favourite song

    Moving on now
    living pulling away
    wondering what will happen
    to the ghosts of yesterday

  54. shellaysm says:

    “The Melancholy of Autumn’s End” (Nonet)

    The melancholy of autumn’s end
    leaves copper, ruby, gold canvas
    behind, awaits renewal
    of a more sober kind:
    splendor replaced by
    sepia tones,
    longing for
    snow’s fresh
    white

  55. DAHutchison says:

    “Of My Hand”

    On my way to a globe in the palm of my hand,
    I stopped to consider the people who planned.
    The brick and the mortar, macadamized roads,
    The truckers that truck out the trinkets in loads,

    It was my sweat and vision that got us this far,
    I dined our investors and putted for par,
    I balanced the spreadsheets for profit and loss,
    I should make more money, for I am the boss.

    And taxes? Forget it! They’re out of control,
    The top ten percent can’t fill half of the hole.
    We’ve got to cut spending. It’s just a hard fact,
    And ease regulation. We’re under attack.

    But now that I’m eighty-fold richer than you,
    With a big empty house only sycophants view,
    I see how we’ve fouled up the salary guide,
    There’s only one answer, although you may chide,

    Give me control, just a little more power,
    I’ll boost up your wages to twelve bucks an hour,
    Is the rent too damn high? Less property tax!
    The third world revolting? Unmanned drone attacks!

    Sigh…

    On my way to a globe in the palm of my hand,
    I stopped to consider the janitor… and…
    While six billion people would rather be me,
    I’d rather be him and I’d do it for free.

  56. BESIDE THE GOLDEN DOOR

    Freedom!

    Like a beacon held high
    the idea, the dream, the hope
    to live in a land where you can
    speak your own thoughts,
    read words of compliment and complaint,
    protest against or for a cause,
    petition the government to change,
    then, thank your God where and when you want
    is still calling people to the shores
    of this great land.

    Freedom!

    Worth the risk,
    worth the pain,
    worth the challenges.

    Let those of us who have found comfort
    within Freedom’s arms
    never forget that once,
    we, too, risked it all
    to walk through this Golden Door!

  57. NEW BEGINNINGS

    A great place to start,
    a week before Thanksgiving
    and living what’s left of the American Dream.

    Every day is a new adventure,
    an extension of your hopes for a better life,
    with less strife and a pocketful of goodwill.

    And when that excursion ends
    you take stock of the friends who have stood by you
    to buy you more hope that with which your began.

    It invigorates your heart
    to think that better things await you; it elates you.
    A great place to start!

  58. Robert, I enjoyed your interview so much. You’re such an inspiration and thank you. I know that this poem is something completely different but I can’t help wanting to show all the worlds – and I didn’t succeed in posting yesterday’s poem.

    This Something on my Wings

    Had supper ready at seven?
    Wow, I’m compared
    with my mother-in-law.
    The honor is hard to grasp,
    this hard working, proud
    farmer woman who was
    in control and
    who’s brought alive,
    like right next to you
    when you for hours
    explain
    all about love to me.

    Oh yes, supper at seven,
    this goal in
    my in betweens
    during work,
    my washing up, laundry, cleaning and
    fetching the kids at five.
    Supper at seven, it is,
    of course.
    I love you, too.

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