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    2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 24

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

    Today’s prompt comes from Beth Cato.

    Here’s Beth’s prompt: Take the phrase “The Truth About (blank),” replace the blank with a new word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem.

    Robert’s attempt at a The Truth About Blank Poem:

    “The Truth About Poetry”

    There ain’t no right way or wrong way. Self-taught
    or MFA. Free verse or sonnet. Slamming an open mic
    is just as good as writing about flowers in a leather-bound
    journal that nothing and nobody will ever see, save your socks.
    The truth is that it’s all a searching, a way to communicate, whether
    with a wider audience or that voice that never turns off in our heads when
    we wish it would. Whether it’s therapy or testimony, entertainment or expression,
    poetry is whatever it needs to be whenever it needs to be for whoever happens to need it.


    Thank you, Beth, for the fine prompt. Click here to learn more about Beth Cato.

    Click here to share your poems on the WD Forum.


    Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer


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    82 Responses to 2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 24

    1. heiditoad says:

      The truth about humans is that we are the wildest animals of them all and without weapons, we would surely be at the bottom of the food chain.

    2. JRSimmang says:

      The Truth About the End
      is never truly the truth
      because the truth can so easily bend.

      We can sit and talk
      for hours at a time
      but the truth will wind and wend.

      For what is there,
      that can truly begin

      before the beginning,
      of the end.

      We worry so,
      we fret about,
      but what we cannot pretend

      to know is
      that what awaits us
      we cannot defend

      against. And, why
      would we want to do
      that anyway. The end

      is almost always
      just a fancy way
      of saying hello.

    3. Day 24
      Prompt: Entitle poem “The Truth about Blank” and write about that title.

      The Truth about the Moon Tonight

      is that it means something new, just as precious,
      as when I gazed at it last night
      or last month.

      The moon has changed in some ways,
      and so have I.
      In others, we’re the same as we were.

      The moon keeps spinning round the earth,
      the earth around the sun,
      and I live the cycle of my days,
      constant, yet constantly evolving.

      One day, when I see the Maker of the Moon,
      I’ll be transformed.
      I’ll see Him as He is,
      and I’ll be like Him in a way I’ve never been.
      Full circle, complete,
      the way the moon is tonight.

    4. The Truth About Blank

      The truth about
      blank is that it
      can be anything
      you want, no risk
      of rejection when
      options are unlimited,
      no risk for failure
      when you set the limits.
      Blank is fresh, ready
      to fill with anything
      you desire. Blank can be
      clear or confused,
      you choose.

    5. foodpoet says:

      The truth about lies

      Truth is a lie
      Holding a smile
      Even when it hurts

      Truth is a lie
      Reclaiming a life fallacy.
      Under clouds faking light.
      Truth is a lie.
      Hands more hands holding out

      Another day
      Building the lie of nothing wrong.
      Only it no longer works.
      Under memory loss,
      Truth is a lie.

      Lies, we are fine,
      I say
      Every evening walking again into
      Shadow thought.

    6. PSC in CT says:

      The Truth About the Truth

      You can bend it, stretch it, wring it,
      twist it, state it, swear it, shout it out
      but, the truth is: the truth is (still & all)
      a matter of perception. Sure as shootin’,
      there’s a tiny lie in every sooth
      (and vice versa).
      Lines become idioms
      become clichés (because there’s
      more truth than un- inside ‘em). But
      (no matter what) you may rest assured:
      what you sow (& what you reap) is all
      (in the end) nothing (more nor less)
      than a twinkle in the eye
      of the beholder.

    7. po says:

      The Truth About Cats

      Cats are funny
but they have their serious side.

      They don’t care
for the rain unless they are being
little furry philosophers 

      from their inside window seats.

      Don’t worry
      the house doesn’t belong to you.

      You are only
      allowed to pay for it and keep
      it up to 
their superb kitty standards.

      The truth about
      cats is they have learned to tolerate

      you and your

      bizarre human ways. But don’t
      expect their
      gratitude because they are,
      after all,

      superior and in charge.

    8. Oops – just realized I had two #1′s. Well, just imagine all the others as one number higher. :)

    9. Yolee says:

      The Truth about Hair Dyes

      The pretty red-head
      on the glossy box,
      got her hair done
      by a pro.

    10. julie e. says:


      I delete those conversations
      that have clearly run amok
      for when they are all over
      I don’t give a flying f-
      igs can give diarrhea
      and I’ve had it of the mouth
      but when those times are over
      and my patience has flown south
      I delete those conversations
      those things that give me pain
      when I’ve been hurt by things texted
      that leave me feeling maimed
      I find the little button
      and I hold my finger high
      so when I’m quite finished with you
      I’m done. DElete. Bye bye!!

    11. julie e. says:


      If it’s there I will eat it.
      If I make it, it will call.
      If it’s in the fridge, I want it.
      So I made less.
      And it’s gone.
      And I wish
      I’d made more.
      If it’s there I will eat it.
      If I make it, it will call.
      If it’s in the fridge, I want it.
      So I make less.
      Then it’s gone.
      Christmas is coming.

    12. The Truth About Writer’s Block

      1. There is no way to stop it.
      1. It is permanent.
      2. It is incurable.
      3. It will terminate your writing career.
      4. It will crash your computer.
      5. It will steal your wife/husband/significant other.
      6. It is carnivorous.
      7. It is from another planet.
      8. It has been spotted with Bigfoot.
      9. It has been spotted holding hands with Justin Bieber.
      10. It lost 200 pounds in just three weeks.
      11. It won the Nobel Peace Prize.
      12. It causes cancer.
      13. It found a cure for cancer.
      14. It had George Clooney’s love child.
      15. It is part of a nutritious breakfast.
      16. Its mileage may vary.
      17. It comes with a money-back guarantee.
      18. Its operators are waiting to take your calls.
      19. Its check is in the mail.
      20. All of the above statements are false.

    13. The Truth About Life

      Sometimes life throws you a curve ball
      and sometimes you hit a homerun;
      Many times you will cross the home plate
      and sometimes you will be benched;
      And when the season is over,
      you will have come full circle;
      Better for your strikes,
      wiser for bases reached,
      and ready to go home.

    14. DanielAri says:

      “The truth about my novel”

      Nobody’s going to read it, not even
      my wife. It’s not something I’d put her through.
      First, I wrote the whole thing this November,
      so it’s hasty-rough and raw-bitter, too,
      with zero chance of fetching revenue

      without heavy revision and review.
      Second, it’s autobiographical,
      too real to life, and also, I feel, skewed
      too close to my bias. It’s personal—
      and sock-drawer bound ‘til the twelfth of never.

      It’s been a healing to write the novel.
      That’s really why I undertook the task.
      Some adventures one should be fictional
      to undertake—when there’s corporal risk
      or something unpleasant you have to do.

      Now I have a 50,000-word mask.
      What’s the novel about? Please, don’t ask.

    15. pmwanken says:

      (a shadorma)

      Queen-sized quilt
      dragged by pint-sized child
      for five years
      too many.
      Ripped and torn, it still held warmth
      for sheep in the barn.

    16. sonja j says:

      The Truth about Fences

      They only hold in those who
      are willing to be held. Horses
      prove it all the time, unlatching
      gates in their idle moments. I once
      saw a cornered ewe leap a six foot
      buck fence because she didn’t feel
      like going where the border collie wanted
      her to go. She wasn’t even afraid.

      I remember taking my children to
      the state animal farm. Every animal
      had become too used to humans,
      from the begging raven to the trained
      bears. Best of all was the cow moose.
      We all gaped as she browsed in a swale
      behind the tissue paper of some hurricane
      fencing. The game warden explained
      it wasn’t so much that they kept her
      as that she didn’t mind staying.

    17. Rorybore says:

      The Truth About Bubble Baths

      steamy hot and scented
      with bubbles to your chin
      grab a good and smutty book
      and slide yourself on in

      watch candle light flickering
      on the cold tile walls
      lean your head way back
      ignore those “Mommy!” calls

      Let all the heat soak in
      let all the troubles melt away
      lose yourself in another world
      escape the pressures of today

      but, there’s knocking on the door
      and running down the halls
      someones’ telling on someone
      now who’s climbing the walls?

      As soon as mommy is busy
      it’s true, it never fails
      through book and bubble may beckon
      they’ll not drown out childrens’ wails.



      Blinking, blinking, blinking,
      these stinking bulblets have got me
      flipping. I keep ripping them from the string
      to find the one that is causing me duress.
      I press it back and still no luminance,
      if I had the change I’d toss them out
      but I will not be defeated. Two more
      sets and the task is completed.
      But this little fact give me fits,
      “If one goes out, the rest stay lit”.
      Yet I can attest, without a doubt,
      if one goes out, they ALL go out!


      I’ve made a list and checked it twice,
      some were naughty and some were nice.
      Naughty ones could get a reprieve
      depends how strongly they believe.
      I think one more glance should suffice.

      Here in the land of snow and ice,
      the tally kept should be precise,
      I have no reason to deceive -
      I’ve made a list!

      The nice ones never pay the price;
      and the naughty never think twice.
      Excuse me if I sound naive -
      I am Santa Claus; I believe!
      so listen all to my advice:
      “I’ve made a list”!

    20. shellaysm says:

      “The Truth ‘Bout Questions”

      The truth ’bout questions
      is we never get enough
      answers in the end–
      just more questions. And then
      again, maybe that’s the point!

    21. zevd2001 says:

      The wilder, the smaller, the where they came from, how
      they reached you. Remember, before they were free
      nobody told them where to go, or where to be
      even at the pet shop, confined, albeit, they grow
      as they might have been if nobody had grabbed them up
      offering them for sale, homeless, bereft, fitting
      for people that need something that’s small sitting
      in a cage where they follow them, and interrupt

      them, at times, talking pouring affection and love,
      learning about their ways, how they never have changed
      since they were created, yes . . . being a little fauna, arranged
      in domesticated circumstances, shoved
      in a corner, a place to play with food and drink.
      If only they asked, if only they looked inside
      each individual, how clever, full of pride.

      I once knew two love birds that conspired to elope
      picked at the wires that held them in and flew
      as if the air space of the flat was theirs, to show
      us who was boss. The windows closed, so we roped
      them in, back from where they came out, made sure
      they’d remain to sing their happy tunes, the clear
      sultry tones of aviary beings, looking at us how we’re
      concerned for their welfare, their habitat a poor

      excuse for a someone that was born with a wing.
      Why them, why us, why hamsters, gerbils that roam
      in forests come to join us in our residences, a home . . .
      and then again, you never know it is a curious thing
      creatures created where we have never been
      that live a life apart from us, speak, curl
      and perch upon us, another dimension, a whirl
      on a carousel revealing stuff that is yet unseen

      Zev Davis

    22. posmic says:

      The Truth About Ice Skating

      Once you lose your nerve, it’s over.
      You might stay on your feet, thanks to
      the laces you tightened until your fingers
      could take no more. But you won’t enjoy it,
      not when you’re thinking so much about every
      wobble, whether your legs will slide out from
      under you, like Bambi’s, and when every chunk
      in the ice could be the one that brings you down,
      and the only question is whether you will fall
      forward or back, and if forward, which part
      of your face will hit first, and whether
      anything—glasses, teeth, skin—will
      be broken, and also whether
      anyone will skate over
      your hands,

      splayed in front of you as if in
      supplication or defeat. It is a
      shame, not to be in love
      anymore, when the
      moon is out, cold
      and close as
      the ice.


      He knows every inch of this path
      that cuts down from oak-hill to the verge
      of creek. In his head, a lifetime of scent-trails
      woven like spider silk, a web so complex

      it maps his world as he unravels it. But today,
      his quarry turned left and he goes straight
      ahead, as if lost in reminiscence of trails past.
      Forgetfulness? He pauses, sniffs, circles,

      and squats, giving back to nature
      what is nature’s; enriching next spring’s
      tenacious, frenzied growth. Now he
      tests the wind. Scent, an old dog’s elixir.

      Echoes, dreams. He resumes his trail,
      as I resume the tale I’ll tell in his training-log.
      It’s true as it may be false, twisted
      as words following in an old dog’s wake.

    24. Poetic Asides November Challenge – Day 24
      The truth about _________

      The Truth About Lies

      White lies blanket
      harmful truths, as snow
      covers grimy grounds.
      Pathological liars lie purely
      by compulsion. Their masked
      truths may harm, disarm,
      or charm a recipient. Deliberate
      falsities spoken to hide
      bad behavior do not stem
      tide of tears when uncovered.
      They reveal hidden fears
      or doubts that have been
      knotting up in victim’s gut.
      Now distraught and feeling
      the fool, perhaps they have
      been taught a golden rule,
      trust your gut; it speaks truth.

    25. Mike Bayles says:

      The Truth about the Weather Today

      The gray sky is gray,
      and it isn’t waiting
      for winter or snow,
      or for any kind of weather, it doesn’t know.
      The gray sky doesn’t hide Heaven,
      just as the ground below me
      doesn’t hide Hell,
      although I stand somewhere in between.
      The gray sky doesn’t know
      tomorrow, or what tomorrow might bring,
      and it doesn’t know time
      while it lingers in front of my eyes.
      I could say the cloudy sky
      longs for another day,
      but that’s just a metaphor
      that I use to describe
      the times when I am alone
      on a cloudy day.

    26. Jane Shlensky says:

      The Truth about Sunrise and Sunset

      Each part of day has attributes,
      its slant of light when sunbeams
      play across a lawn or on a lake,
      when nothing else can slake
      our thirst for watching,
      no substitute for dusk or noon
      though, if you ask me,
      sunrise comes too soon,
      winking pink and purple
      orange and gold-splintered
      cheerful light lasting a minute
      then it’s gone. No reasoning
      left in it to waylay day.

      I wait for sunset, for drama
      and pluck, when my eyes blur,
      day’s knuckles battering my mind,
      then I want light with fight,
      the sky a scene intense
      with thunder gray streaks
      shot through with blood
      and wine, gold and flame,
      the purple pomp of conflict,
      a battle that darkness wins
      in slow degrees, a rose
      like heart-break tinged
      with grace. Day stays
      until the king retreats
      and then it backs away,
      naps, restores itself
      to face another day.

      Perhaps age draws me
      to my own mythology,
      to my own close, to see
      the futile resistance
      to failing light. Perhaps
      I need another hour of sleep
      at dawn, nocturnal as I am.
      Perhaps desire to rise
      for new-lit skies has been
      replaced, as I embrace
      the beauty of fading
      from vividness into night
      and sip my daily wine of grace.

    27. The Truth About Santa

      It doesn’t matter if you’re nice or naughty,
      Santa is NOT discriminatory.
      You’ll find your present underneath the tree
      come Christmas morning, just wait and see.
      Whether you’re poor or a CEO,
      Santa will always go HO! HO! HO!
      At sea, on land or in midair,
      Santa will find you anywhere.
      So don’t you fret, child, please get a grip.
      Climb on to bed and just go to sleep.

    28. The Truth About Seventy

      I’ve decided seventy is the new forty;
      that it’s just a number.

      That at seventy I’m that much closer to heaven
      than ten years ago.

      That at seventy, a life well-lived
      is a place to pause along the climb for a moment
      to see how far I’ve come before continuing
      the rest of the journey.

      That seventy is an opportunity
      to call to those behind and say,
      “Come on up! The view is great from here.”

      Can you guess? Today I’m 70!

    29. RASlater says:

      The Truth About Winter

      Winter is harsh and unyielding
      With its cold snaps and January thaw
      Wind howling at the eaves
      Snow flying, covering everything
      Ice encasing freezes lasting for weeks
      Yet in its own way
      It brings a breath of fresh air to life
      Resting and renewing the spirit within
      Preparing for the spring growth
      Storing up energy for the green rush
      So that the cycle can persist

    30. The Truth About Pain

      Here’s the thing:
      it’s all relative,
      especially that
      feeling, or that
      tendency, what-
      ever you want
      to call it, toward
      pain—it isn’t so
      much an ability
      to answer the
      question, “Does
      it hurt?” as it is
      the realization
      that whatever
      might be painful
      now is actually
      less painful than,
      more painful than,
      or equally painful
      as something else
      that you’ve already
      experienced at
      some previous
      point in your life.

    31. Domino says:

      The Truth About Black Friday

      I have a theory
      that all of those folks
      who participate (willingly)
      in the Black Friday
      are actually quite aware
      of what may or may not happen
      regardless of the wide-eyed
      expressions of horror
      and dismay.

      I believe they know
      what they are getting into,
      much like those who choose
      to run with the bulls
      at Pamplona,
      and those who dive off cliffs
      and race fast cars,
      they know they might be
      or may even be

      It’s all part of the sport.

      Diana Terrill Clark

    32. Domino says:

      The Truth About TV

      Yes, if you have a cable
      or Dish package
      (or even basic cable, to be honest),
      there is always something
      for everyone
      at any time of the day or night.
      TV has a huge
      of network and cable shows
      and one could spend
      twenty-four hours a day,
      seven days a week,
      finding something
      they enjoy at least a little.

      But the truth is,
      it all depends on
      who holds the remote.

    33. Miss R. says:

      The Truth About Truth

      No qualifiers needed:
      What’s the point?
      If it’s true, it’s true
      For me and you.
      My truth,
      Your truth,
      Their truth,
      What does it even mean?
      If it’s true, it’s true
      And there’s nothing
      You can do about it.
      It’s universal;
      You can’t
      Escape it,
      Reshape it,
      Avoid it . . .
      Just accept it.
      We all have to face it,
      And that’s the truth.

    34. The Truth About Art

      It is a field
      without a road
      a forest
      without a path
      the vastness
      of a rolling
      sea. Though
      many have gone
      this way before,
      none has passed
      this particular
      way. Though
      many can help
      with packing
      and advice
      none can come
      along all
      the way.
      It is a journey
      without an
      end, a quest
      for a cup
      that can never
      be held
      in a hand.

    35. Marianv says:

      The Truth About Poetry

      Some may say that writing poetry
      is but a stepping stone
      A bit like a first grade primer that
      Once mastered will lead us right
      Along to greater, classic works.
      Master the poetic line and then
      It’s off to short stories, memoirs
      Novels –all kinds of works that pay.

      Those of us who believe that words
      Written down and arranged to evoke
      Wonder and all kinds of passion contain
      Wisdom and beauty for their own sake.
      Even a mere line or two might satisfy
      some restless dream of what may lie
      On the road ahead, or what has passed us by.

    36. Day 24
      The truth about us

      Living in another country
      trying to figure out the word for peach
      he swung from the dorm stairwells
      grunting like an ape
      trying to change the tense
      someone else let him in
      looking over my shoulder
      he always had the answer
      ducking the crackling fireworks, afraid
      I kissed someone else
      the pinch in my gripped shoulder told me
      it didn’t work
      the truth about us
      our panicked parakeet with freshly clipped wings

    37. The Truth about Putting up a Christmas Tree

      I often wonder why I drag out
      boxes of decorations
      from year to year,
      knowing that in a few weeks
      I’ll be dragging them back.

      But the truth is, I enjoy it.
      With two childlike adults
      in the home, the excitement
      and anticipation of Christmas
      stays fresh from year to year.

      And there’s the ornaments
      from when our kids were small,
      some monstrosities like the
      yarn entangled pinecone
      looking like a porcupine
      trying to escape its bonds.

      And then there’s our client’s
      infamous black Santa,
      a fence-like construction
      made of tongue depressors.

      And now, they hang among
      ones from various places
      from vacations we can take
      since our own kids our grown.

      Some day if our nest truly empties,
      I may not put up the Christmas tree,
      but I’ll make myself a cup of tea,
      take out the boxes of ornaments,
      gaze at each one and remember.

    38. rustydude says:

      November 24, 2012 – 2

      Strange funk today:
      Today is my birthday, reminiscing childhood quite a bit.
      Plus four days of cold medication does strange things to my brain.

      Truth about Bear

      He sits on the shelf
      Totally stealth
      Watching all without care

      Stitches for an eye
      The other gone shy
      Shed of most his hair

      A little boy’s fun
      All over they’d run
      Racing up/down each stair

      (52) Years have past
      We’re not quite as fast
      And both wish for more hair

      The truth be told
      I was one year old
      The day I got that bear

    39. Glory says:

      The Truth About Love
      (Day 24)

      He was a kind man

      thinking always of others,
      loved his children
      especially Janine,
      his only daughter.

      Sorry to say, Janine
      did not give back
      what she had in abundance,
      no she did not give back

      instead she took, and took,
      until left with nothing,
      she took that too,
      and broke his heart.

    40. Ber says:

      The Truth about Love

      Love clings to us
      we cling to it
      we can’t let go
      we can keep hold

      Treasure the moments
      with the ones
      who you love
      Treasure your sand in
      your hour glass
      before its gone

      Words that come
      words that go
      words that slip from lips
      words that his the hearts arrow tips

      Butterflies flutter
      inside when you see
      the one who is meant for you
      your future maybe?


      Live those feeling
      learn from also
      feel them within you
      let them guide you

    41. DAHutchison says:

      The Truth About Rock and Roll

      He told me my music, all sounded the same,
      “Guitars and four – four rhythm”, I said.
      Unhappy to have all my music defamed,
      I searched my collection from Wilco to Led,

      It’s not like it’s rap, all that pounding and bass,
      Degrading of women and cap busting tales.
      It’s not like it’s country—about some hard case,
      Who lost his best girl cuz his dogs got no tail.

      So I searched his albums and here’s what I found,
      Some Enya, some Outkast and classical too,
      Some crooners, some criers some white and some brown,
      Some ragtime and jazz, and some rhythm and blues,

      It was all four – four rhythm, but not all guitars,
      Pianos and flutes, but I think they’re all fools,
      His songs were more varied, but fell short by far,
      Cuz crap comes in flavors and rock n’ roll rules.

    42. JWLaviguer says:

      The Truth About Black Friday

      Have to work on turkey day
      what is this world coming to
      when Walmart ruins my holiday
      making me leave my family for a few hours

      We sit together holding hands
      giving thanks for this bounty
      we lost two more yesterday
      from a roadside bomb

      I can’t believe this traffic
      this is the worst way to spend Thanksgiving
      we make so many sacrifices
      to be with loved ones

      A mortar hit on the way to chow
      and they have to feed him through a tube
      he’ll never walk again
      at least he’ll be going home

      I’m so stuffed
      I ate too much pie
      I don’t want to clean the kitchen
      I’m trying to drink beer and watch football

      Sirens blaring, bullets flying
      giving thanks for my training
      I just want to get home in one piece
      enjoy a beer and watch some football.

      Please take a moment this holiday season and really think about who is making the larger sacrifice.

    43. Misky says:


      She walked through all those citric years,
      those chromed vestiges of vinegar tears -
      tantalised and taunted by his pithy jeers.

      And now she stands straight with trees,
      greens that she’s never seen before, forests
      hiding Styx from view. She begs to breathe,

      a need for astringent scents to clean
      her head, her soul, swimming thick
      in pined woods a while. But too many times

      she’s drowned in his clouds, so that now,
      alone, perplexed; she is utterly lost in green,
      now that those soured clouds are gone.

    44. rustydude says:

      November 24, 2012

      The Truth About Sadie

      Once knew a lady
      Her name was Sadie
      She drove a pink Cadillac

      A truth be told
      She never grew old
      Her years fully lost track

      She cruised the streets
      Handing out treats
      Asking for nothing back

      When she was done
      Always great fun
      Finding her purse all black

      Who found the prize
      Took to the skies
      Winging her pink Cadillac

      You traveled to Rome
      Flew over Gnome
      Then she would fly you back

    45. Absolutely true, Robert. I love your piece. :)

    46. RJ Clarken says:

      The Truth About Thesauri

      Thesauri (or thesauruses?)
      can find a synonym. It is
      compendium, collection, group.
      It gets you words in one fell swoop.

      Lexicon, a dictionary…
      Wait – there’s more, so don’t you worry.
      A glossary. Now got the scoop?
      It gets you words in one fell swoop.

      Reference or equivalent terms.
      Just look it up. This book confirms
      vocabulary. Language soup.
      It gets you words in one fell swoop.

      Articulation, eloquence,
      phraseology – it does dispense
      the words, yes, words. A liripoop!*
      It gets you words in one fell swoop.


      * Note: Liripoop means: Acuteness; smartness; a smart trick or stratagem. It can also mean a scarf worn by learned men – and it can also mean a stupid person.

    47. The truth about

      …telling the truth is that we rarely do,
      sitting with our hands entwined, pledging love
      or, later, when we have stopped pretending
      we are something we can’t be, swearing hate.
      And if we are poets, we compose words

      to justify ourselves, churning them out
      like some diarrheic conveyor belt,
      only to have them bashed over the head
      by a baleful inner critic, who stands
      at the warehouse door to protect the truth.

    48. We’re hoping our internet provider is open today so we can get back on line officially. In the meantime, we’ve found a neighbor’s wireless connection. I just can’t write poetry on my cellphone. Robert, that I love yours today.

      The Truth about Football

      Something you need to know: In Alabama,
      we are serious about our college football.
      On the Saturday after the fourth Thursday,
      even family ties diminish. The harmony
      seated around the common table sharing
      turkey and dressing and sweet potato pie
      goes on hiatus when one side arrives
      wearing crimson and hounds’ tooth
      and the other donning orange and blue.
      Though tigers, eagles and elephants
      may not be common predators or prey,
      they cannot coexist in any small corner
      of this state. We know the coaches’
      birthdays; when they pass, we mark
      their graves as faithfully as Mama’s.
      When they’re winning we love them.
      When they’re losing, we love them but—
      just like family. We reserve the right
      to say what we want to about them,
      but outsiders and sportscaster better
      bite their tongues. Fans, meeting
      far from home, sharing team colors,
      are not strangers but kin, hugging
      on game days, high-fiving victories.
      Fight songs and chants—rammer
      jammer yellow hammer—resonate
      like prayers at Thanksgiving table.

      • Oh, Nancy. I love this. Truly a poem for the insider – if you have to ask, you will never understand! But to call it family, yes – maybe a non-believer can at least understand your analogy. And to end with the fight songs ascending like prayers at Thanksgiving…. Perfect. I’m writing this watching my own brand of Football (soccer), doing all my supporter’s rituals, but also already getting ready for Notre Dame to win tonight!

    49. RobHalpin says:

      The Sad Truth About The Truth

      claims to want to know
      the whole truth
      but really
      they only want to be told
      what they want to hear

    50. JanetRuth says:

      The Truth about Women

      We were supposed to be watching
      Shop around the Corner
      But suddenly I saw her
      In my peripheral view
      As she watched the movie
      Twixt chatter and knitting
      Suddenly it hit me
      She is growing up too

      For one wink a girl
      Then forever a woman
      I study her profile
      Her nose, her chin
      Somewhere between breakfast
      And warm hugs at bedtime
      Suddenly I wonder
      When did it begin?

      She turns to look at me
      The woman inside her
      Is restless and eagerly
      Waiting to bloom
      She does not know
      Of the urge rushing through me
      To hold back the moments
      The hours consume

      Inside every girl
      Is the bud of a woman
      Time will unfold
      Its intent willingly
      Inside every woman
      In spite of the ages
      Is part of the girl
      That she used to be

    51. The Truth About Language

      Words are nothing more than letters
      strung together to create a certain sound
      that represents something –
      like clothes on the line, words strung together
      form a sentence if the pattern is right -
      knowing when to mix the solids with the prints,
      the blacks with the whites,
      the colors that accent, rather than detract –
      can be tricky business, for sure!

      Sentences when piled high on a sheet
      become paragraphs that form the foundations
      for things like stories, poems, songs, books!
      But like foundations, make them weak with sandy words
      that crumble when you speak and they will not hold -
      but, build with sentences strong as Portland cement
      or those amazing granite cubes that hold up most
      of New England, then you’ll go places with your writing.

      The truth is all language is a way to paint pictures
      with words so that we can share the beauty, the pain
      the questions, the discoveries, the lies, the truth, the simple
      day-to-day experiences of our lives with another.
      Language is the canvas – words the paint – its up to us
      to create a masterpiece…
      or a mess.

    52. RJ Clarken says:

      The Truth about Insomniacs

      Sleep, some say is overrated.
      I don’t know. I’m never sated:
      I don’t sleep well, don’t get enough.
      But lack of sleep sure makes me gruff.

      To sleep, perchance to dream? Yeah, right.
      No matter what I do each night
      like snuggly blankets, comfy stuff…
      this lack of sleep sure makes me gruff.

      I know insomniacs create
      some brilliant works while up too late.
      But me? No diamonds in the rough.
      This lack of sleep sure makes me gruff.

      My evening alphabet lacks Z(zzzzzz.)
      I am the princess with no pea.
      Those forty winks just mean rebuff.
      This lack of sleep sure makes me gruff.


    53. Wow! Amazing poems for so early in the morning!
      Robert and Steven…perfect way to begin!
      Barbara…what a wild ride!
      RJ…ain’t that the truth! Well said.

    54. RJ Clarken says:

      The Truth about Suspending Disbelief

      In 1817, the term
      was coined by Coleridge, ‘midst sturm
      und drang, regarding what one reads.
      Believe in something: it succeeds.

      Even Shakespeare (it’s no myth)
      used this ploy with Henry the Fifth.
      The Prologue’s wording plants the seeds.
      Believe in something: it succeeds.

      In modern culture, TV shows
      and other media impose
      preposterous tales, thoughts and deeds.
      Believe in something: it succeeds.

      If you write with self-assurance,
      even half-truths have endurance.
      On this point, expectation feeds:
      Believe in something: it succeeds.


    55. barbara_y says:

      Woke up with this mad idea.

      The Truth About Starflight

      We had a roof over our head
      to be thankful of. And water, so the toilet flushed.
      And mattresses for everybody, but no lights. You’re
      thinking that’s a long way
      from starflight, and that’s the truth. You can’t
      get to the stars with a couple nights’ talk
      over box wine boosted from the restaurant
      and wild reefer picked green and dried on the vent
      at the laundromat. (not, whatever the tabloids say,
      Jimson Weed.) No. It was hard, breaking
      Earth’s orbit with nothing but our hands.

      Months of picking cigarette butts from the gutters
      near intersections and at the borders
      of no-smoking zones, teasing the papers off,
      building long sheets out of them, glued
      together with the tar soaked out of filter tips. And then
      with spindles made from dried fried chicken bones
      we turned the filters to core for the rope. From
      picking to spinning it was a foul job. Our fingers

      turned brown and we were all sores and sick
      to vomiting. But we’d wash our hands and faces
      under the cold tap and start back up. When
      we had rolls of rope coiled to the ceiling of every
      room, and everyone had built up strength enough
      to feed rope to Cowboy spinning the lasso, we signed
      for our You Haul, tied it to the end, and started
      building the loop, long and slow and gradually bigger.

      So many things could have happened: Rain. Helicopters,
      heavy with victims from a pile-up. Crows. Low orbit
      satellites might have sliced our filter tip rope down, but
      no. We climbed out on the roof and took sight, latched
      onto a star fleck, and put a dozen light years on that truck
      without the axle spinning more than the first feet. The universe
      we skimmed with the sway of a cigarette rope
      is a heap of strange and wonderful, sweet and fell as
      the scent of our hands. Such a load of things
      we saw and held. Someday we’ll pick still more paper,
      and fill a book with what’s between the stars.

    56. Morning all – didn’t intentionally copy Mr. Brewer’s title- and not in any way a response etc to his fine poem:-)

      The truth about poetry

      While watching a 1979 horror flick,
      it occurred to me
      it might be important
      to actually write poetry
      that means something
      and not just pretty words
      with a pleasing sound
      like a restless
      in a small town
      square –
      mundane truisms
      as absurd and as arrogant
      as the inevitable
      hands of a clock
      making you uneasy
      in an infinite
      The trick is to make
      the truth reveal itself
      to the reader
      as if they were inventing it
      for themselves –
      for example,
      something something
      zombie horde attacking,
      something something,
      you fill in the blank here
      and by zombies, I mean words,
      by horde, I mean a poem,
      and by you, I mean
      your heart, your brains
      and the delicate shiver of pleasure
      as my minions slurp up
      and down
      spinal cord

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