2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 29

Today’s prompt comes from Bonita Jones Knott, a poet I met earlier this year in Colorado at a writing retreat.

Here’s Bonita’s prompt: Write a birth poem. Write a poem on the experience of giving birth or witnessing birth, or feeling reborn in anyway.

Robert’s attempt at a Birth Poem:

“Good morning”

Every morning, I find myself next to you
or thinking of how I want to find myself

next to you. Every morning, like a blessing,
I’m reborn into my love for you, knowing

there’s no one I’d rather find myself next
to in the morning and no one I’d rather

want to find myself next to in the morning.
Every morning, like magic, like hocus

pocus, I want to be the rabbit in your
magician’s hat, the one you grab by

the ears to hold in front of the audience,
or, like a science experiment, I want

to be your hypothesis, the one you
constantly test to draw your conclusion.


Thank you, Bonita, for giving birth to this prompt! Click here to learn more about Bonita.

Click here to share your poems on the WD Forum.


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101 thoughts on “2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 29

  1. Miss R.

    Blargh. I’m super late, but I’ve made it this far, so I may as well finish off the challenge, eh?

    Advent (A Harrisham Rhyme)

    The candle barely flickers, its flame
    Enduring the service stalwartly.
    God smiles down as we sing out His fame;
    Drowning sorrows melodiously.
    God’s grace will never be put to shame.
    Saviour born for us, hear our hearts’ plea.

  2. IrisD

    We were born siblings, but chose to become friends.
    I was the baby, with a big sis and even older bro.
    I never knew Mother’s first born girl
    An accident claimed her before my arrival
    Twice a week off to market we would go
    Sold eggs, milk and cream from our overflow
    We seldom had friends to share our play
    My sister was my playmate day to day
    Carefree days full of laughter and errands
    We were born siblings, but chose to become friends.

  3. julie e.


    and I’m missing you hard
    and someone comes on the radio
    reminding me of your voice, your laugh
    and I see your smile
    making the corners of my mouth
    turn up
    and for the moment
    you are reborn.

  4. RJ Clarken

    Chaos Theory and Dancing Stars

    “You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.” ~Friedrich Nietzsche

    Bedlam, topsy-turvyness
    and pandemonium do bless
    my world. Normalcy, au revoir.
    Look! Chaos reigns. A dancing star.

    I ask myself, “Hey, what on earth
    were you thinking when you gave birth?
    Was inspiration très bizarre?
    Look! Chaos reigns. A dancing star.

    A boy, a girl. They’re each madcap.
    I think I fell into a trap
    that’s ‘off.’ A crazy cookie jar.
    Look! Chaos reigns. A dancing star.

    Despite the oddities, life’s stage
    is colorful at any age.
    So rock on, weird. It works, so far.
    Look! Chaos reigns. A dancing star.


  5. RJ Clarken

    The Birth of the Brews

    …And from a tub in a pub
    By a beer-makers club…
    Yeah, they steeped grains
    As part of the brews
    From a malt extract
    With hops, in fact
    They added some yeast
    Pushed it to high heat
    ‘Til it was sweet
    Sweet enough, at least
    And then they nursed it, rehearsed it
    And gave out the news*

    That these brewers gave birth to the brews!


    *With apologies to Ray Henderson and Buddy G. DaSilva

  6. Nancy Posey

    Not my own story, but one to which I was fortunate enough to bear witness in Wuhan, China:

    Poem for Allie

    I don’t know where you were born,
    or when, or to whom. Did she weep
    to see you were a girl child? Leaving you,
    did she hide and watch to see
    that someone found you, took you in?
    Who first bathed you, dressed you,
    sang lullabies? Who chose your name,
    the color or the sunset sky?
    My birth pains, my waiting for you
    with only your single tiny picture,
    lasted weeks, not hours, cutting
    not your cord, but miles of red tape.

    I was born that day, a mother at last,
    reaching, taking you in my arms
    as your wide eyes stared up,
    into my awestruck face, my happy,
    tear-filled eyes. You christened me
    before the flight home, your voice
    so small, catching me by surprise,
    in that most universal of languages,
    you called me Mama.

  7. julie e.

    What i like about writing: when it takes you in a different direction than you thought you were going, and teaches you something that was in your brain all along.


    that childhood spoke truth
    of my life,
    then leaving behind the
    very craziness that defined it,
    growing and learning
    as I left it,
    could I be reborn,
    knowing new
    living new?
    that adulthood speaks truth
    of my life,
    then opening eyes to
    realize the tumultuous
    ride that defines it,
    growing and learning
    as I see it,
    can I be reborn,
    knowing new
    living new?
    Life remaking itself
    as people/hopes/dreams
    and we move forward
    riding the crazy ride,
    growing and learning,
    choosing to form it
    into something new
    with new hopes,

  8. JRSimmang

    At first, I just sat and stared at walls for hours, taking in the sunlight, feeling it tingle against my skin like some sort of tightly bristled brush itchy and comforting at the same time hot chocolate sat next to me I couldn’t remember when it was I made it but it sounded good at the time the heat from the my mug (the one with the picture of Twin Falls) radiated glowed even I could sense the air around it Purple and deep crimson the fancy marshmallows (the ones that are tinier than the tiny ones and don’t melt as fast) bobbed on the surface They reminded me of my first lovers tits PERFECT and WHITE and never sank down into the deep dark recesses where I wanted to take all her clothes off with my teeth.
    that’s when the urge would rear up and bite my ankles knees hips jaw there was one thing only for me to do and that was smoehow getting it under my skin the way it gets into my head
    she said she wanted to try it because I became Superman in his tight blue leotard and red cape flying around and rescuing damsels in distress from burning buildings while I was a burning building myself torn up in the flames and constantly inhaling ashes so I let her have some fun and she did.
    She did.
    She did
    and she did
    and she did
    and she died.
    It was a moment. It was the last little flicker of light that made her into more spirit than body, which was the goal of the stuff anyway. But I never did. I never got so close that the last breath I breathe would be the last breath I breathed.
    So. I stopped. I had to. What other choice would there have been for me?
    I know it won’t bring absolution. It won’t retrace the air into her lungs and stop the bleeding in her brain.
    But at least, now, I can see the horizon with the sun on it and not think to myself that I could swallow it whole. The sun is warm this time of year.

  9. Bruce Niedt

    Since I skipped this one to write for Day 30 first, this haiku (or more accurately, senryu) may seem like a bit of a cop-out for its brevity, but it’s a sincere sentiment:

    an old instinct stirs inside
    soon to be reborn

  10. Yolee

    Of a Partially Smeared Journal (April, 1995)

    It isn’t just my womb
    engorged with your soft flesh:
    my spirit seems to cradle yours
    like a mission statement
    robed in a whisper.

    Love counts on your arrival,
    and holds the door open to
    the tabernacle in my heart.

    Your sisters are there, ensuring
    every space bobs under the gleam
    of a million candles only
    they are able to light.

    Today you kicked the dam
    open, two hours before
    the scheduled C-section.

    Pain is a wild dog that jumped
    a short fence to maul neighboring
    bystanders. But you’ll be here soon;

    your papa loves that the male
    landscape will expand. Moreover,
    he’s madly in love with the promise
    of our personal sun.

    Though I’ve been a participant
    in the childbirth olympics,
    meeting the challenge and greeting
    7lbs 9oz of reward, reminds me
    I cannot rely on laurels to shake
    off that I’m ready to be birthed,


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