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    2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 7

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

    UPDATE: As problems continue with the commenting, I’ve decided to open up a WD Forum thread for the first 7 days. Beginning with tomorrow’s prompt, there will be prompt-specific threads linked to each post. Click here to share your poems/comments for the first 7 days.

    Sorry for the late prompt today–stayed up a little late last night.

    Today’s prompt comes to us from Eleanore D. Trupkiewicz.

    Here’s Eleanore’s prompt: Write a circular poem. It could be a poem about circles, or about a circular concept, or about something shaped like a circle. Or it could be a poem with a circular format, in which the end of the poem somehow connects directly back to the beginning of the poem.

    Robert’s attempt at a circular poem:

    “Been Here”

    Feels like I’ve been here before
    with my head hidden under the covers
    and wanting another hour or two.

    Feels like I’ve been here before
    rushing around to get lunches packed
    and telling people what to do.

    Feels like I’ve been here before
    saying “goodbye, have a great day”
    but wanting more time with you.

    *****

    Thank you, Eleanore, for the terrific prompt! Click here to learn more about her.

    *****

    Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

    *****

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    About Robert Lee Brewer

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    121 Responses to 2012 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 7

    1. Day 7
      Prompt: Circle

      Circle of Thanksgiving

      This time last year, I planned my list,
      my agenda of shopping, cleaning, cooking.
      I listed in my mind my thanks.

      This year, even more to be grateful for,
      I start my list anew:
      Groceries, tasks, blessings.

    2. KathyA says:

      Women’s Circle

      Women, each with a story
      Claim their spaces in the circle
      Under the twinkling stars,
      Firelight dancing off their faces.

      A circle of tents surrounds them
      Canvas protectors of the tales within.
      One reveals her heartache
      And the others say, “Oh, no…”

      The next one speaks of work
      And money, saved and spent.
      Two more nod with understanding,
      While a third throws a log on the fire.

      The shy one who just got here
      Pulls her chair up close to me.
      We heard she just lost her mother
      And is finally starting to talk.

      The jokestress cracks a good one
      And the night air crackles with mirth,
      And the woman wearing the jacket
      Says she’s leaving early tomorrow.

      The two that have been friends forever
      Are discussing when to head home,
      And the talking comes full circle
      Once everyone goes to bed.

    3. When You Arrived

      When you arrived, looking so fresh,
      so ripe, the new and improved version
      of everything I never even knew
      I needed walking right in the door,
      with nowhere else to go but here,
      I poured us both a glass of sweet tea,
      we sat right down at the kitchen table,
      and the rest of our lives began
      it seemed. I knew I would mark
      the beginning of my life of happily
      ever after from this November day
      when you arrived, looking so fresh.

    4. po says:

      The Trouble With Color

      The problem with describing color is that color is not a word.—Robert Hass

      I disagree.

      Of course color is a concept
      but it is also a exquisite word.
      A word to build other words—
      watercolor, colorblind.

      How many colors to know
      the pine tree? Its bark turns
      from gray to silver in the sun.
      Needles green, then gold as they
      fall to cover the bare ground.

      A finch hides her nest of brown
      and black twigs intermingled with
      colorful pieces of string. Shadows
      turn blue when the sun goes down
      and at night a black reflection dances
      before the moon.

      Of course
      color is a word—it holds the world.

    5. Miss R. says:

      Here’s a rather late lune (woohoo Poetic Bloomings!):

      The vultures circle,
      Menacing
      And mesmerizing.

    6. PKP says:

      Refugee

      A lone refugee
      my great grandmother was
      borne across the roiling seas to
      relatives on streets peopled by pushcarts
      possessions spilling with no place

      I fled to leased marbled grandeur
      displaced guiltily into buffeted breakfasts
      by a angry sea too lightly regarded

      Home as visitor spectator assessor
      amid displaced possessions
      pushcarted onto an unpeopled street

      I stand

      A lone refugee

    7. PSC in CT says:

      Spinning Thoughts

      In dark, silent stillness they
      launch from their perch,
      tiny rockets circling, circling,
      swooping, swerving in perfect unison
      until, as one, they settle to preen,
      flaunting their feathers, (ruffling mine)
      then lifting off to take flight again
      in a whirlwind spinning eddy of
      autumn leaves, swirling flutter dance
      divinely choreographed ballet, where they
      pause, breathe for but a heartbeat,
      shiver, quiver, rustle in place
      before spinning off again in a flight of
      fish swimming in flawless synchronization,
      flashing light and color, moving as one:
      up, down, left, right, around and around,
      keeping me sleepless
      within those spinning circles

    8. Paoos69 says:

      Going in Circles

      Have you ever wondered?
      Why circles have no sides
      Why dogs chase their tails
      And how soap bubbles glide

      Have you ever wondered?
      Why ripples are concentric
      Why water in a sink twirls
      And bellies become a curve

      Have you ever wondered?
      Why baldness leaves a ring of hair
      Why most spas are round
      And curls are curls no squares

      Have you ever wondered?
      Why the earth is round
      Why our eyes have circular pupils
      And “Ohs” follow anything profound

      The questions are endless
      And go around in circles
      Because in the end
      Anything that goes around, comes around.

    9. Yolee says:

      Three Times Expectant

      I rubbed my planet
      often when I was significant
      with child; spoke my peace
      of heart; my son and two
      daughters pushed their universe
      with fists or feet and formed
      circles within my internal
      loops as if to answer
      by codes, pregnant
      with inscrutabilities.

    10. foodpoet says:

      Broken Circles
      Change,
      river chimes from ice melt
      young frisk roaring
      eating earth rock land
      etching forming veins
      from ice to ocean
      ending with a sigh.
      Rivers are always in a state of flux.
      Why control the floodgates of tomorrow,
      drums beat with rain of tears
      dance in the mountain swirl
      of green land of youth roaring
      strong
      churning
      over and over in
      white rapid terror
      risking daring fearing nothing
      and only change is eternal
      and the rain pounds on
      feeding the mountain’s tears.
      And the drums echo out
      of the mountain
      to flood the floor of agless
      between time in the chant of rain
      the river meanders killing feeding fueling
      dispersing
      But now in new cycles
      oh to be tamed and burnt used
      no longer churning but wrought thin as slivers are shared.
      Water is sucked up by man faster
      then the drums of rain can fuel the flow and the chimes falter.

    11. Tracy Davidson says:

      The Circle of Life

      How that song in ‘The Lion King’
      made me choke up…
      not with emotion
      but with a surge of vomit
      induced by the sight
      of the cutesey-wutesey cub
      being praised and adored
      by other animals.

      I wanted to stand up
      in the cinema and shout
      “That ickle-wickle cub
      will grow up big and strong
      and tear you all to pieces
      you stupid creatures!”

      Circle of life, my arse.

      Only my 5-year-old’s hand
      in mine stopped me,
      made me sit quietly
      through the whole thing.

      Now, she makes me sit
      through the DVD
      over and over
      and over…

      I don’t have the heart to tell her
      I like Scar the best.

    12. Tracy Davidson says:

      Imperfection

      The world is round
      but not a perfect circle.
      It’s slightly flattened
      at the top and bottom,
      it bulges around the middle.

      I know how it feels.

      Perhaps the Earth
      has its own version
      of middle-age spread.
      Perhaps the Earth
      is having a mid-life crisis.

      I know how it feels.

    13. WHEN I COME AROUND

      Good days come.
      Bad days linger
      and I lose control
      of most of my fingers.
      Some days find me
      incoherent, not so
      apparent when it’s done,
      not recognizing my voice
      and none of the words
      Translate great on the slate
      of a blank page.
      Can’t blame age,
      I’m not that old,
      but I’ve been told
      I carry myself thus.
      When the tremors can be seen
      it is a mean trick to play
      on a poet poeming
      a poem-a-day. But today
      seems a good day.
      I seem to be coming around,
      and when I do, I won’t slow down!

    14. The Catch

      Bewildered, you stand
      the system beyond comprehension
      language a barrier
      fear a wall
      culture a chasm -

      no papers, no job
      no job, no money,
      no money, no home
      no home, no address
      no address, no papers

    15. aviseuss says:

      Disc

      Eclectic
      Music inside us
      Plays the story of our lives
      On this circular disc, holds secrets
      Only shared by us, only known by us
      As it spins around and ‘round, we kiss
      Run your hands through my hair
      I listen to your beating chest
      In your arms I feel at rest
      You are my muse
      My sprite

    16. The Process (for me)

      Blank
      white page,
      waiting for the muse.
      Suddenly, she quickly flies
      in the window sometimes straight,
      sometimes on an angle, and the ideas
      race like wildfire across the plains
      of my imagination as I pluck
      the right words to tame
      the moment, before it
      goes, taking with it
      the life, the zing,
      before returning
      once again to
      blank.

    17. Life is Simple

      Life is simple

      Whatever one sows

      This he will also reap

      Whatever goes around

      Comes around

    18. sonja j says:

      Sigh…Robert said ‘circle’; it is Joni Mitchell’s birthday, and that was it for me. No matter how hard I tried, the only thing I could hear in my head was Circle Game. I can’t beat it, so I am joining it with a found shadorma from those lyrics.

      Fearful child
      behind the circle.
      Over ten
      seasons we
      turn and drag feet to slow him
      before better years.

    19. Life is Circular

      Life is hardly a linear experience
      on a single plane

      a tediously boring

      once and for all stretch

      but very circular in nature

      taking a turn for the better

      or for the worse

      oftentimes repeating itself

      over and over again

      in mundane ordinary ways

      otherwise adventurous

      continually guiding us unto

      unimaginable destinations

      and situations unfathomable

    20. Santa’s lovely shape

      Santa doesn’t like the gym.
      (He gives kudos to the slim).
      Santa is not a loser!

      He despises Jenny Craig.
      He avoids workouts like the plague.
      Santa is not a loser!

      Santa won’t go on a diet.
      He thinks dieting is a riot.
      Santa is not a loser!

      Doesn’t weight watch, he just eats.
      Santa likes all kinds of meat.
      Santa is not a loser!

      Of his shape, he’s not ashamed.
      He wants you to feel the same.
      Santa is not a loser!

    21. I hope this will post here… it is the link to my answer for today’s prompt. http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/11/07/365-creativity-project-day-303/

    22. Circular Reasoning

      Some things don’t change:
      the pulse of your blood as it
      beats through your veins; the
      quiet strength of an older
      man who drives with one
      wrist; the uncanny ability of
      a young guy to handle a
      pickup truck on corners with
      one hand, with implacable
      grace and poise; the crystal-
      clear sapphirine blue of the
      sky; the mosaic of colors in
      autumn leaves; the feel of
      a child who buries her head
      beneath your chin in a silent
      plea for comfort; the bitter
      spicy taste of a salted caramel
      mocha, extra hot; the majesty
      of an eagle—an emblem—
      soaring against that clear sky;
      the crashing roar of ocean waves
      on a black-sand beach; the
      inexpressible wonder of a
      waving American flag, in all
      its glory; the inimitable
      release of relief from a prison
      (pick your poison); the crisp
      sheen of satin in black or
      Christmas green or red like
      rubies or silvery grey; the
      timeless look of ancient
      wisdom in a newborn’s eyes;
      the soundless fall of snow on
      a static-white night; the
      reliable sneer on a cat’s face
      at your return home; the
      gleaming beauty of a cello
      from the 1700s with a mellow
      alto voice; the inexplicably
      predictable slide of sweat
      in wet rivulets in the space
      between your breasts as your
      anxiety or your desire—six
      to one, half dozen the other—
      rises; the glistening fall of
      misty rain on sparkling wet
      asphalt; the haunting loveliness
      of music with a Hebraic
      tonality; the easy breathlessness
      of a major triad with a minor
      jazz seventh arpeggiated all
      the way up the piano; the
      shimmering pain in the arches
      of your feet when you wear
      your favorite stiletto-heeled
      sandals; the classic simplicity
      of a strand of matched pearls
      (synthetic, but, really, who’s
      counting?); the sour vinegary
      dressing over German potato
      salad; the just-right flavor of
      hot homemade pizza, topped
      with roasted green peppers with
      blistered skins; the delicate
      scent of a baby’s milky breath
      as he sleeps and dreams
      impossible dreams; the worn
      comfort of fuzzy socks; the
      safe cocoon on a brisk winter
      morning that your inert body
      forms under layers of quilts;
      the smell of Old World soup,
      a family recipe, simmering
      gently on the stove; the view to
      eternity from the precipice of
      Storm Peak in Steamboat Springs
      on a day when your breath
      crackles cold in the air and the
      sunshine sparkles off mounds of
      snow and the horizon melts over
      the mountains in the distance;
      the brisk cut of a black business
      suit with heels and the power of
      the same ensemble in red; the
      delicious sensation of
      unconditional belonging in God’s
      throne room (wherever it is); the
      uncontainable surge of pride at
      seeing a member of the United
      States military—greatest on earth,
      any branch—in impeccable dress
      uniform; the almost-invisible
      glimpse of a silver sliver of moon
      at mid-morning; the selfless
      attentiveness of a lover for his
      beloved; the self-sacrifice behind
      every rare and lovely act of
      chivalry a man makes on a
      woman’s behalf; the kind-hearted
      affection between two people who
      have spent decades growing
      together and somehow know much
      more than what the other person
      is thinking; the blush of spring on
      thorny roses; the incomprehensible
      knowing that your life is worth
      someone’s death; the slow fall of
      shed blood and gushed water that
      co-mingle and obliterate your
      record of wrongs; the pulse of
      precious blood in the veins of
      someone who believes, even now,
      that you are worth everything.

    23. Cosimo’s Lament (triolet)

      No dome, this church, to shield us from the sky
      No plan to hold the weight of brick and plaster
      Foolish Florentines to build so wide and high.
      No dome, this church to shield us from the sky
      come snow and rain the floor is seldom dry
      Santa Maria del Fiore waits upon the Master
      No dome, this church, to shield us from the sky
      No plan to hold the weight of brick and plaster

      • Cosimo’s Lament (triolet)

        This church has no dome to shield us from the sky
        No plan to hold the weight of brick and plaster
        Foolish Florentines to build so wide and high
        This church has no dome to shield us from the sky
        Come snow and rain the floor is seldom dry
        Santa Maria del Fiore waits upon the Master
        This church has no dome to shield us from the sky
        No plan to hold the weight of brick and plaster

    24. C ircuitous
      I ntelligence
      R arely
      C ultivates
      L ofty
      E xperiences.

    25. chicneek says:

      Not Like Him
      I ate
      the crust
      around
      the bread.
      Saved the best
      for last.
      Just like Dad
      who saved for
      tomorrows
      and died
      yesterdays
      ago.
      Spun me
      right around.
      I fold the bread over
      and bite the middle first
      and throw away
      the crust
      when I don’t
      want it.

    26. Here’s mine, ok? (: I haven’t tried to share yet. It’s kind of silly. But I’m really enjoying this! And all of the sweet poets here. Nice community. Ok… here goes:

      SPRING SONG [IN FALL]
      your mouth is what’s stuck. small flower,
      pink as reason & slow to wake. tell me:
      what is it you won’t miss? in this flight
      [the hum of my hover] you have me—
      promise of a body, both
      foreign & tragic to travel you:

      the lengths between your
      once-a-week reach for sun,
      trenches pinched into the folds of
      your fragile no-bones, sticky gaps
      of indifference, where
      pollen collects, i orbit—

      waiting for touchdown, quick
      gasp [like instinct] to catch that
      single second we might intersect;
      so long, i might smash myself
      into you, hope nothing breaks.

      thanks for the read!
      mt

    27. seingraham says:

      The Circle of Life and Death and Poetry

      Before I began trying to write
      Poetry with anything like real
      Seriousness – that’s not to say
      Every poem I write is of solemn
      Nature, or even true – what I
      Mean, I suppose is back when
      I just fooled around with the words
      My perception was that poetry
      Was written by dead white guys
      From centuries ago, then interspersed
      With the odd – very odd – white broad
      Or two, also usually dead, not surprisingly
      Or maybe it was – I can’t remember
      What I thought – actually yes, I can
      It bothered me more than a little
      That more than a few of the poetesses
      I fancied had offed themselves

      This I discovered just as I was beginning
      To pen verse myself and it seemed
      A bit of a cautionary tale coming as it did
      At a time when suicidal ideology
      Also figured prominently in my own life
      And so it went – the more I wrote poems
      The more poetry I read, the more I learned
      Of poets I liked who had taken their lives

      This was not a circle of life and death I cared
      To spend time examining but examine it I did
      However, it didn’t keep me from writing
      In fact, in the way of it, my eccentric concentric
      Circles spread themselves like ripples
      Growing exponentially larger – the more poems
      I write, it seems, the less suicidal I feel
      It might be my imagination but I’m not
      About to put it to the test …

    28. Hamster Wheel

      you get up again and
      drink your coffee and
      shower and shave and
      sit in rush hour traffic and
      spend the morning on drudgery and
      go to the usual place for lunch and
      spend the afternoon on drudgery and
      sit in rush hour traffic and
      heat up a quick dinner and
      watch TV all evening and
      crawl into bed and

    29. a ripple
      within a ripple
      halo of the moon

    30. Ouroboros

      Heading west out of Phoenix
      in a worn Chevy that matches
      me scratch for scratch

      Our soles rubbed free of traction
      kick up clouds of dirt that stay
      beneath my nails

      It reminds me of the dust
      left behind and the fire
      by night that guides me home.

    31. tunesmiff says:

      ROUND AND ROUND
      (A Pantoum)
      (c) G. Smith
      ——————————-
      Round and round I go
      Spinning like a top;
      Where I’ll stop, who know,
      How hard will I drop?

      Spinning like a top
      I teeter at the brink.
      How hard will I drop?
      I don’t have time to think.

      I teeter on the brink,
      Of seeing you again.
      I don’t have time to think:
      A beginning or the end

      Of seeing you again?
      Where I’ll stop, who knows:
      The beginning or the end?
      Round and round I go.

      Round and round I go,
      Spinning like a top;
      Where I’ll stop, who knows…

    32. Jane Shlensky says:

      Circle of Friends

      I had forgotten
      who I used to be
      when we were
      young and had
      such naughty fun,
      laughing too loud,
      before we acquired
      dignity.

      I don’t use that nickname
      now that I’m older,
      a professional matron
      away from home,
      now that wine is
      the worst habit
      I’ve kept and memory
      has circled back on me.

      But oh, it is so fine
      to see you all, my dear
      old friends, so good to
      remember who we were,
      what we stood for,
      what we suffered,
      where we grew up
      and caroused—seeing
      the early signs of who
      we might become,
      all these new wrinkles
      in time, these new selves,
      just flimsy robes
      covering our aging
      but solid
      friendship.

    33. Poetic Asides November Challenge – Day 7
      Write a circular poem

      Bicycle of Life

      We are born unblemished, curious,
      needing caretakers, guiders, teachers
      to provide food, shelter, education.
      We are taught how to tell right
      from wrong, goodness from evil,
      and history’s place in shaping
      marvels of the present,
      promises of the future.

      And so we grow, some following
      rules, others breaking them, all
      the time evolving into who
      we are, and how to fend
      for ourselves.

      When we are old, most of us
      are blemished. Some maintain
      curiosity, continue learning,
      and growing. Others know
      they are no longer participants
      in the future. Independence
      reverses, tasks are troublesome,
      if not impossible. With minds
      intact, knowledge and marvels
      still occur. If faculties fracture
      as old bones, you become
      helpless, and once again,
      reliant on caretakers
      to keep you alive.

    34. shellaysm says:

      “Carousel” (Rondeau poem)

      Once again, up and down, round and round
      mystical equines on common ground
      prancing in eternal rotation
      aristocrats in glam formation
      masquerade, dignified and profound.

      Gilded mirror, dancing light playground,
      this elaborate merry-go-round
      remains a carnival foundation
      once again, up and down, round and round.

      Cotton candy-stuck fingers surround
      metallic poles as the organ sounds.
      Beware the childhood fixation:
      golden-token-only elation
      ushers young greed (not awe) to abound
      once again, up and down, round and round.

    35. Misky says:

      Covetous of Circles

      She was jealous of circles,
      such sheer perfection -
      those miraculously ends-meeting
      together rings, 360-degree’ing,
      zealously looping and scooping
      up and back on to itself again,
      rounds of spheres and drops
      of tears, rope wound and bound
      round into balls. Circles to be found
      everywhere she looked and they
      all made her covetous heart spin.

    36. Mike Bayles says:

      Fall Again

      I’ve seen this weather before
      the gray haze lingering all day
      and weighing upon my thoughts
      while falling leaves
      leave trees bare
      after the verdant incarnation summer
      so alive after winter and spring,
      after the last fall
      when I’d seen this weather before.

    37. Andy Brackett says:

      Sun’s Circle

      Dawn’s light breaks
      With early warning
      A new day
      Is just beginning

      It rises higher
      Softly healing
      Natures hearth
      With gentle warming

      By midday’s acme
      Brightly shining
      On fallow Earth
      And cloud lining

      By dinner time
      Slowly waning
      Setting soon
      Sunlight’s fading

      Touching horizon
      Its last glow cast
      It’s circle done
      It sets at last

    38. Full Circle (Palindrome)

      “Love you, love”
      whispered before leaving
      never forgotten
      before sleeping, whispered
      again
      whispered
      sleeping before forgotten
      never leaving
      before whispered
      “love you, love”.

    39. Marianv says:

      From a broken circle

      After dinner has been finished, a friendly group
      ,of patients gather. Some chairs are pushed
      into a circle and while the staff is occupied
      hustling off the remains of dinner, a chorus
      of their friendly chatter blends into the
      clank and clatter of busy hands and busy
      lives, Meanwhile, those who have all
      The left-over hours of their remembered
      Lives to ponder will have jokes to tell and bits
      Of gossip to pass on to one another, At times
      They may grow quiet and somber, as an empty
      Chair intrudes into their company . Often
      The name is never mentioned for they are
      Determined that their circle stay a scene of
      Happy harmony. Soon enough more room is
      Needed as another patient enters and is welcomed
      To the group.. They will say their circle is not
      Unbroken but has been broken and mended more
      Times than they can remember The staff is
      Relieved for they must hurry. hurry
      turn down the beds and make them
      Comfy. Naptime is next on their busy
      Schedule and the circle of chairs waits
      Empty and alone.

      t

    40. RobHalpin says:

      Red Rubber Ball

      try as I might
      to be hard
      like a rock
      life batters me
      and tumbles me
      and tumbles me
      and batters me
      until rounded off
      with plenty of give
      like a red rubber ball

    41. Jane Shlensky says:

      Ghost Fawn

      A white fawn
      grazes the pasture,
      leaping the fence
      to the lawn among
      brown does. their
      spotted young
      nearby.

      Does he feel
      his strangeness
      in this herd where
      only a white doe
      hints at his parentage?

      Do they wear
      their difference,
      mother and child,
      with pride or peril–
      white only visible
      when their tails
      lift skyward as they run
      for the cover of woods
      or high grass,
      sniffing the air
      for snow?

      This time next year
      will there be another
      albino generation
      of ghost nibblers
      or none at all
      reaching for fox grapes
      and persimmons,
      hanging among the trees
      or gathering acorns
      on the lawn?

    42. De Jackson says:

      point of tangency

      with this ring
                she he wed
           caused tear shed
                 made their bed
                        and lied
                                      in it.

      .

    43. The animal zodiac mysteries

      She vaguely remembered happy
      memories of riding her father’s
      strong shoulders – the year of her being
      his special little monkey
      the subdued school
      year of the rabbit
      year of the sheep
      year of the ox –
      the long
      year of the horse
      her slow unleashing
      into
      womanhood
      the year of the rooster
      and the year of the tiger
      quickly
      spent eating up
      the local
      redneck
      boys
      then college
      and back to being
      the year of the dog
      the year of the pig
      consoling herself
      a final succumbing
      to
      husband one
      and
      husband two
      long years
      of the rat
      and the snake
      respectively
      enough is enough
      she vowed this cycle
      this vicious circle
      would stop -
      dragon lady they all whispered
      and just
      like that
      dragon lady was what
      she was known as
      for the rest of her life

    44. posmic says:

      Circles

      In the circle of the road,
      the oldest circle, of home and away,
      we roll on four circles to close
      big circles of child and parent,
      child and grandparent.

      Though we know the circle
      can never be unbroken
      by distance, by who knows
      what gaps in understanding,
      differences in seeing,

      (How is it that people can
      love each other and yet want
      such different worlds? Oh,
      but they can. They can.)
      yet we will try it, sometimes

      fail, always try it again,
      this trick of bringing our
      loose ends together, being
      whole, that being enough
      for at least a few round days.

    45. elishevasmom says:

      Prism

      Just
      be
      cause we
      can’t see the
      concentricity
      of the universe holding the
      world together, does not mean it is not so. If all
      you see is darkness, just reach out
      and grab a handful
      of the light
      upon
      your
      face.

      Ellen Knight

    46. Poet Ariel says:

      Fourth attempt at posting this today. Frustrating, no matter how much time I take it tells me I’m “psoting too quickly. Robert, Can you see if someone can fix this? It takes longer than my morning break IS to post.

      Salem

      It’s a peculiar kinda arrangement
      carried over perhaps by the trail,
      the streets are circles upon circles
      and spreads us like a wagon wheel.

      The thing that is most peculiar
      and every day I find this true;
      all roads in Salem go in circles
      and they lead me back to you.

      It’s bad enough my thoughts go that way
      lighting on you when there’s a pause.
      That any car I drive follows –
      well, must I be blamed for the cause?

      I apologize. To work, to friends’ house
      or even driving to the store -
      no matter how I vary my routes,
      I still end up driving past your door.

      As much as I try to escape it
      I’m angry how the planners drew;
      all roads in Salem go in circles
      and they lead me back to you.

      I’ve tried to set me wandering
      following any likely direction or fork,
      I’ve tried to break this cycle,
      but even by foot or bike – it just won’t work!

      It’s not that I follow my heart,
      everyday I fight it through & through.
      It’s just that every road in Salem goes in circles
      and every time it leads me back to you.

      Ariel

    47. JRSimmang says:

      I feel like crap today.
      Just put me in a tumbler
      and mix me into your drink.
      Swirl me in tight circles
      with your finger
      and wash me down your throat.
      Allow me to make your stomach ache,
      your heart race,
      your fever pitch and
      sweat drip
      from your perfectly
      round face.
      Allow me to be your
      poison and
      come full circle
      under you.

    48. My father
      told me
      when I
      was small
      I drew
      pages and
      pages of
      circles
      round and around
      up and down
      beginnings and endings
      together. I told
      him I was probably
      trying to write
      but he said no
      he didn’t think so
      not sharing what
      he thought I
      was really trying
      to do, the artist
      who had a recurring
      dream of trying
      to get back home
      told me that
      when I was little
      I drew pages
      and pages
      of circles.

    49. Circular

      Orange distant sphere
      dots background of never-end,
      turning birth to death

    50. RJ Clarken says:

      A Love Letter (which should have gone into the circular file)

      My love for you will never end
      and like a circle, will transcend…

      Ye gads! How trite! What have I penned?
      So glad I did not yet hit send.

      You are my love; you’re my best friend.
      We’re what the Fates did so intend…

      Such a (yuck!) pedestrian trend!
      So glad I did not yet hit send.

      Dearest, my heart you apprehend!
      I cannot lie, cannot pretend.

      What utter nonsense I dispend!
      So glad I did not yet hit send.

      In misery I should descend
      if ‘ere this message would offend.

      This message I should simply rend.
      Oh no! Oh crap! I just hit send.

      ###

    51. elishevasmom says:

      For R.P.

      Used to be, for all
      Those years, during all
      That time
      The weave of our friendship
      Ever-thickened with bonds of
      Trust.

      Used to be, I could always
      Count on you to pay rapt attention to my list
      Of ailments – before making carefully considered
      Comment (when necessary),
      But with patient silence often
      Curative enough.

      Used to be, we would spar and lunge –
      Block and parry, with words
      Our weapons.
      Both of us so intuitive to the power
      Of seemingly simple syllables;
      Their ability to conquer worlds.

      Used to be, we would square off, circling
      ‘Round each other ever seeking
      The cracks in the other’s armor
      Looking always to test them, to forge stronger
      Links – create surer bonds, for that
      Is the work of friends.

      Was a time, when controlling these
      Bouts of banter
      (Or perhaps just the illusion
      Of that control)
      Gave me an anchor amidst the
      Raging tides within my mind. And now…

      Now, here you are, (and I’m not quite sure how you got here)
      Like a comfortable old pair of
      Moccasins, just kickin’ around inside my head,
      Makin’ yourself right at home
      With all that other good stuff
      Like it’s alright.

      And you know what?
      Now, it is.

      Ellen Knight

    52. Isolation Circle

      Through years of Bible, though this may sound odd,
      I can see clearly how to tick off God.
      When you think of sin, if you do at all,
      You may think of pride, Adam and the fall.

      Or lust, greed, laziness, wrath, gluttony,
      Hate, disrespect, Sabbath breaking, envy,
      Thievery, blasphemy, adultery,
      Dishonesty, murder, idolatry.

      Or you may think self-centeredness is chief.
      You may get close with doubt and unbelief.
      Or not doing all the things you should do,
      Reaching out to less fortunate than you.

      To grieve God’s heart, draw a circle about
      you and all you love, and leave Jesus out.

    53. claudsy says:

      Everyone is moving right along and with wondrous results. Congrats, all. We’ve manage the first week of prompts.

      Today’s efforts for a circular poem.

      Mystery

      Such a tiny thing,
      This sphere of life
      Nestled with a cosmos
      Filled with other spheres,
      Other shapes, other purposes.

      Such a tiny thing,
      To hold a promise
      Massive enough to create
      Life made complex by
      Sharing a single breath.

      Such a tiny thing,
      To combine with a
      Tiny arrow of life from
      Without, forging union
      To bring forth a new being.

    54. DanielAri says:

      “Looking for a Thing”

      Molly’s wedding band glinted as she reached
      down to spin the Wheel of Fortune. “Come on,
      big money!” In person the flat disk seemed
      smaller than TV. “Tricky camera lens,”
      she thought as the wheel’s rainbow sections bleeped

      in a slowing rhythm that found an end
      in wild applause. Before her eyes, glinting,
      five thousand dollars. Pat gushed, “What a spin!
      Let’s see what you can do.” She touched her ring,
      thought of Bob, looked up at the squares, darkened

      but for one L, one C. She was blanking.
      What that money could do! She could get Paul
      full-sized drums now that he was outgrowing
      the youth set. She blinked: “I’ll buy a vowel.
      Is there an I?” Vanna White revealed one.

      “H?” Three of them—fifteen thousand total!
      “Pat, I’ll solve the puzzle: HIGH-HAT CYMBAL.”

    55. Casey says:

      Full Circle

      The houses are all changed since my return
      to that old neighborhood where we’d begun.
      The streets are patterned same, though houses stern;
      their colors paled, so long they’ve faced the sun.
      I heard our children’s laughter as they played
      I watched a game of dodge-ball in the street.
      I felt the warm winds of a summer day;
      I glanced into those faces, oh, so sweet.
      But sudden slaps the circle now in place:
      suspicious eyes do stare as I drive slow.
      My longing to go back and thus embrace;
      forbidden is that street for me to know.

      My darling love, our house; it is not there;
      though by your sweat and tears you would thus swear.

    56. Michael Grove says:

      2 Circles – 1 Ring

      Separate circles unite inside a protective ring of love.
      Passions and compassions shared as if from up above.
      No more cold, there’s only heat or warmth as it may be.
      2 circles inside the center of 1 ring for all to see.

      Let the circles overlap a little,
      or more or all the way if you do choose.
      Don’t ever try to shrink another circle
      or it’s pretty gosh darn likely you would loose.

      Independent lives can merge into a unique world.
      2 can be themselves yet become 1.
      Empathize, Communicate, Respect, Uplift, Adore.
      Then share and care and bare and have some fun.

      by Michael Grove

    57. IrisD says:

      Incarceration Carousel

      Midnight luggage search confounds
      International flight was so profound
      Baggage carousel continues around
      And around, suitcases abound
      Errant suitcase never found
      Now to office to get runaround

    58. jared davidavich says:

      redefining revolution

      a new light rose with the sun,
      striking the world differently
      than yesterday, or tomorrow,
      illuminating change-
      neither a singularity
      of reorganization,
      nor an epi-phenomenal
      response to chaos-
      but a new process,
      a systemic approach
      to understanding
      and solving problems
      that has led
      to the creation of
      and solution to
      ubiquitous discontent
      with the world that appears
      when eyes are opened today;
      a revolution of ideals
      no longer circular
      but a unidirectional journey
      towards progress

    59. Leo says:

      circle of dreams

      circle of dreams -
      I run the laps
      counting drops
      in the ocean

    60. PowerUnit says:

      A coffee cup, headphone ear cups, and the bottom of my glasses cleaner bottle
      all have something in common
      besides sitting on my desk.

      The empty cream cheese tub
      and that Mason jar with the purple seeds in it
      surround my station.

      I increase the volume
      of my radio
      by turning the big round knob.

      My simple apple basket
      holds an extra power cord
      and a stack of round beer coasters.

      My two light’s bases
      bookends of my work
      surround me with light.

      I work in a circular world
      a ring of random spheres
      is it any wonder I can’t think straight?

    61. Domino says:

      How to Have Fun

      With a loop, metal or plastic
      or even made of pipecleaner,
      dip in the soapy water
      and blow through the
      circular
      hole
      forming
      bubbles.

      Sometimes one
      giantenormoushumongous
      bubble
      and sometimes just a few
      little ones jumping out,
      solitary and staid,
      and sometimes
      a long skein of bubbles
      flying forth in a crazy-long
      line, tangling
      mixing together and joining/separating
      randomly.

      The dog will try to bite them,
      more serious than playful:
      they are his mortal enemy.

      The cat will be curious,
      of course,
      and reach delicately with nose
      or paw
      and once splattered
      will scatter
      to a corner to (huffily)
      clean the moisture
      away.

      The children will laugh and giggle
      try to catch or pop
      or herd
      the bubbles,
      always begging for more,
      more,
      or
      let me try!!

      Diana Terrill Clark

    62. DAHutchison says:

      This Globe

      Behold.
      Heaven and earth,
      Carved from Nothing,
      A single, master carpenter,
      All-knowing and meticulous,
      Ever-mindful of our hearts,
      He grants us all free-will,
      We spin from His orbit,
      This was the plan.
      A house that can
      Have more angles than
      its omnipotent architect.
      A single… master… carpenter.

    63. Domino says:

      Circular Thinking

      Before I learned better,
      my thoughts often took
      detours
      when I least expected it.

      I would be grocery shopping
      or gardening,
      or getting dressed,
      and my thoughts would wander
      into some bizarre “what-if”
      territory.

      I would think, “what if
      the reason my husband was
      late last night was really because
      he’s having an affair?”

      From there, the train of
      (un)reason would wander
      the countryside,
      making up
      imagining
      discovering
      scenarios that became more
      and more
      likely
      as the day passed.

      By evening, I would be
      so worked up, that when my husband
      finally got home again,
      I would demand an explanation
      for his behavior.

      And his answer would be
      bafflement.

      And I simply had to learn:
      Just because it happened before
      does not mean it will happen
      again.

      And I had to learn to break
      that cycle,
      that devious circle,
      believing my own wayward
      thoughts
      as if they were true
      and real
      without any outside
      confirmation.

      And that is why I write
      novels.

      Diana Terrill Clark

    64. CIRCLING BACK

      Two ravens circle overhead. Trees
      are silent, a breathing, speechless
      chorus. That print I found in mud –
      a mammoth foot with claws. Bear.

      My old dog trots down the road,
      focused on finding Linda,
      who walked this way not long
      ago. And the barefoot print?

      We cross a brushy gully, my pup
      goes wild – spring sprung
      back to prehistoric; clock whirled
      in reverse. I yank her back.

      We continue on trail; far uphill
      my dogs discover Linda hiding.
      Ravens are gone. The forest
      spins on a barefoot track.

    65. JanetRuth says:

      LIfe’s Merry-go-round

      First a smile, then ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’
      Then before we know it we’ve made a friend or two
      But just as we begin to know more than their names
      Instead of ‘hello’ it is good-bye again

      If I could then I would if a way could be found
      I’d grab on and slow down this merry-go-round
      But we all climb back up and ride for a while
      Until it’s good-bye and a farewell smile

      We share our triumphs and sometimes our sorrow
      Tell them of dreams in a hopeful tomorrow
      We laugh together and shed tears when they cry
      Then suddenly, just like that…it’s good-bye

      If I could I would stop this merry-go-round
      But it seems to this merciless circle we’re bound
      For almost before our tears are dried
      We dare to climb on for another ride

      Why do we fail to treasure today?
      But wait ‘til we see someone walking away
      And then, how our hearts over-flow with pain
      To know we may never see them here again

      If I could, then I would stop this merry-go-round
      But I can’t seem to bring this moving circle aground
      So I climb back up, forget that I cried
      Smile, say ‘hello’ and go for a ride

    66. Marjory MT says:

      SEEDS (loop)

      Children scurry to collect bean seeds
      Seeds from the garden for their mom,
      Mom, who stores the beans for spring.
      Spring time is time for planting
      Planting in the big garden
      Garden where the green bean grow
      Grow up wires stretched on tall poles
      Poles that march down long rows
      Rows filled with vegetables
      Vegetables that they love to eat
      Eat fresh from the vine or leave to dry
      Dry to become next years bean seeds
      Seeds that children scurry to collect.

      ….* * *

      Would love to comment individually, there are some really wonderful poems written already. Wonderful way to kick off the day by reading them

      Viv, Jerry, Mariya, Andrew, Marile, Ben, Walt, Nimue, Dan, Glory, RJ ,Janet – GREAT POEMING. :)

    67. JanetRuth says:

      …of life-circles and choices

      We serve, Creator or created
      Before dust returns to dust
      Whether prince, priest or pauper
      We must choose whom we trust

      The leaders of earth rise
      Transient they fall
      There is One, Supreme Being
      Above us all

      From our very first cry
      As He grants us breath
      We know, you and I
      Will someday face death

      And as we choose Whom to serve
      In life’s brief circle we
      Choose not for mere Time
      But for eternity

    68. DJ says:

      Loops of her hair tumble in spirals
      Falling in muted clouds
      Floating beyond
      Into the sphere
      Of all unknown

    69. RJ Clarken says:

      Circular logic
      is the best logic because
      it is circular.

    70. RJ Clarken says:

      Circular Logic

      “Contrariwise,” continued Tweedledee, “if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn’t, it ain’t. That’ s logic.” ~Lewis Carroll

      If it were so (to state my case)
      it might well be (said with straight face.)
      But logic is a pretzel twist
      and since that’s so…you get the gist.

      We can go round and round the course,
      ride circles on a hobby horse,
      but all this is just mills for grist,
      and since that’s so…you get the gist.

      You say this make no sense, but I
      detect a sphere of s’fear. But why?
      I’m kidding now (I can’t resist)
      and since that’s so…you get the gist.

      A circle is mythology,
      contrariwise, per Tweedledee.
      It’s what the ouroborus kissed.
      And since that’s so…you get the gist.

    71. Glory says:

      Memories (circular poem)
      (Day 7)

      Round and around memories within my head
      of days long gone, days I spent with you.
      Forgotten, the tears, your hash words
      your coldness that broke my spirit,
      the way you harried away, didn’t turn back,
      never to return, only in my head
      where round and around spin memories of you.

    72. Train through Tuscany

      Steel train wheels under
      catechizing rhetoric
      washed in Tuscan cloud

    73. Nimue says:

      Day in, day out,
      stuck on same thought,
      sometimes let out,
      liek a sigh,never aloud.

      Numerous calls
      and as many blinking pings
      i ask it no more
      you answer me still.

      Muted conversations
      between the sheets,
      the decision hangs in middle
      tossed away for time being.

      Day in,day out,
      stuck with the routine
      meet,smile and part.
      till next time maybe.

    74. After Years and Years of Practice

      Here I am, I’m primed and willing
      Ready with my scrumptious filling
      Now, for once, if I could just
      Make a flakey, golden crust.

    75. Nimue says:

      Awesome response Robert !

    76. I can always write about leaves,
      fallow and fawn,
      rust and umber,
      their sound, amplified it seems,
      crushing
      under my feet,
      reaching my ears
      with percussive sounds
      like cymbals crashing and hissing.
      The wind winds through
      adding a texture to the sounds
      just as I pass a playground
      in full orchestra,
      children’s voices carried
      and twirled about,
      twined together
      as one instrument
      punctuated
      by the occasional staccato shriek.
      I tap out a beat on my thigh
      as I let my ear buds dangle,
      and my feet shuffle
      through the next pile of leaves.
      I can always write about leaves.

    77. *****
      Whenever I reach back
      To remember you and me,
      Hand in hand, strolling in the park
      I have to turn my gaze and see
      My little one
      Remind me of myself,
      Hand in hand with Daddy.

      Her lovely chestnut curls,
      Her shiny eyes like olives,
      Her tiny hand in grip of mine,
      Her slender body curled asleep
      Just next to me,
      Remind me of myself
      and you, Dad.

      The circle is complete.
      ***

    78. unseen

      it takes great courage
      to remove a wedding ring
      each day before work
      but perhaps twice as much to
      put it on again at night

      • ah, what a predicament ;-)

        (If I don’t post any more comments, it’s not because I don’t read or have nothing to say, but because of that ugly comments posting gremlin that accuses people of posting too quickly, which is just his/her stupid excuse to be ugly to us)

        phew, 12th attempt

    79. BACK TO THE BEGINNING

      It’s a start.
      A jumping off point
      for all you have conceived.
      If you believed you had the power
      you could shower the world
      with your point of view.
      It’s up to you to see
      what you could do.
      It’s a start.

    80. Ber says:

      Inner Circle

      Oh my cirlce
      its is so good
      it protects me
      it lets me live
      nothing else is like it
      it always wants to give

      There for one another
      through the good times
      and the bad
      knowing when the other
      is feeling down and sad

      Helping hands
      there for the other to see
      letting each other
      be who they want to be

      Stories exchanged
      lives combined
      friends for ever
      even through the stormy weather

      Circles can all come in different sizes
      big and small
      protecting us and loving us
      loving arms around us
      and all

      So let your circle in
      let them know who you are
      they will be with you for life
      never needing you to set the bar

    81. viv says:

      I cheated – wrote it a while back. But I’ve been writing since 6am and it’s 2.17 now, my back and brain are aching.

    82. JWLaviguer says:

      Circling Back

      The lives we’ve lived
      and the loves we’ve loved
      interconnect like a magician’s hoops

      Seemingly linked
      but just an illusion
      we’ve pretended made sense

      You used to be there for me
      but when I needed you most
      your heart was an empty black hole

      Now, as i spiral into infinity
      like a dead goldfish
      You flushed me down and away

      But like the mythical Phoenix
      I will rise again
      And ride the carousel of love again

    83. viv says:

      Great circular poem, Robert. Serves you right for stopping up?

      IT DOESN’T MATTER

      I really do not want
      to treat as inevitable
      the vulnerability of the tangible.

      Concrete crumbles, an old oak tumbles,
      morphs from glorious might
      into a habitat for beetles.

      I prefer to ignore the evanescence
      of endangered species,
      not excluding me.

      Safer to consider ephemera,
      fleetingly collectible -
      bus tickets, opera programmes,

      postcards and stamps, signatures
      of the soon-forgotten famous,
      nevermore regarded;

      shards of glass and pot,
      disinterred and then discarded;
      the daily dross of newspapers.

      Better far to observe with pleasure
      the pop of a rainbowed bubble -
      no struggle -

      or the plop of a stone into a pool,
      as widening circles coalesce
      into a liquid frill and de-materialise.

    84. Nice prompt, and great poem, Robert!

      This one calls for a concrete from Walt, I’d say. ;)

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