2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 30

Okay, today is the final day of the poeming part of this challenge. Beginning tomorrow (if not already), you’ll begin the process of revising and assembling a 10-20 page poetry chapbook manuscript. Click here to review the guidelines.

Today’s prompt comes from Violet Nesdoly.

Here’s Violet’s prompt: Write a milk poem. This could be about the moo-juice kind of milk. Or it could explore milk metaphorically, as in the expression “milk of human kindness.” Of course it could also be about the act of milking something. And no, it doesn’t have to be nourishing.

Robert’s attempt at a Milk Poem:

“The Final Poem”

The final prompt, the final day,
and here I am milking the situation
as if tomorrow won’t come, as if
it won’t bring more prompts, more
poems, more lines to break.


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

Click here to share your poem on the WD Forum.


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85 thoughts on “2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 30

  1. viv

    I missed the last few days of the challenge, as I have been in hospital after a heart attack and 3 lots of surgery in 4 days. Tillybud has sent me the prompts I missed, but I don’t know that I have the mojo to write to them. Can I still submit my chapbook poems – I wrote to every prompt up to 21 November?

  2. Miss R.

    DONE. 🙂 Thanks for a wonderful month of poetry!!

    The Milkman

    A poke here, a jab there –
    Always verbal, of course.
    He kept at it daily
    Without sign of remorse.
    Cruel word by cruel word
    He slowly milked away
    All of her confidence
    And never had to pay.

  3. PSC in CT

    Milking Venom

    It’s a dangerous job,
    but necessary. Caution
    and coordination
    (prerequisite skills
    for the position – both
    sorely needed and surely
    lacking) must be
    carefully cultivated,
    patiently applied, else
    one risks a most
    venomous sting

  4. heiditoad

    Milk, milk, lemonade, around the corner fudge is made!!

    OMG – I just had to do it and NO this is not my poem and I give full credit to whomever made it up in the first place; although, I have no idea.

    Am I going to get in trouble for posting this?

  5. pmwanken

    I didn’t get this posted yesterday…

    (a shadorma)

    Each year I
    wait, with cookies and
    milk, trying
    to stay a-
    wake to hear him exclaiming:
    “I am Ho-Ho-Home!”

    P. Wanken

  6. zevd2001

    I lay beside green pastures and conspire
    to find the ways of keeping what passes through
    unhindered by too much civilization, all the undue
    interference of what doesn’t belong. I tire
    of the calls of them that complicate my life
    with devices that are supposed to ensure
    that my existence won’t be encumbered, that lure
    me into a gallery lit with attractions, rife

    with lights, camera action, and the uneasy feel
    somebody is watching me, they want to know
    where I am going, leading me to follow their flow,
    no, it’s here where the sheep graze, I kneel
    over a patch of flowers gazing at butterflies
    congregating about the petals drinking their fill . . .
    off in the distance my feet sense the thrill
    of the sound of the sheep, the voices rise

    in the distance. Always there, reminding me
    where they are in the circle of life, where I am,
    biting away at the flowers when I just came
    following them back to the pen, I let them be . . .
    mother lambs at the milking, first the flock
    then the machines in tins, carrying them in
    to the plant where the liquid turns, my head spins
    how everything goes round comes round the clock.
    Zev Davis

  7. Yolee

    Dear Santa, I will leave milk and cookies on the coffee table this time. I’m sorry I sorta blamed you last year when mama asked who chipped her half moon tableinthe hallway . She would never believe me if I told her the real truth. I hope you understand. Don’t you have children? Didn’t they break things? I bet you helped them get out of trouble with Your wife. I bet you brought them a computer they really really needed. You are a good dad. I can tell. Ps I’m going to make sure my dog will be in the basement so he won’t bite you.

  8. Glory

    Cleopatra . . .

    Cleopatra bathed in asses’ milk
    I’ve often heard it said,
    so I decided I would too before I went to bed.

    I filled the bath with asses’ milk.
    well almost to the brim,
    a foaming bath it was, in which to bathe my skin.

    I didn’t like the texture, didn’t like
    the smell, but most of all
    I must admit, I missed dear Anthony as well.

  9. RJ Clarken

    The Ilk of Milk

    “The cow is of the bovine ilk; one end is moo, the other milk.” ~Ogden Nash

    If one end’s milk, the other moo,
    I wonder: could you then construe
    that chocolate milk should be called choo?
    Or is it chilk? What would you do?

    I think where bovines are concerned
    re milk production, we’ve all learned
    that cows have no real point of view
    on choo (or chilk.) What would you do?

    But as a fan of chocolate drink,
    no matter choo or chilk, I think
    if from a bovine, call it boo
    (or maybe bilk.) What would you do?

    And here’s a thought on bovine-juice:
    If grass fed, is milk then chartreuse?
    And if it’s green, is it called goo?
    Or rather, ‘gilk’? What would you do?


  10. rustydude

    Participating in this month’s activities is my first ever attempt of anything of the sort. Must admit it was way beyond me to keep up – made about 50% (too many irons in the fire). Enjoyed getting to meet ya’ll through your poetry and posts. Meandered thorough several of your sites and blogs and decided to give that a go as well. Stop in sometime and say howdy, you are welcome at my campfire anytime. Thanks everyone!

    Nov 29 – Birth
    Nov 30 – Milk

    The Fawn

    The doe gives birth, alone, in pain,
    Slowly new life emerges, one last strain.
    Carefully the mother cleans her young,
    Daylight breaks, christened by the sun.

    Hastily the mother nuzzles the new gent,
    The air spilling her fresh-blood scent.
    The fawn reaches its knees awkward, and feeble,
    Just minutes ago in its mother’s womb, fetal.

    Legs shaking, the fawn takes its first stance,
    It’s a miracle, its life, its creation’s dance.
    The fawn drinks in warm mother’s milk,
    Its coat glistens, as new woven silk.

    Slowly, the mother leads her babe away,
    Deep in the tall grass, she coaxes him to stay.
    Carefully she leaves him all alone,
    The fawn lays motionless, camouflaged stone.

    You could easily walk past and not take note,
    The new babe hiding, shadows blending in its coat.
    It lies there fearless, sure of its mother’s return,
    All things new, everything to learn.

    The doe hides close, with a watchful eye,
    Ready as any mother, to defend till she die.
    Both rest long in the early spring sun,
    Life is but a miracle and for the fawn – day one.

    The Lord’s gift of nature, and all its majesty,
    From highest mountain, through sky, to deepest sea.
    All His creation, all His wonders, all – for His glory,
    No doubt, no question, what else it could be?

  11. sonja j

    Milk Paint

    Walk from town to town, ask
    the wealthier households if
    they need portraits, or want
    their walls decorated. That’s
    how itinerant painters made
    their way. They brought their
    own brushes, poured pigment
    and lime into buckets of curds,
    each working his own secret

    When children see the murals
    on farmhouse walls, they ask
    why there are no forests, only
    hills. The forests were cut down
    for farming, we tell them. There
    were no forests here then. Why
    does the tree in the garden look
    like that, they ask. Why does it
    look like a fountain.

    Those were elm trees, we tell
    them. You could shimmy up
    the branches and slide right
    down to the end; the branch
    would bend to the ground, you
    could hop off and do it again.
    Can we grow trees like that,
    they ask us. No, we tell them.
    Not anymore.

  12. Marjory MT

    Because it is so challenging to post — I am going to post collectively today (30th) several poems I have not before poster successfully.
    22 PARADISE LUNE (Kelly)
    Any place I am
    with you is
    paradise to me.

    23 DEEP (Fib)
    to once
    again stand
    with you, feel and then
    share love’s music that’s in our hearts.

    23 (DEEP) FIRE (Nonet)
    In the quiet night, below moon and stars,
    I build a fire of memory
    and in the burning coals, I
    seek to reclaim the one
    hot, hidden spark
    used for igniting
    love’s first

    24 The Truth about
    The truth about life
    comes when minds and hearts open,
    look beyond themself

    22 PARADISE — Etheree
    was your
    sweet princess,
    spark in your eyes.
    I loved you closeness,
    attention to our needs
    wrapped up in warm tenderness.
    You and I together always
    On earth we had our own paradise.
    We did anything, everything as one.

    25 PARADISE LOST—(Nonet)
    Caring, helping, and always close by,
    filling my life, my days and nights,
    choosing, touching, holding tight.
    What I thought was love, I
    came to realize
    was just control.


  13. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    Galletas con leche
    (Cookies and milk)

    If St. Nick you want to impress,
    give him what he likes the best…
    Galletas con leche!

    When he comes through the front door,
    he’ll be hungry and thirsty for…
    Galletas con leche!

    Down the chimney he won’t fit.
    This is Santa’s favorite treat:
    Galletas con leche!

    Santa is a dairy nut.
    Stock your fridge with nothing but…
    Galletas con leche!

    If in Santa you believe,
    don’t forget this Christmas Eve…
    Galletas con leche!

    Done! I won’t be submitting ’cause I don’t have enough decent pieces for this challenge, but this was fun and quite a workout for my tender brain. This was quite awesome, everyone! Thanks for all the prompts. Thanks for the challenge, Robert. ^^


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