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2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 1

Categories: Poetry Challenge 2013, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog, What's New.

The April PAD (Poem-A-Day) Challenge is designed to help poets do one thing and one thing only: Write more poems! The process of revision may go on for weeks, months, and years later, but this challenge is all about getting that first draft. Please poem along with us–either in the comments below or silently at home.

For today’s prompt, write a new arrival poem. The new arrival could be a baby or a person. The new arrival might be a car or other piece of technology. Heck, the new arrival might be an idea or poem. (Btw, if you’re a new arrival to the site and this challenge, take a peak below about commenting.)

Here’s my attempt at a new arrival poem:

“new girls”

new girls stop by every other week
it seems now she’s not paying attention
as if she cared they would quit arriving

quit driving her insane with their voices
rising through her wood floors batting their eyes
so hard she can hear them upon her door

to find his door is around the back way
o so sorry they say thinking who’s she
anyway only to then be replaced

by another before long as if she
even notices distracted as she
is by record albums and damn good books


Publish Your Poetry!

The 2013 Poet’s Market has one purpose: Help poets publish their poems. The 2013 edition includes articles on the craft, business, and promotion of poetry. It offers 20 brand new poems by contemporary poets and hundreds of publishing opportunities with listings for book publishers, magazines and journals, contests and awards, grants, and more! Click to continue.


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Quick note on commenting: Please always save a copy on your computer. There have been moments in the past in which comments have disappeared, and I don’t want anyone to lose their work. Heck, I’ve lost some of my work here in the past, and it’s not a great feeling. That said, commenting here is a lot of fun, especially in April. If you’re completely new to the site, you’ll be asked to register (don’t worry, it’s free), and your comments might not appear initially until I manually accept them. However, after that initial phase, your comments should appear without my help.

Want some more poeming fun? Check out these previous Poetic Asides posts:

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About Robert Lee Brewer

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518 Responses to 2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 1

  1. clarior says:

    ⠀⠀⠀⠀Let’s at least tape buds
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀on that tree that didn’t last…
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Make like spring’s coming.

  2. bookworm0341 says:

    OK. I have been doing the challenge since Day 1, but could not log on for several days to post my poems. I created a new username and voila! now I can get on :) It’s great to be back… all the talent that I have been reading… I’ve been so blessed by all of your poems! So here goes with my catch up posts:

    “New Arrival”

    My phone has been
    joined to my hip for days!
    her arrival.

    Aria Bernadette
    a song to my ears
    The 5th joy of my heart
    When I thought it could not
    hold any more love
    Only two days old
    Sweet little love bug
    Auntie loves all of her little “bugs”

    Dedicated to all of my nieces and nephews: Machaela (ladybug), Wally (fire fly), Willow (butterfly),
    Meadow (bumble bee) and now Aria (love bug)!

  3. conb618 says:

    New Arrival

    Once he was our new arrival,
    scrawny, tiny, and pink
    next to his big brother.
    Another face, another link.

    He was the last piece of the puzzle.
    He made our family complete.
    He had his Momma’s smile,
    (but he had his Daddy’s feet.)

    He’s no baby anymore, of course.
    Although he once sat upon my knee,
    now he reaches things on the top shelf
    and hands them down to me.

    A letter came from the university
    welcoming their new arrivals to the school.
    He will soon be joining them.
    Passing time can be so cruel.

    Older brother has moved away.
    Our household now numbers three,
    but before long, there will be just two
    in our shrinking family tree.

    We are all of us coming and going
    with the arrival of each new day.
    Trying to find where we are supposed to be.
    Trying to find our way.

    I guess it’s his turn to buy a ticket.
    He has the big, wide world to greet.
    I take comfort in knowing he’ll do it
    while wearing his Momma’s smile
    and walking with his Daddy’s feet.

  4. Sharon says:

    Catching up

    First light

    The day arrives
    Am I ready? NOT.
    Good to go,
    Oh what rot.
    More to do
    Than I can take
    Less time to do it
    I’m barely awake!

    First light II

    From incandescent red
    Shot through with light
    Yellow orange bright
    Flaming across the dark of dawn
    First light pierced with an errant ray
    Changing hues, surging into day.
    Morning comes.
    And I breathe anew.
    Today is mine.

  5. Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    New catalogue in today’s mail —
    vast beds of bearded iris,
    in rainbow tinctures the gush factor of 10.
    Fingers slip and tremble
    at each turn of glossy-stock page.

    – Autumn Circus
    Blueberry Bliss
    Cowboy Caviar –

    A little sun, a little drainage
    plus a haircut at summer’s end
    is all the maintenance needed
    (promises the ad) for a
    watercolor carnival ride.

    – Venetian Glass
    Grand Canyon Sunset
    Cherry Blossom Song –

    Some are tall and statuesque,
    while others demure lilliputians,
    curlicues with color burst aprons
    and velvety throats fragrantly lit.
    Swirly petticoats further seal the deal.

    –Maui Moonlight
    Yaquina Blue
    Yosemite Nights
    Willamette Mists –

    Aristocrat rhizomes with multiple stems,
    garden bloom re-imaginings
    to rival any O’Keefe painting.
    Oh shimmery illuminatas,
    I simply must have you!

    © 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  6. k weber says:

    make no mistake

    they put me into boxes
    with the throw
    pillows and all my shoes
    and even my only love
    was there to send me
    across that dirty, frothing river
    to make sure i didn’t drown
    the first time i crossed
    and crossed out
    state lines

    – k weber

  7. Jezzie says:

    New Arrival

    He’s arrived! I know he’s so full of fun,
    but start today as you mean to go on:
    put everything small out of his reach;
    and get some doggy rules ready to teach.
    Ignore his big brown eyes begging for more
    or he will put on weight, of that I’m sure

    You can take him with you to the pet store,
    but do not give him all that he begs for.
    All that he needs is food, love and walking
    and he’ll listen to you when you’re talking.
    He’ll need a nice warm bed in his own room,
    he doesn’t need to be in your bedroom!

    Put away those fattening doggy treats,
    keep him close by your side while in the streets,
    but you can let him run loose in the park,
    only keep him away from dogs that bark
    and make sure that you clean up after him
    and throw his mess into the doggy bin.

    You’ll have a good companion for life:
    he’ll stay by your side through every strife;
    he’ll be honest faithful, loyal and true,
    and he will watch everything that you do.
    Treat him well and you will get your reward:
    he will be your friend, your pet and your guard.

    Of course, my first poem for this challenge just had to be a doggy one, just after I lost one of my own dogs!

  8. A new arrival

    A story

    Lo and behold, tis out of its fold
    The untold story, the details flowery
    Has everyone enthralled, no children bawled
    All are listening, hearing and feeling
    Their eyes are moist, and their lips in smiles fold
    At times they detest the humour so cold
    They cry out in Joy for the Hero’s winning blow
    Their hearts flutter and dip, at the story’s tenor
    They welcome this chance and in Fear they clamour
    In Happiness they hold hands, ride imaginary horses with valour
    With sketches etched bright in their hearts and their mind,
    They revel in this moment, t’was a story telling of a kind

  9. vsbryant1 says:

    New Beginnings

    Today is the day of new beginnings
    New journeys, new roads, new experiences
    Today is the day for new joys
    New happiness, new sadness, new lost and new love
    Today is the da of new beginnings
    My day, your day, our day
    …a new day

  10. burrhead says:

    Your brother bought a shotgun
    Flat-black, short and menacing
    To kill an unknown threat
    To ward off ghost in the dark
    Things he cannot see
    Other people have them
    They say to protect
    He gave his new shotgun a name
    Called it Black Betty
    Not sure I understand

    I dreamt you leaned over
    Your sweater rose
    Exposing your delicate perfect skin
    But wait, what is this new thing I see
    Instead of a common tramp stamp
    You have a tattoo of a shotgun
    And lettering Black Betty
    Things are getting out of hand

  11. A new arrival
    A Story
    Lo and behold, tis out of its fold
    The untold story, the details flowery
    Has everyone enthralled, no children bawled
    All are listening, hearing and feeling
    Their eyes are moist, and their lips in smiles fold
    At times they detest the humour so cold
    They cry out in Joy for the Hero’s winning blow
    Their hearts flutter and dip, at the story’s tenor
    They welcome this chance and in Fear they clamour
    In Happiness they hold hands, ride imaginary horses with valour
    With sketches etched bright in their hearts and their mind,
    They revel in this moment, t’was a story telling of a kind

  12. Roxy says:


    I heard her cries
    right before sunrise.
    My baby girl had arrived.

    Joy swept through the entire room
    and I was so happy
    to have shared this experience
    yet again
    with you.

    The new girl in the neighborhod.
    A new girl they’d have to get used to.
    Another girl we’d teach to take over the world.
    The latest girl who’d taken our breaths away,

    Yes, she’s the new girl
    but probably won’t be the last.


  13. profal29 says:

    Nights Alone

    short sweet strong
    tandem, long hauls across country roads
    of barren lands and sweet fields of gold
    arrives, unloads

  14. Feary says:


    Would the caterpillar inside a chrysalis,
    Changing into a butterfly
    Be rebirth?

    Would a baby plant,
    Sprouting out of the fresh earth,
    Be rebirth?

    Would the sun rising up,
    Over our beautiful planet,
    Be rebirth?

    Or would it simply be
    the musical sound
    of laughter?

  15. EbenAt says:

    New Again

    Same streets
    More or less.

    That funky triangular building
    for posterity.

    Black and whites
    are blue and
    You ain’t in ‘em.

    This is
    a face transplant;
    same voice,
    different head.

    But the grass still
    knows me,
    And I,
    the hills.

  16. wordsweneversaid says:


    Show me a child who has asked that it be born
    into an aching grief that must then share its joy
    with too few whispered words once sung both clear and loud
    now left to hold a place for those who mourn
    a life and love that even death will not destroy.
    A sacrificial tapestry – word woven shroud…
    Wrapped warmly, yet – what peace is there to lend
    to loved ones huddled close beneath the coming cloud?
    What calm or comfort could it possibly employ
    save one – that death is not an end…
    Just show me that child.

  17. “Death of a Son.”

    Everyone saw,
    Her eyes hollowing
    Her lips drawing thin
    She never used to be this way.
    But her dear son paved the way.

    She could feel him
    His fingers scratching its way across
    The empty crevices of her heart.

    He pours fire into her veins,
    And turns the whole world
    A shade insane

    Her screams crawl up her throat
    Up and out.
    He pulls tears out of her eyes,
    And words of spite from her lungs.

    Between her heart and her eyes,
    She tells everyone who will hear.
    The anger, the hatred,
    The mother of the fated.

    She’s a mother twice-scorned.
    With all the world to mourn.
    “It’s not me! I swear!
    It’s not me, It can’t be
    I don’t like this new me.
    Who is she? Who is she? “

  18. wordsweneversaid says:


    Show me a child who has asked that it be born
    into an aching grief that must then share its joy
    with too few whispered words once sung both clear and loud
    now left to hold a place for those who mourn
    a life and love that even death will not destroy.
    A sacrificial tapestry – word woven shroud…
    Wrapped warmly, yet – what peace is there to lend
    to loved ones huddled close beneath the coming cloud?
    What calm or comfort could it possibly employ
    save one – that death is not an end…
    Just show me a child.

  19. bellestarr12 says:


    It’s scary to be the new kid,
    to feel all those eyes on you,
    checking you out.
    Will they think you’re cool?
    Will anyone want to be your friend?
    Even if you are cool, you may wonder
    if you still will be, in this new place.
    It’s even scarier to think
    no one might bother to notice
    you at all, that you might
    have to eat your lunch all by yourself.

    It’s good to be the new kid,
    making a fresh start, with the chance
    to re-invent yourself as someone
    brand new, even to yourself,
    taking the chance to start over
    where no one knows anything
    about you except
    what you choose to tell them.

    It’s going to happen over and over again, you know,
    all your life, even when you’re old.
    Somewhere, sometime, many many times,
    you’re going to feel like the new kid.
    At least I hope so.
    New places, new people, new things to do,
    scary and exciting chances to start over,
    to become a new you in large ways and small.

    Change or die, baby.

    Inside your body, cells are constantly dying
    and new ones are being born.
    You’re going to be a new person anyway.
    You may as well enjoy it.

  20. CiscoRose says:

    Angels Fall

    One may hear the phrase,
    “May you walk with the angels”,
    but should we blithely embrace the concept?
    Which angels should we walk with,
    and where exactly are they going?
    One must inquire as to the angel’s agenda,
    its’ political leanings,
    its’, shall we say, raison d’être
    For apparently, angels fall.
    Don’t we all?

  21. Nadienne says:

    [a sci-fi poem]

    Mutant: Blood-Borne Pathogen

    A one-scratch-transfer was enough. I’m sorry.
    This cutting poison, predator complex,
    this hunting blood is now yours, too.
    Welcome to my nightmare, human shield.
    Welcome to my nightmare, decoy,
    landmine. I can’t hide my intentions from you,
    can’t hide anything from you. No one can.
    Their thoughts will, like slivers, / prick
    wherever your mind is.
    Even before your skin greens.
    Then the hunt will begin. It won’t last long.
    You’ll let the Ministers find you.
    They’ll smile like friends and hold you
    with double-latex gloves. Free rent,
    seasoned food, wine when you’re good—
    best of all, your handlers will have learned
    to sing nonsense tunes in their heads
    when they take your blood. You could live
    a year / in this place. I am so, so sorry.
    But I will come back for you.

  22. Mel Lewis says:


    Poor Ella.

    Trapped in a one-sided conversation
    with her new husband’s sister.
    “You work? That’s stupid. 
    With welfare and food stamps, 
    I watch T.V. all day.”

    And there goes Uncle Jake –
    Watch him drag the back of his hand across her ass
    as he squeezes past her 
    on his way outside to smoke weed.
    “Sorry, Sugar. It’s a little tight in here.”

    Little Jeffrey stabs her hard in the back
    with a plastic sword.
    Her new father-in-law
    screams at his young second wife
    when he learns she made macaroni salad
    instead of potato.

    Poor Ella.

    Her hubbie won’t save her.
    He’s hiding in the den,
    watching the ball game
    with the dogs.
    But she’ll learn.

    A few more holidays
    and she’ll realize
    that the safest place
    is in the corner
    with those of us who married into
    those of us who ignored advice
    to meet the whole family
    before saying
    “I do.”

  23. stepstep says:


    Every day something new and exciting erupts from his soul
    So he can share his world’s view to
    Explore each and every avenue
    To create a story, I am told.

    This story entails the differences of life
    Every day, each and every week
    He’d make a live, informal speech
    Newborn conversations spring up for keeps.

    This story will create and fascinate
    Involves the old as well as the young,
    His conversation will create
    Serious ideas and great fun.


  24. New Arrival

    The cardboard box is one
    of the most nondescript
    I have ever seen, and yet
    it holds something
    unspeakably precious, for
    which I have waited
    and waited, mostly
    impatient and always
    eager. Bubbled wrappings
    drift to the floor—soap-
    suds in suspended
    animation—and I swipe
    at tears to keep them
    from falling on the cover
    of a book emblazoned
    with my very own name.

  25. Nita G Isenhour says:

    Couldn’t log in the past couple of days. Suddenly, the comment box is here!

    Bad News Comes

    How many years since that first bad news came?
    Since then I’ve heard it from too many friends
    Didn’t expect it attached to her name.
    Guess cancer gets everyone in the end.
    That colonoscopy was her first one.
    She dreaded the prep, but soldiered on through.
    And felt pretty good when it was all done
    ‘til the doctor said ‘Ma’am, bad news for you,
    we found a tumor, it needs to come out.”
    The phone calls started – a surgeon to choose –
    so many decisions – so full of doubt.
    “Neat*, when should I tell the fam’ly the news?”

    So, now we wait, just my sister and me,
    to see how much longer her life will be.

    (*Neat has been her nickname for me since we were kids)

    April 1, 2013
    PAD prompt #1 – new arrival in sonnet form

  26. Marjory MT says:

    REBIRTH (Lune – Syllables, 5-3-5)

    Dawning of new day
    promises foretold.

    Kneeling, humbly lift
    open hands,
    naked heart to God.

    Life unfurls, reaching
    for the Son,
    seeking direction.

    Finding the well-spring
    of love, hope,
    joy and lasting peace

  27. Darryl Willis says:

    Prompt: New Arrival

    April Fool

    This year April first is the day
    that follows the Resurrection.
    McCartney’s fool could appreciate
    the irony. (Not the Maharishi
    but the mysterious figure who walked
    with him on Primrose Hill and disappeared.)

    From here you can see the world’s revolution:
    the final departure and new arrival.
    The world is forever ending and waiting
    for re-creation and resurrection.
    While only the Fool on the primrose hill
    can clearly see things as they are.

  28. Margot Suydam says:

    After Elliot in New England

    April is the cruelest month:
    It arrives with storms in its mouth

    still gregarious with winter’s boast
    the one that whipped us all clean

    with delegations of white crying too
    much at such back breaking speed.

    Now we climb the fence and perch
    as warm winds toggle day by day

    with cool breezes lest we forget those
    wretched insults the weather spoke.

    Yet, color now pushes through this bare
    ground, finally unfrozen from its iced nap.


    Gleeful trees awaken

    to spring fresh air

    green peppy leaves in a stir

    lively branches extend their sleeves

    happy wiggling root toes

    all in a blur

    Whew-hew caught up with day one!
    Yeah baby!

  30. identity says:

    Songs of Silence

    Songs of silence in the night
    Echo through my soul
    Cloaked illusions disappear
    Glistening worlds unfold

  31. RJ Clarken says:

    In the Post

    “All good things arrive unto them that wait – and don’t die in the meantime.” ~Mark Twain

    I hear the rumble of his truck:
    the postman wends his way towards me.
    I wait and wonder what might be…
    and hope today is filled with luck.

    I tell myself, “Let’s show some pluck.”
    I hold my breath expectantly.
    The postman wends his way towards me.
    I hear the rumble of his truck.

    Perhaps I seem a bit star-struck,
    but when the mail arrives, a plea
    is what I say (‘though, silently.)
    Then – rats! It’s bills. Or ads to chuck.
    …I hear the rumble of his truck…


  32. UshaLParadise says:

    Both ears rapt, the left one twitches.
    A tail – suspended – flicks and swishes.
    Beneath the couch, green eyes gleam.
    What’s in the bag is yet unseen.

    One paw emerges, then another;
    Crouching, creeping, she is uncovered.
    Closer now, she sniffs the air;
    She licks her lips and sidles near.

    But soft, she now applies a paw;
    Then all at once: claw, claw, claw!
    She rips and shreds, pulls with her teeth –
    She must find what is underneath!

    Finally, her work is done –
    She pauses to release a yawn.
    Lazily, she looks around
    To find her prize, newly unbound.

    “That’s it? A box of doggie treats?
    I’ll work my vengeance on their feets!”
    She stares at them, her hatred clear
    And saunters off. “They best beware…”

  33. PhantomPhan1881 says:

    So this is late, but I wrote this for a friend:

    For Your New Arrival (a pantoum)

    After months of anticipation,
    you finally arrived late one night.
    We were happy to welcome our son
    with a healthy weight and perfect height.

    You finally arrived late one night,
    starting your life with a small cry,
    with a healthy weight and perfect height.
    I opened my arms to hold my guy,

    starting your life with a small cry.
    Our little bundle of perfection,
    I opened my arms to hold my guy.
    Welcome, Xavier, our first born son.

  34. PhantomPhan1881 says:

    So this is pretty much a day late, but here is my poem to yesterday’s prompt, which I wrote for a friend:

    For Your New Arrival (a pantoum)

    After months of anticipation,
    you finally arrived late one night.
    We were happy to welcome our son
    with a healthy weight and perfect height.

    You finally arrived late one night,
    starting your life with a small cry,
    with a healthy weight and perfect height.
    I opened my arms to hold my guy,

    starting your life with a small cry.
    Our little bundle of perfection,
    I opened my arms to hold my guy.
    Welcome, Xavier, our first born son.

  35. alana sherman says:

    If it’s april it must be spring.

    April’s Here

    The tulips’ green
    and tender thumbs
    shove up through
    winter’s detritus.
    Robins arrive to spite
    snow and the calendar,
    driven by light, the sun or stars,
    and magnetism. Even the canna
    and amaryllis in pots under
    the sink, unwatered all winter long
    launch spindly leaves.
    The fierce knowledge
    that life will give
    what it will give
    and we will take it
    and in our turn be taken
    all of that gets pushed aside
    with the chickadees
    and pussywillows.
    Though I know it will
    happen, this fresh and promise,
    the blue glorious sky
    and brilliant abundance
    still startles me.


  36. elishevasmom says:

    Orphan Child

    Too much time spent
    between worlds.
    One of sleep,
    dreams or not it matters
    little. The other awake,
    a head filled with voices,
    peering out from behind
    the asymmetrical lace
    curtains of madness—each
    unable to communicate
    with the world outside,
    because they so easily
    distract each other and
    none of them has a pencil.

    Ellen Knight 4.1.13
    write a communication poem

  37. Susan Budig says:

    Dance of the Crocodile

    She has arrived
    With her blue-devils spilling tears
    She has arrived
    Disheveled, she appears contrived
    We, insouciant, yet her peers
    Wisely shy from her artful gears
    She has arrived

    (A rondelet, which is the prompt over at my poetry contest.)

    • CiscoRose says:

      I loved this… and the form was new to me, thank you. I checked out your poetry contest, wrote a rondelet, and then was unable to post, since I cannot join Gather! So, here is my poem:

      In the garden
      Blossoms blush from bees’ sweet kisses
      In the garden
      Fecund soil welcomes waters’ charm
      Emerald, sapphire and topaz
      From leaf to flower to rich fruit
      In the garden

  38. Evefulton says:

    Hi I’m new here, and new to poetry, hope it’s ok to post for a previous day’s prompt. I did write this on the 1st but didn’t get chance to post it.

    A New Poem

    My poem was not born in an afternoon
    It did not come sliding from me fully formed
    With perfect fingers and toes
    for me to admire

    I built it
    word upon word
    line upon line
    and took it apart like Lego bricks
    and started again
    and again
    and again

  39. Lynn Burton says:

    Red silken threads
    weave a cloak
    around my heart.
    Milky white limbs
    fold you in an embrace
    I can only long for.
    with their still sharp edges,
    slide across my own skin
    and I wonder,
    does she taste me on your lips?

  40. Michelle Hed says:


    On the front step,
    waiting for you,
    a package.
    Filled with anticipation
    you open the package
    and inhale the fresh scent
    of a new book.

  41. Miss R. says:


    She bursts onto the scene,
    Pen poised,
    Only to discover
    That her most precious metaphors
    Are common gravel,
    Her ingenious imagery
    The dross of real poetry.
    She tears down the altar
    To build again more sacredly.

  42. hohlwein says:

    Coming home

    there is the toast, uneaten
    dried stiff but buttery still
    the bouquet – camellias
    all but one fallen like soft
    dresses to the table
    the mail stuffed in the box
    all asking for money
    but one
    with my name on it
    – thank goodness

    “Blue Skies”

    early to bed,
    still moving from travel,
    my exhales animate the dead air around me
    the familiar sheets
    touch me
    I dream of a butterfly collection
    I do not have
    of needing to return
    a monarch to its crystal case
    before anyone knows
    I have it, fluttering, in my hand.

    In the morning I stand on my porch.
    My neighbor is walking her dog
    and the cats that were born under my back stairs
    that I didn’t want
    dart out of bushes to follow her.
    Good life.
    The unfolding of stories –
    the growing of things –

    awake early
    my body expects New York
    expects to see bare branches
    pressing back the buds of Spring
    expects a world of nothing but potential

    But here, in my California,
    the leaves have already pushed past
    the almond blossoms,
    the shadow of the mighty oak
    has camoflauged itself in the exact color of the hill
    and so vanished
    and my life, it seems,
    as I walk through it like a stranger
    is here,
    I can see that,
    and has been largely

  43. LadyBspittin'datpoetry says:

    Im late, but I wanted to post it anyway lol

    The arrival….

    Today a toolbox arrived in my stomach
    Steel drawers are opening
    Pressed against my navel
    Someone is hammering at my abdomen
    As if they’re trying to chisel a 6-pack
    Yet I just feel bloated
    Its metal corners are piercing my sides
    I think the pliers have latched onto my spleen
    There is a staple gun attacking my back
    Someone has been screwing and unscrewing strained nails all night
    Just find a place to hang your misery and leave
    I’m sure there are 8 wires wrapped around my kidney
    And something leveling my Pancreas
    This toolbox brought a jackhammered tongue and an emotional pendulum too
    For months now someone has been coming to gut my inner warehouse
    And today the toolbox arrived in my stomach.

    ©Brion Gill

  44. xois says:

    I enjoyed reading all the responses. Here is my try – This is still a draft…few cliches need fixing…

    For Sale

    He was surprised when it arrived:
    It came wrapped
    in plain craft paper
    the color of grammar school lunch bags
    and homemade book covers
    He didn’t even know they made
    craft paper anymore.

    It was tied with what looked like
    baker’s twine
    and the address label was peeled
    and torn at one corner
    the “C” missing
    from his first name,
    stuck, no doubt, on the bottom
    of someone else’s package

    He plucked idly at the twine
    and enjoyed the soft thwack
    it made against the paper wrapping.

    The box was small
    heavy enough to prop a door.
    During the week it had taken to arrive, he
    has settled a few scores, cleared space,
    dusted, and arranged
    (3rd shelf on his bookcase
    The spot near his two first edition copies
    of Das Glasperlenspiel).

    He moved his hand over the brown paper
    enjoying its roughness.

    He picked up his knife
    (the one his girl liked to feel
    against the inside of her thigh)
    and sliced the twine.
    It snapped back frightened.

    The knife carefully lifted the corners
    of the brown paper, and his sure hands
    opened the paper in one whole piece
    The smooth red lacquered
    box felt warm. He found the key
    and wound it.

    The tiny captive
    spun to the tuned teeth
    of “The Magic Flute.”

    He shut the box
    and placed it, perfectly,
    on his shelf.

  45. mariaphoenix says:

    Sun catches the vibrant full bleed
    I have to touch it
    Run my fingers along the stapled spine
    Slide my check over the soft finish
    Oh look, a piece of my hair clings to the cover!
    Friction forces and coerces every titillated atom in my fingers to reveal the unsullied panels within
    Inhale the undeniably woody smell of calcium carbonates and waterproof resins protecting every caption, bubble, gutter, symbolia and onomatopoeia
    “Excuse me can I help you?”
    Jolt from pleasure to embarrassment.
    Shit. I been caught. Recover. Compose.
    “Yes. I would like to purchase this.”
    “We just got this in this morning. Good series. Good choice.”
    Gross understatement, Chump. Be nice. He is being nice. Crack a smile at least.
    He gingerly slips the book into a paper bag.
    Crack smile.
    Briffits and hites trail my departure
    Plewds spring off my forehead
    Must get home. Must indulge. Must escape. Must read.
    Graciously I say, long live free-comic-book day!

  46. IrisD says:

    Peeping through the soft earth
    Your green arms emerge first
    Next your bonnet begins to unfurl
    Its yellow lace begs to emerge
    Hail maiden daffodil, hail
    You announce that spring has begun

  47. Tracy Davidson says:

    premature baby
    finally we bring her home
    on her half birthday
    she settles in her new cot
    and all is right with our world

  48. Glory says:

    New Arrival

    Two sleepy eyes
    A button nose
    Ten tiny fingers
    Ten perfect toes

    Eternally bound
    To me, to mine
    A treasure born
    At Christmas time

    Loved forever
    From this day
    Abandoned never
    Come what may

    Love unconditioned
    Love without end
    From this day
    Forever my friend

    A treasure found
    Perfection defined
    Delightfully small
    And proudly mine

  49. THEGingerSass says:

    By the time I wrote this I was too exhausted to post it… so here it is, a tad late.


    Last night my eyes entered a land of slumber
    to the tune of a smile on my face.
    I dreamt of trees and sweets and washed up celebrities,
    but most importantly I dreamt of you.

    How I knew it was you I’m not quite sure.
    It could have been your alabaster skin
    or the three freckles upon your hand
    but somehow I knew that you were mine.

    I dreamt of your arrival–
    it was on a cloud, over the city–
    and how amazed I was
    that you did not cry.

    The funny thing about laying on a cloud
    is that is seemed like a plausible feat
    until I dropped you
    into the Statue of Liberty’s torch.

    I woke up with a start,
    feeling guilty for feeding my baby to the flames,
    when I remembered–
    I am not a mother. It was an April Fool’s dream.

  50. Casey says:

    April’s Song

    It’s spring; it’s spring, the birdies sing with glee
    and all around creeps the columbine vine
    startling some stately tree.
    It’s spring; it’s spring, the fishies spin their tale
    and swirling near streams, the wildflowers be
    home for some tiny snail.
    It’s spring; it’s spring; the valley sings its song;
    squirrels in tune curl their tales at the moon
    as the green grows along.

  51. Deri says:

    (I tried posting this last night, but I can’t find it, so I apologize if it’s repeated.)

    In which I go to the store for dog food and come home with a new puppy

    Chocolate candied circles
    velveteen curves
    angling forward to catch
    every shuffled footfall
    outside his prison-cell
    cage, stacked
    rows upon rows,
    his fellow inmates
    bellowing at dishonor
    of such existence.

    He sits with
    noble patience
    as if every
    rib and bone
    is not threatening to slice
    through his skin
    the ridges —
    alto-rilievo —
    silent narrative of a life
    of no time or tolerance.

    “This one”
    and then I cry as every bone
    digs into reluctant arms.
    Fear stiff,
    we are eye to eye.
    He breaths into me
    as if he knew all along
    he was coming
    home with me.

  52. PSC in CT says:

    Red-winged Blackbird

    Shrill trill slashes softer melodies
    announcing their arrival;
    Winter’s cold hold decried by their skirl.
    I seek a peek of scarlet amid the rustling
    remains of last autumn’s cattails.
    Spring disembarks on red wings.

  53. MarcDurrett says:

    Our Journey

    This day was different
    No trudging through his piles of baggage at my feet
    Struggling for balance
    Our path is finally clear
    We’re stronger than ever
    And just when we’ve made it through
    Just as we close in on our future
    He throws a few more pieces in my way

  54. lionmother says:

    I’m posting my first poem late again!!! At least I haven’t changed in all these years.:) I was away half the day and wrote it on my phone, but I didn’t send it until this morning. Anyway, here it is:

    New Arrival

    It was there in the mirror
    on the face I saw everyday
    Whose crevices I know so well
    Next to my left eyebrow
    as if someone had etched it on
    overnight with a fine edged tool
    Deep, a permanent furrow
    blooming like the first crocuses of spring!
    Unlike my gray hair I couldn’t pluck it from its pores to leave smooth skin.
    It reminds me that my facade like the
    roadways battered by snow and rain is beginning to crumble and age.
    As I gaze at my familiar face I ponder the question of how this makes me feel.

  55. drwasy says:

    Happy April all! So looking forward to poeming with old friends and new. I have a busy spring, and will likely be posting a day behind, but here’s my first poem of the season.


    The tea-brown swarm
    pivots through trees

    lands in rapturous

    plunders the pale corn-
    stubbled field

    earth upturned
    musty, snow-cracked

    dirt vermin writhe, naked
    the grackles gorge

    their gluttony ruptures
    winter’s silence


  56. Raina Masters says:

    I don’t understand what’s going on with this site, but this is my third attempt at posting this poem. So, here it goes once again. Sigh.

    Twice a victim

    An abrupt kick from the inside,
    a hello spelled out in sickness.
    You infiltrator, I will excise
    your pieces – you unwanted arrival.
    My knife is a bottle of gin
    and a hot bath,
    followed by pennyroyal tea,
    a bout of clumsiness will send me
    down the long spiral staircase.
    I never saw you coming –
    this remnant of shame.
    I will peel my skin to be rid of you,
    keep your existence a secret,
    lock your shell in a metal box
    bury you deep in the ground.

    • LadyBspittin'datpoetry says:

      this was very intriguing, I have my thoughts of what this is about, but do you mind sharing? Also there is a disclaimer about posts disappearing without explanation or warning on this site, no one knows why and sometimes he has to manually except your post the first time for it to show thereafter which might take a few days so don’t be upset :)

      • LadyBspittin'datpoetry says:

        oh and by the way the other times u tried to post are here as well….

        • lionmother says:

          Hi, Lady! I read your other answer and yes, it has somehow disappeared now.:) No problem. I’ve been posting here for years and we all understand the vagueries of the comments section.

          It’s about a wrinkle that appeared on my face causing it to look like I’m furrowing my brow and wrinkling my nose. No one else really sees it but me, but still, it bothered me. Thank you for responding and looking forward to reading your work. Welcome to the PAD street! You will find we are very friendly here.

      • Raina Masters says:

        Oh well, that’s a bit embarrassing to see three of the same posts of mine on here. It’s too bad we can’t delete the extras. Anyway, it is what you probably think it’s about. The old wives tales within it should give it away.

  57. Nimue says:

    Eagerly she awaits,
    and so religiously,
    every other Monday.
    for him to ring the bell,
    2 P.M it is,most days,
    when the house
    retires to silent dreams,
    He comes to revive,
    her senses,her dreams,
    her words like rosary beads.
    Eagerly she awaits,
    the boy from local library,
    delivering at her door
    not just a new book,
    but a new world into her home.

  58. Janet Rice Carnahan says:

    Yes, it is April! Such a delight to be back! Onward and Up Word to Robert and all the poets! :) Here’s to a wonderful month!


    Stagnant air,
    Absorbing volcanic dust,
    Carrying a densely charcoal colored mix,
    A drifting haze of heavy fog,
    Known as “vog”,
    As the unassuming islanders,
    Settle into the quiet,
    Awaiting a darkened early evening,
    Avoiding the thick windless air,
    Slowly making its way through,
    Discoloring the usual enlivened,
    Vibrant plant life,
    Assorted arrays of tropical flowers,
    Birds flashing colors unseen anywhere,
    A detectable, sour blanket,
    Weighing down in a graying mist,
    Covering everything in its path,
    Deadening with the deep feeling and flavor of dullness!

    Warnings came to stay indoors,
    Heaviness was draped over life,
    Animals, traffic, people,
    Even the children seemed,
    Sluggish and tired,
    Sleepiness slowly becoming,
    The norm!
    As if even the sun bowed down,
    Promising to return,
    Only if it could shine again,
    All began smelling of old,
    Foul, used up breath,
    Curtains in homes drawn and closed,

    Until a sudden unexpected friend,
    Came knocking,
    Softly at first,
    With an increased pounding sound,
    Resistance appeared first,
    People didn’t dare look out,
    Hesitating to invite in anything unwanted,
    Slow, cautious openings appeared,
    To greet,
    The gust of a new breeze,
    As the trade winds came briskly in,
    In a wild display of whipping determination,
    Pushing out the empty blackness,
    In a torrent of deeply welcomed freshness,

    Color and life were restored,
    Flushed pink cheeks on the young,
    Matched only with the renewed bright island hues,
    Reflecting a cleaned out sense of overall rejuvenation,
    Ushering in on the wings of wind,
    A brand new harmony of easy beauty,
    Arriving right on time . . .

    The freshest new breath of air!

  59. WayneLMurphy says:

    A fresh batch rises
    sweet aromas fill the air
    Homer laughs softly

  60. Chimnese says:

    Rebirth of hope

    As I stood at the cross of condemnation
    I heard a small voice whispering
    rebirth, rebirth, find the newness within.

    A bright light shone over me as a rainbow
    appeared from the Far East with brightness
    covering my eyes, I set my mindset
    to the renewing of hope, peace and love.

    I started to find that comfort God promised
    long before the world captured me
    drawing me from the dark into the light.

    I felt a new, like a baby that arrived from
    the depths of heaven, almost a miracle
    that could say I am reborn, rebirthing
    into the newness of my salvation.

  61. tonijoell says:

    The Birth of a Poem

    a myriad
    of swirling images
    pick at the edges of my mind—

  62. Kirito says:

    “P.A.D.” Day 1 April 1st
    Topic: A New Arrival

    Not a single soul knows me
    nor do I recognize the soil which I step upon
    I am here in a place praised of such freedom and joy
    and yet I stand, sit, and sleep in utmost despair
    Watching… Waiting…
    For cops to haul me back to hell
    For some animal to hunt me down
    For my body to give out to my weakness
    For the end of this sanity and hope that I still have left
    Why must it be like this?…

    If only there were another way
    to make friends with my neighbor here
    then I wouldn’t have to suffer and struggle so much
    then my family back home wouldn’t have to suffer so much
    They never deserved it…
    But it wasn’t their fault to have been born
    nor could they have changed the path laid before them
    But I, yes I, shall change it for them, for I believe in them
    Even if they don’t believe in me, even if they lost their hope
    I will stand tall…

    My only savior is this place
    for I admit intrusion, but I mean no harm
    I only want to use the strength from here to help my people
    to give it to those I have starving back home, back where i came from
    Back in my home land…
    “If you hate me, I shall not hate back
    If you give me a chance, I will rise to be your brother
    for I come unto you as nothing but a lost foreigner within your bounds
    Show me mercy and I will repay you with loyalty, show me malice and I die
    Right where I stand…”

    Along my endless walk
    I come face to face with the horizon sun
    pointing me to the place where I must start
    Here, I must learn to know every grain of sand
    Just as if it were my home…
    Taking my first steps
    I am terrified of what I may encounter
    but I promised to never give up and to look forward
    This is my opportunity to begin and create with what I have
    And I have no time to waste.

  63. donnellyk says:

    The New Arrival

    What is it now this feeling
    limbo and just hanging dangling
    by some thread being held
    by a puppeteer
    My head bent and neck broken
    while my hands stay busied weaving
    meaning into days
    and long nights spent tapping keys
    pretty photos with my fingers
    Still in the quiet my brain scan
    slow yellow cautious
    no orange no red as I wait
    for the waiting
    to be over and the bones
    to knit solid
    Perhaps I will step lively then
    by myself familiar and untethered
    brain lighting
    I could leap over or back
    from the emptiness that threatens
    to swallow me
    and dance again

  64. dextrousdigits says:

    This morning as usual,
    I started the coffee to welcome the new day.
    Next shower and put on a new face

    There it was
    right on the end of my nose.
    I hadn’t seen one of those since in my teens
    many dozens of years ago.
    Yet, it was familiar
    the tender, red flaring small circle
    brought not only ugliness
    but its friends
    awkward humiliating memories.
    Now, more mature and resourceful,
    I called in sick.

  65. meduse says:

    Arriving at CDG

    Leaving Boston for Paris on a June evening,
    you fly into the humming glow of light
    stretching itself into its long extinguishing.

    The dusk, whispering, encourages you to ignore the sun,
    fat and happy and full of its summer self,
    taking a lazy, audacious blood-orange bow
    somewhere behind your back.

    Arriving at Charles de Gaulle,
    you meet an utterly different sun,
    pale and demure, French and shy, a little haughty.

    You feel like a baby arriving there,
    stumbling, drowsy and happy,
    into a morning you cheated time to find.

  66. Marcia Gaye says:


    “You have reached your destination”
    says Susie the omniscient
    disembodied voice of the GPS

    I don’t see it
    don’t feel it
    no sense of being there

    Left above the drugstore?
    Right behind the bank?
    Tires changed (or oil) on the eastern corner.

    None of these means the end
    of my traveling
    Just stops along the way –
    food, clothing, supplies –
    My destination unrecognized.
    “Make the next legal u-turn”
    and pay attention this time.

    -Marcia Gaye

  67. Karen31 says:

    Hot ‘n Honey Cheez Doodle

    In spring I watched a stealthy bird
    swoop down to street for nesting fluff;
    too spiced, too fake for human tongue
    this tossed-off treat was just the stuff
    to build a home and lure a mate.
    How could he know his likely fate?

    Something rotten,
    something red;
    something stolen,
    something dead.

  68. Deri says:

    In which I go to the store for dog food and come home with a new puppy

    Chocolate candies
    velveteen curves
    angling forward to catch
    every shuffled footfall
    outside his prison-cell
    cage, stacked
    rows upon rows,
    his fellow inmates
    bellowing at dishonor
    of such existence.

    He sits with
    noble patience
    as if every
    rib and bone
    is not threatening to slice
    through his skin
    the ridges —
    alto-rilievo —
    silent narrative of a life
    of no time or tolerance.

    “This one”
    and then I cry as every bone
    digs into reluctant arms.
    Fear stiff,
    he turns and we are
    eye to eye.
    He breaths into me
    as if he knew all along
    he was coming
    home with me.

  69. just Lynne says:

    Walking into the park
    I surprise two plump turkeys lounging
    by the lazy parking lot.
    Alarmed at my arrival,
    they run awkwardly across
    rows of parking spots.
    My camera tries to capture them
    as they run into the trees
    and try to hide.
    I find them again.
    They run towards the creek
    now swallowed by the shivering dawn.

  70. the scribbler says:

    Coy Ploy
    Coming in unawares,
    undaunted by counter
    or stairs or sonic booms,
    wee rodent made its home
    in what I thought was mine.
    The house has been swept
    free of aberrant crumbs,
    but the guest meets its needs,
    springing bits of cheese
    from wired traps.
    Unharmed, unalarmed
    this evolutionary genius
    leaves me a-mazed.

  71. Natalija says:


    a newness
    an awakening
    an anticipation of that
    still waiting to be seen
    still wanting to be felt
    still yearning to be heard

    a revelation
    a relief
    a release of sorts
    of the weakening hold
    of winter’s unpleasant cold
    of ties that tightly bind

    a meditation
    an intention
    a preoccupation of that
    which distracts
    which persuades
    which reveals its essence.

  72. kneltabra says:

    Casually slink back under covers
    holding off dawn

    The burden
    of renewal
    could be something left until tomorrow

    Not so, be assured
    the facelessness of day will come and greet
    again and again

    It is not the fault of the morning
    so stir

    There is a newness here
    if ever slight
    denial cannot change that

  73. kneltabra says:

    New Arrivals Prompt

    Casually slink back under covers
    holding off dawn

    That burden
    of renewal
    could be something left until tomorrow

    Not so, be assured
    the facelessness of day will come and greet
    again and again

    It is not the fault of the morning
    so stir

    There is a newness here
    if still slight
    denial cannot change that

  74. Sara McNulty says:

    New and Newer

    She entered the hall.
    So many
    children here,
    and she, a new first grader.
    She wished she could trade
    places with new sis,
    still in crib
    no worries
    except food on bib.

  75. Unwelcome Guest

    From where you came
    I do not know,
    Nor do I know how you arrived.
    I want to send you back
    But you won’t go
    Or stay where
    I have tried to hide you.

    You’ve come to take-
    Take what you can,
    For you have nothing good to give.
    You want my joy; my sorrow
    I would cede.
    It won’t go without you.

    If you could drown
    My tears would rise
    Above your wanton, hungry eyes
    And that would be your death.
    But tears are
    salve, not weapons.
    They could never kill you.

    So I will stare
    You down until
    You’ve taken all you came to steal,
    While peace and joy remain,
    To the end,
    And they will overcome you.

  76. Sheryl says:

    After the Fall

    She cannot walk
    well after her fall—

    so in walked
    the walker,
    the cane,
    the nurses,
    the physical therapists,
    and the occupational therapists.

    Sheryl Kay Oder

    • dextrousdigits says:

      Perhaps, she is someone I have seen
      and maybe even helped walked again.

      there is mystery here,
      Is she walking now.

      • Sheryl says:

        My mother fell on March second. She can walk with the help of a waker. She can go up and down the stairs using a cane while hanging on to the railing with her other hand. I walk behind her as she goes up the stairs and in front when she comes down. Before she fell and had a fracture she did not need any help walking, so those devices are truly new arrivals at our house.

  77. Michael Grove says:

    The Pail

    He signed for that package.
    He opened the mail.
    Unwanted, not ordered.
    He stared in the pail.
    It was not half empty.
    nor was it half full.
    So, he turned it over
    and set a new goal.

    By Michael Grove

  78. Raina Masters says:

    My second time trying to post here. Maybe it will actually show up this time.

    Twice a victim

    An abrupt kick from the inside,
    a hello spelled out in sickness.
    You infiltrator, I will excise
    your pieces – you unwanted arrival.
    My knife is a bottle of gin
    and a hot bath,
    followed by pennyroyal tea,
    a bout of clumsiness will send me
    down the long spiral staircase.
    I never saw you coming –
    this remnant of shame.
    I will peel my skin to be rid of you,
    keep your existence a secret,
    lock your shell in a metal box
    bury you deep in the ground.

  79. Genevieve says:

    New Arrivals

    New arrivals in my mind
    Or are they memories
    Brought out to rewind?
    New arrivals curious and quaint
    Are they new poems forming
    Or strange images before a faint?
    New arrivals come at strange hours
    Am I dreaming or awake?
    Don’t question creativity or its powers
    Grab on and go for the ride.
    There’s nothing like the rush
    Of letting imagination be your guide.

  80. pale rays of early sunlight push through as
    this day dawns new and full of possibilities
    but my toes are nestled in the warm and
    familiar scent of your skin, our sheets, and
    and thousand memories that anchor my soul


  81. Rora Nyx says:

    The Start

    I used to read and write
    My days were filled with such
    But then I got a job
    Now I don’t do too much

    A rhyme was natural
    An iamb was old hat
    They called me admirable
    Now I’ve lost all of that

    I won a poem contest
    For which I was quite proud
    Kept journals full of verses
    I Poetried Out Loud

    Then I wrote a thesis
    I learned to program code
    Now I work in spreadsheets
    My inner self hollowed

    So here I am today
    Returning to my art
    This isn’t much to say

    But hey… it’s a start.

  82. Raina Masters says:

    Twice a victim

    An abrupt kick from the inside,
    a hello spelled out in sickness.
    You infiltrator, I will excise
    your pieces – you unwanted arrival.
    My knife is a bottle of gin
    and a hot bath,
    followed by pennyroyal tea,
    a bout of clumsiness will send me
    down the long spiral staircase.
    I never saw you coming –
    this remnant of shame.
    I will peel my skin to be rid of you,
    keep your existence a secret,
    lock your shell in a metal box
    bury you deep in the ground.

  83. cam45237 says:

    A Sense of Self

    Self-loathing is a taste I know too well,
    The sour milk, the fetid fish, the thin and stinging taste of yellow bile,
    Doubt’s bland pucker with its aftertaste of chalk and unripe lime,
    The wispy bitter-melon threads of Pity,
    Denial’s empty plate,
    And the bold, explosive flavors of Destruction

    But I have recently discovered that
    Esteem is sweet,
    Raw sugar on fresh hay, baked caramel by the sun,
    And Discipline is rich with protein,
    Respect, a healthy plate.

  84. Sally Jadlow says:

    New Arrival


    “An addition is on the way,”
    daughter, already a mother of four, said.
    A pleasant surprise
    when I thought the third level
    of our family tree would have
    only 13 branches.

  85. Anya Padyam says:

    Spanking New

    Battle cry of the new arrival,
    The short sweet yelp of life,
    Music to the ears of all,
    Communication begins thereon.

    Embark on his adventure,
    thereby called life, he begins.
    Every moment, a voyage,
    toward the unseen morrow.

    Escapedes and exploits, his,
    Are awaited with bated breath,
    The pristine quest of life,
    Incessant until the last breath.

  86. When morning arrived,
    I was there when she awoke.
    Here is your robe malady.
    Here are your slippers.

    When breakfast was served.
    I was there when she ate,
    Here are your eggs malady.
    Here is your juice.

    When the early meeting arrived,
    I was there by her side.
    Here is your high court malady.
    Here are your notes.

    When lunch was served,
    I was there with her food.
    Here are your sandwiches malady.
    Here is your tea.

    When it was time for her declamation,
    I was with her on the terrace.
    Here is your speech malady.
    Here are your people.

    When the crowd’s exultation rose,
    I was there to see her satisfaction.
    Here is a tissue malady.
    Here is another.

    When dinner was ready,
    I was there to serve her meal.
    Here is your soup malady.
    Here is your wine.

    When nightfall arrived,
    I was there to settle her in.
    Here is your pillow malady.
    Here are your covers.

    When it was time for me to retire,
    I was in my quarters, sad and alone.
    Where is my purpose?
    Where is my joy?

    When morning arrived again,
    I was there as she awoke again.
    Here is my purpose.
    Here is my joy.

    When the day arrives and ends,
    I am there by her side.
    This is my purpose.
    This is my joy.

  87. tunesmiff says:

    © 2013 – G. Smith
    The light falls differently today
    On the wall
    And boxes stacked there in the hall.
    Curtains would be nice,
    But at least the coffee maker has been found
    And the first filter-full of grounds
    Steams in the trash can emptied of linens.

    From palms to pines and poplars;
    From sugar sands to sugared snow,
    These things I know,
    There are lakes here with beaches, too,
    But not the wide horizon view;
    I will pause at new
    Intersections, one way building routine and familiarity;
    The other an adventure – or perhaps just another new turning habit.

    They don’t know me at the grocery – yet,
    Or the vet.
    Soon those boxes will disappear,
    And the word “Home” will fit right, here;
    But fifteen hundred miles and a week
    Might as well be a world away.
    The light falls differently today.

  88. shann says:

    I’m doing NaPoMo this year but with my own prompts-


  89. JoAnn Jordan says:

    I combined this prompt and the one on NaPoWriMo.net. I hope you will visit my blog… http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2013/04/01/creativity-project-year-two-day-83/

  90. Miss R. says:

    (I considered keeping my poems to myself this time around, but my vanity objected. Too bad.)

    Day Break

    There is nothing new under the sun.
    Ideas taste stale,
    Like that same box of cereal
    You’ve been eating all month
    (Although admittedly the box tastes better
    Than the cereal ever did).
    Stories flare falsely in your tired mind,
    The sparks more than your nerves can take
    Until your heart sputters
    As you recognize the dully cycling tales
    Of your youth.
    “Better the nerves than the heart,” you say,
    But both are stretched,
    Wearing thin at the centre
    And tight around the edges.
    The sun rises after a sleepless night
    With nothing new in tow
    But a day:
    Soon old,
    But for now unbroken,
    And reaching beyond the sun.

  91. Julieann says:

    Evelyn Alice

    Five months ago
    You arrived on the scene
    All pink and chubby
    With lungs that did scream

    You are your Daddy’s princess
    You are your Momma’s dream
    And yet just like your Daddy
    You are first in everything

    You are his daughter first
    And his parents first grandchild
    Even more, you are his grandma’s
    Very first great – grandchild

    Momma dresses you like a princess
    With bows or flowers in your hair
    Yet lets you watch the ballgame
    With Dad and brother Jack and Bear

    You fall asleep in Daddy’s arms
    Then Momma lays you in the crib
    Sweet little Evelyn Alice
    Into our hearts you came

  92. keithdozier says:

    by: Keith Dozier

    Ushered in, uninvited,
    You make yourself at home,
    I no longer fight it.

    Out of the blue,
    The green and the red,
    The yellow, the black,
    With tough love,
    You attack.

    The words were all there,
    Just never together,
    At the same time,
    At the same where.

    I didn’t invite you,
    But I’d never ask you to go,
    Can’t imagine my life,
    If I didn’t know,
    The joy and peace
    And hope,
    That you bring..
    With the words
    That do spring

  93. pattibone says:

    Like an old friend
    She quietly arrived
    And we embraced …
    Her voice as beautiful
    As any writings,
    Her familiarity
    Overwhelming comforting.
    I have missed her
    And I am certain she
    She has missed me too.
    Together again we
    Have lines and lines
    Of poetry, stories,
    Soul bled words to write.
    And just as old friends
    Do, we started back up right
    Where we had left off,
    As if we had never been a part.
    Welcome home my friend,
    We have many paths to follow,
    Countless dreams to entertain,
    Stories daring to be told,
    My Muse, oh how I’ve missed you,
    You arrived at just the right time!

  94. maggzee says:

    ARRIVED – a 16 bar “rap”

    And now it comes to pass I’ve arrived at middle age
    Where pills and wills and doctors have taken center stage
    I exercise and eat right and now you have the gall
    To tell me that despite this I have high cholesterol
    And what about this menopause, that misbegotten term
    Those hormones are all gone now, they never will return
    And the clothing all looks dowdy; I put the mom right in the jean
    Ankle lengths and low cropped pants unflattering and mean
    Yet there’s something liberating about being left behind
    Unseen, unheard, unnoticed, eh, I don’t really mind
    My hair’s a mess, my makeup blurred, I’m wearing bogus Uggs
    My flabby arms wrap round me now, I’m giving myself hugs
    The kids are gone, the house is mine and that’s just okey dokey
    I blast my music, dance and strut, sing kitchen karaoke
    So I’ve arrived beyond the peak, onto the other side
    My padded seat will make for me a comfortable ride

  95. Linda Hatton says:

    The Arrival of a New Challenge

    Just when sleepless couldn’t get
    any more exhausted, April stepped

    in and brought a mountain of prompts
    to keep my mind working day into night,

    dreaming pushed aside for a pencil,
    notepad, computer, text message

    to myself, a zombie marching through fields
    of words like bones, stacked

    together, a jigsaw of thoughts,
    looking on to the daylight of May

    first where sleep calls my name,
    promising only a moment of rest

    before the next challenge called some-
    thing like submit-o-rama.

  96. sarite says:

    Hi Robert!! So happy to be back.

    Here’s my contribution–know that I’m ahead of myself, but this prompt inspired two poems:

    Line and Sink-her

    Sail me

    He and Me-MT

    In this place
    We can breathe
    Each other’s
    And only have
    To clean
    Up our own

  97. afg_paletta says:

    New Arrival

    Dear Outlander,
    we drove you home
    You arrived at your place.
    You’re ours!
    Your tires screamed as we parked,
    but it’s alright,
    you’ll be fine
    You’re ours!

    You smell like new,
    your seats are soft,
    although it’s old,
    2009 was your year,
    or so it says
    your birth certificate.
    Who knew?
    Cars have those too.

    I imagine your past owners,
    a woman your driver,
    we blame her for the scratches;
    children she had,
    I see they kicked you.
    Don’t worry,
    A family of travelers we are.
    (Imagine the places we’ll see)
    No children this time, you’ll be glad.

    How does this work?
    You can be difficult at times,
    but I’ll catch on.
    It might be chilly in here tonight,
    but we’ll warm you up tomorrow,
    For work, then to get groceries,
    Someday we’ll take you to the mall.
    You won’t be alone for long.
    You’re ours!

    Welcome home!

  98. PoM says:

    April PAD-Arrives

    Digging a hole
    Heart mind and soul
    Mountains majestic
    Free written prose
    In search of mellifluous
    Poetic prose

    Piles of earth
    Rocks and stones
    Full of silver
    Ore coal-an gold
    Rubies diamonds Rutile Topaz
    Ambers Amethysts
    Glitter and sparkle
    In Poetic sunlight

    Within this hole
    A footing a-lay
    Atop a foundation
    Poetic bedrock a-lay
    Metaphors and smiles
    Rhythms and rhymes
    Symphonic orchestral
    Melodies Divine

  99. shawandajames says:

    Hello everyone. Here’s my day one contribution to the PAD Challenge.


    In my mind, whenever I need to be,
    I can be airborne.
    No clear direction or determined destination.
    Just floating on a whim,
    effortlessly flying above the stresses of the world.

    If this could be real,
    I’d draw closer to God,
    and take a chance at seeing what the future held for me.
    I’d scan the areas below,
    looking for the danger spots
    and chart a map in my head of the right path to follow.

    Vividly, I can recall the freedom of being in the sky
    when I flew in an airplane.
    Feeling as light as air, floating parallel with the clouds
    nothing could touch me while I was in flight.

    Being airborne in my mind is a necessity sometimes
    when life tries to take me down on a sharp descent
    down to the troubles of the world.
    Without the option or opportunity to escape for real,
    a mental glide with the eagles will do me just fine . . .

    At least for a little while.

  100. shawandajames says:

    Here’s my day one contribution to the PAD Challenge. Happy reading!!


    In my mind, whenever I need to be,
    I can be airborne.
    No clear direction or determined destination.
    Just floating on a whim,
    effortlessly flying above the stresses of the world.

    If this could be real,
    I’d draw closer to God,
    and take a chance at seeing what the future held for me.
    I’d scan the areas below,
    looking for the danger spots
    and chart a map in my head of the right path to follow.

    Vividly, I can recall the freedom of being in the sky
    when I flew in an airplane.
    Feeling as light as air, floating parallel with the clouds
    nothing could touch me while I was in flight.

    Being airborne in my mind is a necessity sometimes
    when life tries to take me down on a sharp descent
    down to the troubles of the world.
    Without the option or opportunity to escape for real,
    a mental glide with the eagles will do me just fine . . .

    At least for a little while.

  101. Dini says:

    Thanks. I’m not new – was around a couple of years ago with a different log-in name. I was just thinking of various times in my life when I was new and of my granddaughter’s experience of starting a new school in 2nd grade. Sometimes it is the new one who has to make the first move!

    Having said that, welcome all first-timers!

  102. carolecole66 says:

    New Girl in School

    I was the new girl, alone in the corner,
    shocked by the odd voices, the new air, the old
    and fractured room, high florescent lights,
    floor to ceiling windows shaded by cracked
    and yellowed blinds.

    I was new and raw as peeled skin,
    nondescript against stained oak,
    a fish foundering on rocks, an owl
    blinking against thje light,
    a coyote discovered in her den.
    Their laughter mocked my fear.
    I, a mere lump of atoms, the shadow
    of a little girl, a blonde windigo
    newly arrived to eat their hearts.

  103. SidraQ says:

    en plein aire

    pollen flashes

    the bee slips off
    her desire

    love en plein aire

  104. marcy r says:

    Simple life

    Life couldn’t be simpler:
    one cell
    sliding along the silent cerulean sea
    soaking up sun,
    everything it needs
    in and out through
    one thin membrane
    in the warm
    and slowly waking world

    (shaken perhaps by
    a cosmic belly laugh)
    one split in two
    then two
    into four
    and before
    you could say “creation,”
    there went the neighborhood.

  105. LCaramanna says:

    April 1, 2013 Prompt #1: New Arrivals

    Pump Up the Style

    Sleek, sophisticated pointy-toed pumps
    designed to dally into spring
    on feet of fashionable females.
    Sunshine bright colors of lilac, daffodil, hyacinth
    adorned with beads, buttons, bows
    stand fashionistas on stilettos.
    Winter leather boots stashed in closets,
    sleek, sophisticated pointy-toed pumps,
    lilting through lobbies to a well-heeled rhythm,
    all pumped up to style arrivals
    noticeably new.

  106. writerbabe says:

    A tanka for this new arrival prompt

    For years, I’d feared words ran from me, both late and soon, old ghosts. Each day was filled with mundane bullshit. But hallelujah, they’ve come home.

  107. omavi says:

    Gotta Pay to Play

    They come and sometimes they are harsh
    Too much for mind to take and heart to stand
    Feeling like walking on faux earth
    Waiting for the sand to overcome
    Taxing to the spirit wondering which path correct
    The idea on the left brings pain and grief
    The path to the right brings heavenly things

    This word is so fickle
    Long ago I stopped believing I can win

    Rushing from earth and sky and whim
    Blasting apart cells, fingers, and skin
    Ingratiating the thought that control is mine
    I’m just a dollar whore in the eyes of this rhyme

    Wanting to be ready to give birth to this child
    Belly bulging and yea sometimes I waddle
    Mouth so open that all winds sucked in
    But the battle is truly in the mind
    Body conflicting and passions so lost
    The newness of the thought
    A left hook from the depths of the past

    Coming a new feeling and a word is born
    Trying to contain the force
    But do I really want to pay the cost

  108. Andrea B says:

    He Came On Unexpectedly

    He came on unexpectedly
    like a wart
    or a crack in the foundation

    Would not leave with
    a simple wave
    or arm to the curb

    I tried to
    run like car-wash down the driveway,
    slinky down the stairwell

    find assistants
    to excavate
    his swollen heels

    But soon

    I found aged barrels of him
    tumbling and tripping
    through the floorboard

    I became
    more hectic with sidesteps
    than wound uptight

    more right-handed
    than left-
    or heavy-

    then like cream
    or hot air
    he lifted, unexpectedly

  109. I’ve really enjoyed reading what I can tonight… but it’s bed time in Spain so no time for more commenting.
    Happy PAD Poeming peeps :-)


  110. LouiseBilborough says:

    On My First Day

    On my first day, he made me sit
    Beside a girl with purple hair and green eyes.
    I was too intimidated to talk to her, so
    I nodded and blushed and looked out the window.

    She took offense.

    The day he announced, “Group Project,”
    I wanted to fall through the floor.
    But As are As, and I was greedy for them.
    So I looked up and said, “Come over around 4.”

    She said, “sure.”

    She was witty and warm, clever, stubborn as hell
    And it annoyed me as much as it delighted me.
    We worked all week, into the sunset
    And over the weekend, and we got that freakin’ A.

    She kissed my cheek.

    I asked her to come see “Romeo + Juliet.”
    She rolled her eyes, but said, “why not?”
    In the popcorn-scented dark
    I put my hand on hers.

    She knotted our fingers.

    I never untied them.

  111. Taconcitos says:

    When we’ll meet on Saturday I’ll tell you
    that the poem today lasted for two hours and needed no words
    just cuddling, the peace in the body making its way to pacify the monkey mind

    from the first minute, I was afraid that happiness wouldn’t last
    so in the second minute I brought in a doggie cuddling
    her nose on my right shoulder, her breath on my ear

    I was seeing myself from above, pinned on the sofa by a round, pink, humid nose
    I was still afraid that happiness wouldn’t last
    I could still move a bit, not enough to write a poem
    como Dios manda

    in the second hour, as I was still afraid, so the cat sat on my lap
    he sniffed the sleeping doggie’s paw and curled to purr
    almost instantly

    soon I could meditate on their sleep
    from time to time, the thought came back
    happiness doesn’t last
    I watched the though come and pass by

    happiness doesn’t last, happiness doesn’t last

    One hour into the poem and I was sinking into the fragile balance
    called life. Finally.

    on Saturday, when I’ll meet you coming home,
    coming from fear and pain,
    coming from solitude and silence

    I’ll tell you all I know about the last hour of this poem
    when I had you sleeping next to my left hip.

  112. April Arrives Anew

    Yesterday dawned windy
    as Chicago
    as a March cliché
    as an arctic front
    swooshing past Canada
    like the neck of a goose
    outstretched in flight
    going the wrong way.

    Today ushered in April
    1st – again
    on schedule
    no fooling
    sun’s slant slapping me
    on my back like a friend
    returned from Florida
    for her summer stay.

  113. New Girl in Class

    She hovered nervously in the doorway
    until the Principal ushered her in.
    I greeted her with a smile
    while the introductions were made.
    I was sure to speak
    Gauging her response – seeing if she understood.
    “Relax” I said “You’ll be fine. Just do your best.”
    She muttered a hello to the student next to her
    and so it began.
    I could see her eyes
    searching the others’ faces for help.
    I recognised the confusion,
    bordering on terror until…

    …she hesitantly raised a hand and gave..,

    … the right answer.
    She beamed a delightful, delighted smile.
    She settled her nerves and found her pace,
    her place.
    Hmmm, I thought, she’ll do just fine.
    and she did.

    At the end I congratulated her and told her, smiling,
    “Don’t worry. Your first day at a new school is never easy”

    …even when you’re thirty-six!


  114. rubyr08 says:

    “A New Arrival”
    The weather is changing.
    It’s a thought, not your own, but there.
    The night is dark, and the day is bright.
    There is a time of birth for everything,
    The weather is changing now.
    For this thought, it is forever unknown.
    It’s one thing to claim and another to share.
    This thought, a thought shared by many and possessed by all.
    These foreigners are coming, they are.
    When they arrive, we know not.
    When they claim what we know as ours, is a mystery.
    It is inevitable and useless to fight it.
    For the fate of humanity has been chosen.
    Who’s to say that we will disappear?
    We are Earthlings, we are humans.
    We have the capability to communicate with language, and we are special.
    We are what they are after. We are what they want.
    Or is it something we own that they are after?
    We are the target.
    We are to promote the idea, not our own, a shared idea.

    We will go without a fight, we promise you this.
    We do not want a war.
    The endless tales of your kind haunt humanity.
    Yet, we are coming together now, to show you we are not afraid.

    It is the ownership that you don’t understand, for you don’t own the land.
    The land that is called Earth is nor yours or mine.
    It belongs to the universe.
    It is a universal land.
    We all benefit from this sun in this galaxy; it is no sin to coexist.
    Our intentions were not to frighten your kind, we honor all culture.
    We honor your offering.

  115. identity says:

    Silly dream
    Escapee from slumber
    Tickling neurons in the mind
    Seeking entrance to the heart

    Reckless Dream
    Intruding grave robber
    Sprinting races with the pulse
    Dancing gaily, beat’s consort

    Cherished dream
    Precursor of wonder
    Manifesting hope and faith
    Relishing life’s rich resort

    This tells about the “arrival” of something “new” without using those words. Is that allowed? I’m a newbie so please let me know if I should actually use the words in the poem.

  116. bluerabbit47 says:


    on spare branches
    against storm-darkened
    sky, tiny
    leaves glow,
    immortal green,
    on globe willows;
    not there
    dusty next week,
    they spring
    from nowhere,
    expected but
    miraculous as morning
    or the word

  117. RASlater says:

    Fresh Meat

    Here she is

    Bright and shiny

    Waltzing into our world

    Effervescent bubbles

    Tickling our noses

    As we watch her with our beady eyes

    We flex our claws

    As we snarl and growl

    This is our space

    Who is she to think she belongs?

    With halo’s sparkling in the night

    We tear her apart

    Our mouths biting deep

    Not caring about truth

    Our claws scratch and dig

    Not caring if we maim

    Blood we must draw

    Pain we must taste

    For that is the source of our power

  118. Ahavah says:

    Hello! I’m a new arrival myself, but I learned about PAD from a friend and thought I’d throw my hat in. I was trying to return to poetry after a decade-long hiatus (and I’ve been struggling), so this is great timing for me. I probably won’t share very often, as I’m not very good & quite nervous after such a long break from poetry, but I wanted to let you know that I’m participating and appreciate these prompts! Not quite sure if my formatting will stick when posting, but here goes:

    I wait
    Each new arrival
    a welcome guest
    bearing hostes gifts
    one, two more
    How many more
    can you fit
    within you
    before your life is
    all full

    shudder, fall

    • PKP says:

      Wonderful poem! Welcome Ahavah – I’ve been here since the beginning. Please do post something every day – you’ll find this is a very friendly street on which to stroll. RLB the editor still emphasizes “just write” worry about revisions, if any later, which is very very freeing. No critiques here or judging – so dear “new arrival” welcome and keep on writing!

      • PKP says:

        Haha that should have read DON’T WORRY ABOUT REVISIONS NOW -

      • Ahavah says:

        Thanks so much! We’ll see, I guess. I tend to prefer keeping my poetry very well hidden. I’m doubly inclined to do so now, since my formatting did get all wonky – and a typo to boot! Ha! Well, maybe some quality time spent with other poets will change that tendency. Thanks again for the kindness. <3

        • PKP says:

          :). In 2008 I had had some nonfiction published -wrote a couple of novels still unpublished and dozen or so short stories shown nowhere – I wrote poetry since childhood to and for people mostly commemorating special occasions – one poem in a school program as a child – poetry was private -a different language a release – then came this challenge. Now some 700 poems later – a community of poetic friends – I’ve begun to be published about twenty or so in the past year . All these years writing poetry never until just very recently entertaining the idea that I might be a poet. If you are interested – write ….here… I wish you well :)

    • Penny Henderson says:

      welcome. DOn’t worry about typos.We all create them, and formatting can be a real bummer. See you tomorrow.

  119. PowerUnit says:

    A New Friend In The Field

    A new friend in the field
    Alone and reaching like any young child
    For the sky
    Way up high
    She shudders at the quake of humanity
    Between its footprints
    The offspring of machination’s rape
    A random survival
    An expected, neglected life
    That might have begun from another seed
    Buried forever under the remains of its forebear
    Now a strong chair

  120. Historic First Steps

    on moon’s surface
    took historic first steps
    planted American flag plus

  121. She swings her feet back
    and forth. Her thumbs twist and
    twirl in their small, private arena
    as her neck scopes around
    witnessing unfamiliar trees move away
    from her.

    She looks to her left to see
    her chauffeur – who looks back and smiles
    at her. “Almost there, sweetie,”
    she’d utter and stare
    back in front. But the girl squirms
    a little bit more.

    The gentle rumbling quiets down
    as the girl places her hand on the door
    and slowly pushes it open. She doesn’t
    want to show fear, so she grits her teeth, departs
    the vehicle and gingerly steps out, not daring
    to hold her mother’s eager hand.

  122. PKP says:

    In flagrante delicto

    it begins in the belly
    a cool chill trembling
    in sanctuaries sacred
    windows fade to paned
    pale-colored glass

    it begins in the belly
    and moves
    through lithe fingers
    cracking the crisp
    dormant chrysalis

    freeing the butterfly
    to flutter

    soaring in flagrante delicto

  123. Ann M says:


    The starving horses were left behind
    in the blackened fields.
    A cousin promised to give them oats
    and keep an eye on the house
    in case we were back, but
    no one ever rode the ship
    the other way. The horses would die
    because the cousin needed oats
    for her children. Margaret cried,
    and Robert put a rock
    from the field in his pocket.
    Thomas would forget
    and John would remember
    the smell of peat, the morning mist,
    in the hills over the river.

    The ship was small for so many.
    I got sick from the waves,
    gray and huge as mountains.
    Weeks passed and the sea did not relent.
    A baby was born. Twenty-seven died.
    When we arrived on April 7, 1849,
    they wouldn’t let us get off.
    Not for two days, and then only
    those who had no fever. When
    finally we were allowed to go,
    my brother dropped his rock
    in the harbor, and my sister
    cried again as I pulled on her hand
    until we stepped off the plank
    onto cobblestones, hard, shiny
    promises for our sea weary feet.

  124. mlcastejon says:


    Wet feet on the floor
    still trembling hands
    a risen hell to come here
    it won’t take me long

    There is no gate in heaven
    just an echo in empty pockets.

  125. Penpal57 says:

    New Arrival

    So excited to finally meet the new arrival,
    She was two weeks old by the time I met her.
    Such a sweetie,
    So big for a newborn
    Weighing in at over 9 and a half pounds.
    Holding her
    Breathing in her baby smell,
    Hugging her to my chest,
    Wishing she could come home with me.
    New granddaughter I love you,
    With your little squeaks, moans and
    Your beautiful dark hair.
    All reminding me of your daddy
    When he was,
    A new arrival.

  126. Kimberlee Thompson says:


    You were out of breath,
    sprinting for blocks to catch a train.
    There was another not
    an hour later. Trains always
    come and go, but you looked
    wounded, as if the track
    had risen up to beat you down.
    Trains always come and go,
    like heaving breaths.


    She came to us from Alsace-Lorraine with the lore
    of hundreds of years of shifting languages
    and borders. She came from Virginia with the lilt

    of Celtic verse in her head, though she never
    set foot in that part of the world. She came with
    her dreams full of archetypes and rubble; like us,

    with decades of poems near-perfect and not
    even close. We need her, to replace the one who
    moved away, the one with Basque in her veins

    and verse, who could dissect a poem like
    a specimen on a slide. On this Sunday between
    sun and rain, this new one comes casting lines

    of Whitman, Hölderlin, Baudelaire; a poem
    of her own surfacing on paper to pass around –
    a snow-melt trout – to see if we can catch it.

  128. Yolee says:

    Macy Arriving

    I drove through the tunnel of dark morning
    with my 13 year old niece who had a 6:45 flight
    to Chicago. I became her escort in lieu of my
    brother stuck to an insulin prescribed iv at the hospital.
    I parked on level 1, and we quickly made it to the United
    ticket counter where an agent assured my niece would
    not make her flight. “Please try your best-
    her mom is expecting her arrival .”
    From behind me I heard my niece guarantee
    that she’ll make it. Gate 44 was our destination.

    Shoeless, we stood in line to let security poke
    through our things. “Will you be okay running
    in your socks?” ” We need to get you home.”
    “It will be okay-I’ll get there.” The tram would be
    the last phase of what turned out to be a fast
    track splurge of energy and hope. We made

    it just in time to hear her name puffed-up by
    an intercom. I think between solo flights, under
    the great somewhere, she grew her own wings.

  129. StephanieRosieG says:


    I reached down to feel my child’s head emerging
    and then, with the final pushing, pulled her out
    delivered her myself
    resting, sobbing, smiling with exhaustion

    Delivered her myself, her wise face
    squished and colored by her time spent in my womb
    her blue eyes gazing so intently that I become convinced
    our souls are reincarnated

    When I was pregnant, I prayed,
    “May my child be healthy, may she be wise,
    may she be happy, may she be strong.”
    And she is.

    Perhaps it is more accurate to say
    we delivered each other
    A strong mother, a strong child.
    Both new arrivals drinking in a new world.

  130. Waiting

    Coffee and cigarettes
    Rest by my dormant keyboard
    As I await the arrival
    Of a long-overdue muse
    To help blow the dust
    Off of my soul.

  131. priyajane says:

    Dew drops dance in a slow trance ,
    as dawn fights dark sleepy slumber
    Stirring my thirsty soul
    melting away some frozen thoughts
    as it breathes its last words
    Into the light, anew

  132. Domino says:

    Spring Request

    Mermaids, pixies, banshees, sprites and elves
    The world won’t see your revels more
    For spring this year, please just bring yourselves
    Brownies, nixies, dryads, sprites and elves
    Tales of old from dusty books on shelves,
    Dreary the thought: you are gone from this shore
    Hamadryads, satyrs, sprites and elves
    This world will not see your revels more

    Diana Terrill Clark

  133. MeenaRose says:

    Same story, new ending.
    By: Meena Rose

    Girl meets boy thinking
    Forever after is what counts.
    Girl leaves boy learning
    The day to day is what counts.

    Girl alone, not lonely;
    Looks herself in the mirror;
    Dimmed eyes and frown lines;
    Girl determined, not obsessed.

    Girl forgives herself;
    Mistakes of youth and the
    Promises of eternity;
    Girl embraces the Now.

  134. FoundinSanity says:

    First attempt at writing again

    Package arrives through toddler eyes

    I am bubbling, bursting forth from within
    Swinging around the poles in line
    Mama tells me to be still and stay in line
    Ooh is that something shiny!
    I must run to see it
    But before I can dart off
    Mama gets the package
    It’s finally here!
    I don’t know what it is
    But it must be wonderful
    Is it a new car? Or Train?
    Something for the kitty
    Something for my monkey
    Maybe it’s Spiderman
    It has to be from Grandma
    Mama says we can open the package
    I touch the box in excitement
    And jump up and down
    Grandma, Grandma! I yell
    Mama cuts open the tape
    I try to help so I can see what Grandma gave me
    We pull out the plastic stuff that kitty likes
    It’s a book for Mommy
    That’s not from Grandma
    I open the book and it has pictures of food
    Definitely not from Grandma
    I ask Mama where’s grandma’s surprise?
    She reaches in the bottom of the box
    I can barely contain myself
    She pulls out new shoes just for me
    Spiderman shoes! From Mama!
    I knew packages came with something for me.

  135. julie e. says:

    Hi all! After reading through the poems and comments i feel like i’m back in a room humming with creative souls and energy and kindness! It’s lovely to be here again.


    On April 1st
    they accepted me,
    shiny new student,
    into their hallowed halls
    of higher learning,
    me wondering if one day
    in the midst of biology
    they might yell
    “April Fool’s!” and
    send me packing,
    Ramen safely nestled
    between layers
    of ‘70s clothing.

    On April 1st
    some years later,
    he asked if I would
    marry him,
    me, newly in love,
    wondering if one day
    in the midst of Sunday dinner
    he might yell
    “April Fool’s!” and
    send me packing.
    but from here,
    several decades of
    children, pets
    and worn sofas later
    our lives are
    intertwined as roots,
    and not easily separated.

  136. Bruce Niedt says:

    I’m back! Life’s a little crazy right now – not sure if I can keep up with a poem-a-day pace this year, but I will try.


    Slowly, silently, now the moon
    slides on its arc from behind the trees,
    huge at first, or so it seems
    so close to the ground, but then
    with evening’s deepening dome,
    it climbs to its place amid the stars.
    Higher and brighter, it tugs at us
    with fullness and shadow-casting light.
    Cycles reach their peak now –
    tides pull closer to the shore,
    our bodies respond with madness
    and the flow of our own blood.
    Each full moon pulls you closer, too,
    first-born grandchild, moonchild,
    growing ready to arrive at solstice,
    the moon’s shortest night,
    when all the forces of nature
    will converge at once.

    • Bruce Niedt says:

      A word of explanation: I’m doing what I tried last year: combining Robert’s prompt with the “NaPoWriMo” blog. Their prompt for today was to use the first line from a “famous” poem and write your own poem for it – any poem will do, but I used one of the four examples the blog suggested, which is from a poem by Walter de la Mare. So if that lline’s familiar to you, that’s why.

    • Domino says:

      I swear, you could’ve written this about me, Bruce – First born, oldest granchild, Cancer in the Zodiac, Moonchild all the way. ^_^ I enjoyed it immensely.

    • PKP says:

      Stunnnnning I could feel the pull of the moon down to my womb … “all forces of nature”… (mhmmm why aren’t I combining the two challenges… may need to some analysis to figure that one out – :)

  137. VivianG says:

    stands there sparkling, packaged, crisp
    with all the folds and gentle parts
    doesn’t know which way to go
    but goes along anyway
    follows the flow

  138. Dini says:

    New Kid on the Block

    Anxiously, she stands at the playground’s edge,
    Watching a lively game of four square,
    Listening as someone else’s name is happily shouted out,
    But she is the new kid on the block.

    Hopefully, she pushes a baby stroller along the sidewalk,
    Observing neighbors conversing across their fences,
    Noticing that not a head turns her way,
    Because she is the new kid on the block.

    Eagerly, she enters the crowded conference room,
    Searching for a friendly eye,
    Seeking a welcoming place to sit,
    But she is the new kid on the block.

    Smiling, she enjoys the repartee of those no longer strangers to her.
    Spotting one standing alone on the sideline,
    Looking lost and uncertain, she calls, ”Welcome!”
    Assuring this one will not be the new kid on the block.

  139. Clarmudge says:

    it is newly
    a branch away from spring
    & a voice away from you
    here we are &
    so among sprouts of tarragon
    garlic chive & regular chive
    tiny sage leaves
    we wave:hellohello
    see you soon
    see you soon

  140. Happy April PAD, everyone! I have been looking forward to this all winter! Here’s poem #2 for today.


    The letters take shape out of the ether
    onto the blank sheet,
    forming lines of wordy images.
    Something emerges – fresh, dewy –
    slowly, the veil lifts, until
    the entire creation breaks forth,
    as the writer – midwife to poetry
    gazes in admiration.

  141. surrounded by light
    I walk through the budding trees –
    April 1st is here

  142. Linda Voit says:

    grey gnarled branches
    a robin pauses one eye
    on our colored eggs

  143. Barbara says:

    Come and Go

    Come into this world
    Come into my world
    Where did you come from why are you here?

    It’s a new world now,
    It’s a day it’s a moment it’s a year,
    It’s nothing we know
    It’s nothing we’ve had before
    Or expect to have again;
    It’s a life never seen never to be seen.

    How does this happen, this come and go?
    How can we be here and there and here all the same?
    It’s neverending, the beginning, the starting, the arriving,
    We never know where to start
    Where to end
    Where to come from
    Where to go to.

    It’s time to learn:
    Open the door and
    Let it in.
    Let’s start fresh and new and clean,
    Start without the pain—
    It will come later.
    It will arrive when it wants to.

    The world does not stay still.
    For every arrival, there is departure
    A leaving
    A hole
    The world—your world—comes to an end.
    The happy moment of arrival is fleeting, impermanent
    It lasts for seconds
    And you want it to go just to come again.

  144. DanielAri says:

    Forward, comrades!

    “Make a fort of comfort”

    This lavender stalk of a girl
    arrives at a formless knowing:
    heartless perils attend this world.
    It’s a split phase of her growing—
    tendrilous spring with inward coil

    clinging, reaching and cartwheeling.
    Her first tiny nights of crying—
    autonomous, joined in nursing—
    she wriggled in a plush lion
    bed, a root base for unfurling.

    This whole world is sweetly vying,
    sometimes bitterly embattled.
    So quickly our minds grow aligned
    with the seasons living saddles
    upon us. You feel a looming

    presence that makes your heart little.
    Here is your plush lamb to cuddle.

  145. Brian Slusher says:


    This is the one day
    textbooks are useful:
    they give you something
    to hang onto like
    a ledge or hand. Thrown
    into this new school,
    even the lowest on
    the food chain seem
    to have a place, a patch
    of pavement, a desk
    they own. Today
    you are only a haircut,
    a pair of shoes, maybe
    an accent or idiom.
    The hall stream divides
    Around you, gauging
    Whether you’re plague
    or piquant, a fresh taste
    to be spat out or
    savored. Look!
    Eye contact, an
    accidental smile,
    like the prologue of
    an interesting story

  146. mmoutlund says:

    These Many Years Later

    I was drawn by the mangrove roots, their submarine tangle guarding the land
    against the waves that would eat it. Seeking protection, I dove in.
    The transition was quick, a cold shock swallowing up the length of my body.
    I made a home in that saline understory, locked in among the snappers and the clams.

    So to set my feet now on this warm ground, following an unimaginable
    turn – the pull of gravity redistributed to the sky, casting me back out
    through that slick portal and into the vacant air – is disorienting,
    as all new arrivals can be.

  147. QuirkyAphrodite says:

    Here comes April
    There he marches out
    She brings me hope
    He left me with doubt

    It’s not a happy ending
    It’s neither happy
    nor an ending
    It’s a new beginning

    Newly found freedom
    and space to breathe
    Walls are closing in
    But I am free to live

  148. QuirkyAphrodite says:

    Here comes April
    There he marches out
    She brings me hope
    He left me with doubt

    It’s not a happy ending
    It’s neither happy
    nor an ending
    It’s a new beginning

    Newly found freedom
    and space to breathe
    Walls are closing in
    But I am free to leave/live

  149. seingraham says:

    AND SO…

    Oh my goodness
    Another baby?
    Three under five
    “I need a drink…”
    My hyperbole
    I don’t drink

    We were just
    Settling into the idea
    When you called
    Tears in your voice

    I knew
    Before you said
    The words
    The new arrival
    Wasn’t coming
    After all

  150. BDP says:

    “Libby Sizes Up the New Guy, Gus”

    Cute, I guess. Light blue eyes to swoon for.
    I don’t trust him. He’s got something impish,
    a look that uses dumb to hide his smarts.
    What’s with those ears? Those furry triangles
    that slap about his face! The opposite
    of mine that swivel, flick, intelligent.
    The hourglass of white from forehead past
    his mouth—I’ll give him that. Outlined in black,

    it lends sophistication ending in
    a cream cravat, a slouchy playboy charm,
    hint of debonair. I know my novels,
    the Gatsbys of the world. (My favorite chair’s
    a wingback in the nook.) That image fails
    on sizing up the rest of him. Chest bib
    as if it’s spattered with his puppy food—
    messy! I’ve seen enough of stinkers, needy

    creatures, lacking in sophistication.
    I present as wise with lustrous, silky hair,
    spit-polish shiny—I’m a calico
    and prized. He obviously comes from the breed
    of mutt, predominantly dusty, common.
    His rear keeps wiggling out of line—so gauche
    against a cat from Nefertiti’s time.
    The trick to royalty is stretch of neck,

    soft lift of head, half-lidded eyes—the word
    is “poise.” I’ve class that humans want. Now Gus?
    Perhaps I’ll teach him how to not get caught,
    perhaps I won’t. His shame amuses me.
    He wags his tail then rolls to show his belly.
    Doofus! When people reach for me, I duck
    a bit, give the sense of my permission,
    aloof. That’s why they’ll always love me best.

    B Peters

  151. Willy says:

    Have been away so long, I feel like “A New Arrival” myself.

    Last week sandhill cranes.
    Today brought red-winged blackbirds.
    Heralds of spring rains.


  152. Plove413 says:

    Looking forward to this month! My first w-i-p of New Arrival.

    New Arrivals
    I inhale them consciously now
    that I’ve seen them disappear
    from lips I loved, from mouths
    I swear I tried to revive covered
    by my own in dreams that
    have followed the countless
    nights alone since I saw them
    disappear into the thin air
    of eternity, breaths I loved
    from lips I craved for their
    smiles, their kiss, their touch,
    my name flowing free
    from them to me.
    I inhale my own now
    as they arrive, new
    yet old when tracked
    by time.

    Peggy Eldridge-Love 2013

  153. Hunter

    You arrive after all these years, uninvited, uninhibited.

    I know, without looking, without asking, it’s you.

    You whisper, (of course you whisper), my name.

    And I hate you even more for that.

    You hunt like creeping ground fog, slow and hungry

    and confident. I imagine you sulking under a white moon,

    reflecting only dark and darker shades of white.

    Must you kill her too?

    Of course you must.

  154. Eternally New

    It comes-
    – then passes.
    Comes –
    – then passes.
    Each nanosecond,
    each second –
    Each minute,
    each hour –
    never lived before.
    Each day…month…year…
    all arrive fresh from the Universe.

    Do what you will,
    but don’t waste that which will
    never be new, again.

  155. deringer1 says:

    Gone Before

    will you tell me what it is like?
    I’ve heard all the stories, you know,
    from those who say they’ve been there

    if only briefly.
    did you fly up through a tunnel?
    did you see a bright light?

    or do you sit now in a lonely room
    awaiting fate or punishment?
    how is it that I think of that?

    it must be hard to be the one
    who’s newly come to a strange place.
    was it like the first day of school

    or the first day you knew I loved you?

  156. I read some great New Arrival poems here. I hope the Comment bug will be asleep this April. And here’s my New Arrival:
    Blurring my eyes
    A smiling face
    from behind the
    baby blanket.

    My senses are sharpened
    and dulled, all the same.
    Time is flexible
    and I remember not
    if it runs fast or
    is just non-existent.

    Lose all mirrors.
    For they show
    all those tiny wrinkles
    not so tiny anymore.

    or, at my blog: http://phoenix-em.com/mariyakoleva/2013/04/ascent/

    Happy Poetry Month, dear poetic friends!

  157. Before Your Arrival

    You’re already on the plane
    while I
    lay out fresh candles,ready to glow
    mop the kitchen floor, ready to echo with laughter
    wash the good wine glasses, ready to be filled
    polish this mirror,ready to reflect your shining face.

  158. foodpoet says:

    nice way to end my lunch hour

  159. foodpoet says:

    worked up a second one on the prompt hope I can keep it up now that taxes are done


    Each day fewer memories arrive
    I now that someday
    The memories will number zero
    I hope for the times when you even slightly recall our faces
    And know that the nothing days are growing
    And filling missing gaps rising
    For now I will watch the blankness in your eyes spin
    Up and out nothing comes
    I knew that someday

    • julie e. says:

      i can really feel this poem… wow. And the ending was so strong.

      • foodpoet says:

        thanks and a typo should be

        Each day fewer memories arrive
        I know that someday
        The memories will number zero
        I hope for the times when you even slightly recall our faces
        And know that the nothing days are growing
        And filling missing gaps rising
        For now I will watch the blankness in your eyes spin
        Up and out nothing comes
        I knew that someday

  160. foodpoet says:


    Attorneys sue Punxsutawney Phil
    Rain and snow and more
    Rain and snow on the first day of spring
    Inches and inches of snow not tulips
    Violets shiver
    Attorneys file but the case is dismissed as winter
    Lingers, and when will spring arrive?

  161. Beth Rodgers says:

    As I’m expecting my first baby in just a couple months, this seemed like a fitting prompt for today. Excited for yet another poem-a-day challenge this year!

    long time coming
    imagining goodness
    a solid footing to make everything
    feel structured
    yet completely up in the air
    cradled in a whirlwind of
    and emotions
    of certainty
    weathering any obstacles
    as they come
    and definitively knowing that dreams
    definitely do become reality
    when you wish and hope
    just hard
    and long enough.

  162. “White”

    Yellow linened lady,
    third pew from the front,
    Spring-ironed and Easter-pressed,

    proud carnation bonnet dressed
    upon wisps of grey and age,
    a smile curled beneath pearl earrings and
    a trickle of peachy rough.

    In her white gloved hand a hymn
    of rejoicing, in her pattering heart,
    the sting of pride.

    She taps the rhythm upon the oak
    flooring with her spanking new
    patent leather lily-white pumps
    ignoring the hushing from behind.

  163. hcfbutton says:

    also posted on my blog.

    New Arrival

    he whimpers in the corner
    tiny cries
    tiny eyes
    peering at me from his
    tiny cage.

    all the comforts
    he could ask for
    hot water bottle
    comfy blankets
    the tick-tock
    of a wind-up clock
    to mimick momma’s heartbeat.

    he whimpers in the dark
    l shut my eyes
    try to hide
    but in the end
    l pick him up
    bring him into bed
    where he nestles in next to me.
    l’Il regret it in the morning
    coddling our new arrival.

  164. Cast Off Your Chains

    Cast off your chains
    Cast them off and walk with me
    Walk and talk with me
    And together we will find
    A new life
    In freedom.

    Cast off your chains
    Cast them off and the memories too
    Leave the memories behind you
    And together we will find
    A new life
    In freedom.

    Cast off your chains
    Cast them off and run away
    Forget your troubles for tomorrow and today
    And together we will find
    A new life
    In freedom.

  165. edumax says:

    Number three

    Having grandchild number three
    Not stressful as it used to be
    Son won’t ask for much advice
    Have to admit, its kinda nice

    Drama free and shower done
    Even cheaper than number one
    When they come they’re just on loan
    Single rule: a stress-free zone

    I welcome grandson number three
    We’ll eat, we’ll play, we’ll read, we three
    But to retain my empty nest
    I send them home and take a rest

  166. Lindy says:

    Angel Wings

    Many more
    Have come before
    And even more will follow

    Within my time
    They ebb and climb
    With nothing new to borrow

    But this year brings
    The haunting strings
    In empty nests of sorrow

    The very first
    Of springtime’s burst
    Without you in it’s wallow

    But as heaven grows
    Your light still glows
    In beams upon the hollow

    Your calla lilies
    Sprout their wings
    Despite the mourning’s shadow

  167. Nancy Posey says:


    They arrive without warning,
    slipping in unnoticed,
    sneaking up behind me,
    whispering in my ear,
    refusing to wait if I’m not ready
    to receive, pen and paper
    poised to capture elusive lines.

    They have no manners, arriving
    in the middle of the night,
    nudging me half awake,
    expecting my full attention,
    leaving sometimes, only a trace
    remaining, the right words
    in the right order but,
    I insist, at the wrong time.

  168. CiscoRose says:

    To Open that Dark Door….

    Dare I dream
    to harness the flow,
    to tame that tiger,
    to decide where what words go….
    Yet life demands such efforts,
    of children everywhere,
    hold this in, stand this way…
    potty training is not accomplished in a day….
    So perhaps it is the same
    with writing ones’ soul….
    Inspiration aside, the way is wide,
    with each moment bearing a bit of truth…
    So a poem a day, for a month, until May,
    is the goal, and I may
    share, or I may choose not…
    but I promise to tickle that tiger,
    to open that dark door,
    to petition my soul
    to share evermore.
    – dym

  169. Good enough for government work

    I was late for my orientation
    session because Jimmy at the front desk
    didn’t tell anyone I had arrived.
    The Mayor smiled down at me from the wall.

    They put me in a room with five binders
    of powerpoint slides from old seminars,
    two on safety, two on substance abuse
    and one more on sexual harassment.

    Then Stephanie from human resources
    came in holding a fill-in-the-blanks quiz.
    I tried not to look like a drug addict
    and made sure not to stare at her cleavage.

  170. Alpha1 says:

    New Thought

    Today yes, but maybe
    it was 17 years ago
    when it was new
    when she came into the world
    kickin and fightin but not cryin
    in a loud voice like the others
    A precious delicate little thing
    yet not as fragile as I imagined
    an April Fool’s joy to behold
    not a boy like the sonogram showed
    emergin with eyes wide open
    blinkin in amazement as was I
    at the perfect gift for a poet
    born the same moment
    as his month

    • PKP says:

      I really love this poem – but I’ve read it three times (I know it’s “me”) and I’m confused by the last line. “born the same moment as HIS month… Who does the “his” refer to (how do you like that sentence grammarians .. can you see why only my first career was as a teacher of English?)…

  171. I Don’t Know His Name

    There is comfort
    in his everyday stop
    the path of his tire tracks
    the little red flag
    I see
    from my window
    an assurance
    that I matter
    to someone
    even if that means
    I now have a relationship
    with a new car dealership
    or given the chance
    to buy cut-rate insurance
    or buy my bread
    with a discount coupon.

    4709 Puttor Drive
    is on THE LIST
    and I am not
    to be forgotten
    by him.

  172. Penny Henderson says:

    Leaving Maryland

    Moving to Texas as a bride ,
    newly turned 50.
    Each morning a revelation.
    Who is that behind me in the mirror?
    Where is the muffin tin?
    Why is my cat hiding from the world?
    Do we take turns or is it always my turn,
    or always his turn, or do we work together?
    Where is the library?
    Have I lost my mind, or will it arrive,
    panting and stressed, at the door
    day after tomorrow?

  173. Kevin says:

    Krishna Krishna, Airport Arrivals

    Such a fat one, he was,
    when he disembarked the air,
    tambourine in hand, celestial flowing gown,
    the orange I craved and music too,
    with flowers, he was enshrined,
    ochres crushed against his skin,
    silks and candied apricots too,
    with stark white runners to perfect his dance,
    peeking from beneath burnt robes of autumn lusts
    I wanted music, shaved head ecstasy,
    the works, the wires, the wisdom tattled down.
    And chant, he did, with echo voice
    to shake the windows clean,
    the shine enshrined enshrouded man,
    walking in air refined with incense shook.
    I whispered under-breath, underwater, under-mind;
    Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna
    Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
    Hare Rama Hare Rama
    Rama Rama Hare Hare.
    The wild bird with wings metallic
    spit him clean of runway breeze
    and like a modern Mecca walking
    he made his way…laughed and winked
    his magic eye. Blinded, I shook the universe,
    blinking in and out of here not here and was not was,
    I swallowed Upanishads, paralleled the sleeping man
    waking from a dream. Oh fat bastard,
    flowing gowns, and ochre eyes to match his swish,
    I was mesmerized and levitated lightly
    to meet his star-bright gaze.

  174. De Jackson says:

    Manna Morning

    Dawn arrives, angled
    and aching. Blessings
    fall, fresh and flaking
    from heaven;
    more than we need
    and yet never enough.

    What is it?
    We ponder this
    and all things unknown,
    blown in by wayward wind
    and balanced soft on
    battered limbs. Taste
    and see
    whispers breeze
    but we know nothing of
    invisible hope melting on
    tired tongue. We grasp
    for the sun, some lasting
    light to burn our fear and
    flame our flailing hearts
    into something

    Happy April, Poets! :)

  175. Ber says:

    Silent Whispers

    Here is it
    it is finally here
    where it came from
    it seems so clear

    After days of wondering when
    it would come along
    the day it is upon me
    the words just flow to the song

    I have been given a challenge
    to write it down
    hoping that i can make it work
    not be left looking like a clown

    I write it all down
    her life of then and now
    her beauty did astound them
    she was the lady in the crowd

    Her legacy she left behind
    every man left a stamp on her heart
    but when she left suddenly
    it was theirs that was left with a mark

    Sadness filled their eyes
    pain stuck deep inside
    but only one really stole her heart
    he was the rib of her side

    Her loving son so upset
    his loving mother gone
    he loved her all her life
    he sang her beautiful song

    Mother you were there for me
    like any mother should
    i will always remember you
    especially my childhood

    Every man held a rose
    with no thorns to tare their skin
    the pain that each one felt
    tore their hearts within

    As day turned into night
    each one looking to the skies
    the brightest star it shone
    it was her beauty
    it did rise

    Lifting up their heads
    knowing she was there
    to watch over them
    the rose they loved so dear

  176. Angie K says:

    Spring 2013

    Sometimes it is announced,
    sometimes unplanned,
    sometimes it tarries –
    it arrives as it likes.

    The calendar says, “Spring,”
    so I plan accordingly.
    Wardrobe change, garden planting,
    things that push Winter to the past.

    But then I see it.
    A single snowflake flutters down.
    No! This can’t be!
    Easter came, sunrise crept forward, Spring is here.

    The calendar names the season,
    but the grass remains brown.
    Is Winter this determined?
    Can it not let its frosty tendrils loosen?

    I listen, though, and I hear an answer.
    I am not alone, as the songbirds announce their opinion
    and the spring peepers voice their awakening.
    Goodbye, Winter – off you go.

  177. ely the eel says:


    After a somewhat lengthy journey,
    spanning his entire life, actually,
    listening only to the sound of his feet,
    he arrived at wisdom.
    The next morning,
    he arrived at it again

  178. jtowns3 says:

    Dreams on a postcard – Por avión

    A childhood dream arrived last — por avión
    With it were symbols of simpler spring mornings
    Hugs from mom before the judging school bus arrived –not por avión

    I remember Danny, but I doubt he would remember me
    Then there was Audrey, now married happy as can be
    Next, I saw Sebastian, lost in a continental divorce
    After him I saw Ernie, poverty had hit him with quite some force

    The dreams cost more when they arrive por avión
    But I don’t know if I can afford the cost anymore
    The arrival of dreams like the arrival of Springs
    Brings cool morning showers
    But I was never one to care about May flowers
    Childhood dreams, what do they mean? Or are they just mean?
    Do you know what I mean?
    Por avión.

  179. Genevieve Fitzgerald says:

    stepping on something sharp
    though it gashes through flesh
    changes wandering an edgeless sky-and-sea-the-same-fog-gray
    into something

  180. Angie5804 says:


    Memories wash over me
    I hold you with absolute joy
    As your aunts I once held close, nourished, cherished
    I now cherish you, so like them
    Your soft dark hair, unblemished skin
    The curl of your lip as you try your first smiles
    Petite cries of hunger
    Oh the dreams I have for you
    Already a sister, daughter, granddaughter, niece
    I don’t know God’s plans for you
    But I praise Him

  181. Misky says:


    She was stirred with a mix of fright and delight,
    and fought nervous pitched knots that flicked
    at her ribs. This was a very long flight with dips
    and bumps that sent her paling into a near faint.
    She scolded herself for her girlishly simple fears.

    And when the belts were re-buckled, and the flight
    ended on a slight hop of a note, she stretched
    the tension from her nerves, and stepped quickly
    away from the plane. Warm, moist breezes welcomed
    her skin, sending shivers in the full of a grinning sun.

    And she knew that she had arrived.

    (Note: I’ll be posting poems for the napowrimo at http://miskpad.wordpress.com so I hope you’ll mark a follow on that, if you’d like to read them there.)

  182. apureheart says:

    Prayer Becomes Life

    Entering in for the first time again
    This moment where I’ve never been

    New mercies greet me at the door
    Whispered doubts I easily ignore

    In the place where prayers meet
    Incense of offered lives is sweet

    Losing myself in a love that is pure
    That once shaken now will endure

    A new arrival is unsure what to do
    Prayer becomes life as I welcome you


  183. pmwanken says:


    just a
    bit naïve,
    I arrived at my
    first April poetry challenge
    two years ago today. With little experience,
    I jumped in—a new April fool!
    (Who am I fooling?
    I still feel
    like I

    P. Wanken

  184. Amy says:

    For some reason, I had werewolves on the brain…

    Whispers blowing
    back and forth
    in the wind
    from tree to tree.
    They know his
    secret agony.
    Defined by the
    wax and wane of
    nocturnal elements,
    he will join his
    brothers beneath
    the effervescence
    of the moon,
    where limbs will
    bend and twist to
    lupine form;
    his arrival
    announced in
    howling tones.

  185. Nancy Posey says:


    That year we spent separated by five hundred miles,
    though never ideal, never a first choice, changed
    our dynamics for a time. After twenty years sharing
    everything, suddenly there was my house and your place.

    We grasped each tenuous connection, phone calls
    every morning, letters crossing in the mail, their news
    though no longer new by the time they arrived,
    feeding our hunger for tangible evidence of love.

    We took turns driving the long stretch back and forth,
    memorizing each distinct feature of the nondescript
    highway leading you to me or me to you, lulled by
    music, channel surfing between static to fill the miles.

    Making a stop for a fill-up and a quick collect call
    from a pay phone, promise of arrival within the hour,
    our rituals born of necessity reassured the fixed foot,
    like Donne’s sublunary lover, the circle closes soon.

    The approach held anticipation as visible as sparks
    inside the car; the arrival, marked by first sights—mailbox,
    driveway, the light burning over the front door–
    then the soothing familiar shape, sock-footed on the porch.

  186. ELLENLAMBERT says:

    There’s a New Muse in Town – by Ellen Lambert

    A new month dawning, hope afresh and unfettered

    And a journal, sans format, and phrases unlettered.

    No history, no guideposts, no inherent design

    Days free to mold, bend, shape and align.

    Unbidden I find a bright challenge before me

    To craft a new poem once each day and — it tore me

    How much I’ve avoided that talent once cherished

    Once others critiqued my desire soon perished.

    Still here’s a new muse and a quest more forgiving

    Just focus on art, on the words, and the living.

  187. Birth

    caught between held breath and
    sears my lips
    and the crown appears
    wet, matted love matter
    slips like buttered flesh
    into gasps and grunts
    nabbed by practised hands
    held high, tethered still for these strange
    sacred and glorious seconds
    then severed
    to arrive and depart
    at the same

  188. Nancy Posey says:


    Fixed at the bottom of the escalator,
    waiting in baggage claim, I see
    your feet first, then your knees,
    the hand holding the bag, so familiar,
    appearing like a magic act, until, at last,
    the smile I know you saved for me.

  189. new arrival

    These new birds of spring
    bantering like school girls
    might not be so new
    but the same ones I’ve seen
    year after year
    after 50 years
    what new arrivals
    can there be
    after all
    bear is bear
    goat is goat
    and god is god
    each idea firmly
    neuron linked in my brain
    like a nerf ball
    squeezing itself
    again and again
    the time of plasticity long at an
    until I have to stop
    and think to sit
    and to read
    and to write it all out
    something loosening deep
    inside of me
    and I can finally
    spring tightening
    around my heart
    like a winding
    and I have to cry out
    beauty and pain
    and loss
    too much
    around me
    before me
    new arrivals
    continually arriving
    just for me
    although i am only
    one small part

  190. catlover says:

    I haven’t seen my mommy in way too many weeks
    She has been far away, much too far to reach
    I have a little boy who likes to call out my name
    He thinks my name is mommy
    He says it all the time
    I love hearing him say it
    Although it makes me miss mine

    My mommy came home today
    I’ll be seeing her so very soon
    Her arrival makes my heart sing songs
    Of love and of many good times
    Her hug warms up my body
    Her arms wrapped around so tight
    I got to see my mommy
    Now I will sleep well tonight

  191. JRSimmang says:

    Mac came from Colorado,
    from a small town full of
    dirt and grease.
    The smell of mushrooms still
    haunted his dreams
    and subdued his nightmares.
    That’s where he learned to cook.
    That’s where he learned how
    to fear his father.

    Mac’s mom,
    a slight woman no larger than the
    uncontrollable misery she spread,
    finally dropped the knife
    and smeared her blood
    all over the divorce papers.

    The next week,
    Mac found himself in the uncomfortable
    seats of American Airlines.
    He found it strange that he
    was sitting on a cushion
    three miles in the air
    that could be converted to a flotation device
    if the plane were to ever need to
    land emergency-like.
    But, then again, he thought,
    what purpose would it serve if they had to
    execute emergency landing procedures
    in the Cascades.

    They made a move
    three days before school began.
    The bruises under his
    cheekbones were just beginning
    to fade,
    and with them were his memories of
    his father.
    The man who forced his hand
    in this new arrival.

  192. apureheart says:

    Slowly entering in for the first time again
    This place where I have never been

    Excited anticipation of what will be
    From yesterday’s burdens now free

    New mercies greet me at the door
    Whispered doubts I easily ignore

    This secret place made just for today
    Once again losing myself as I pray

    A new arrival hesitates unsure what to do
    Prayer becomes life as I welcome you

  193. Jane Shlensky says:

    Call It Spring

    Hydrangeas bud
    among late daffodils
    as sunlight slices
    rain clouds into
    bright curtains.
    Finches chirp,
    old birds in new
    gold jackets.

  194. New Friends
    Eyes connecting in a hallway
    A favorite song, shared
    The kids sure get along
    Hey, I don’t mind losing to you

    Near or far
    Chats or drinks or family dinners

  195. Earl Parsons says:

    Gotta’ write a haiku.

    Each Time

    Each time I see her
    It’s like the very first time
    It’s that thing called love

    Each time I touch her
    It’s like the very first time
    It’s that thing called love

    Each time I hold her
    It’s like the very first time
    It’s that thing called love

    Each time I kiss her
    It’s like the very first time
    It’s that thing called love

    Each time I see her
    It’s like the very first time
    It’s that thing called love

  196. Happy poeming, everyone! As always, my search tool is here to help you track your Poem-A-Day entries, follow other poets, and a million other things:


  197. Rhae says:

    ‘No Joke’

    today begins my first day counting up to I move,
    there is already a lot of relocating within,
    today also begins another chance to voice,
    to jotting down all the thoughts, all the minute whispers,
    today I feel my own sense of rebirth,
    there will be challenges, test, obligations,
    today I will succeed in areas even unknown to me,
    internally embracing the changes ahead,
    today begins a 30 day opportunity to connect, to listen, to heal,
    I feel brand new, alive, and revived, I am.

    ©RhaeSeals2013 (april’s first)

  198. Earl Parsons says:

    Ironically, this is a big day for my son. Today is the first day of a brand new job 800 miles West of here. So, this is for him.

    First Day

    Away from home for the first time
    In more than a few years
    800 miles traveled due West
    New home, new town, new life
    With a brand new job waiting
    A “Dream Job” as jobs go
    Today is his first day

    Arrived at the campus at 8
    A half hour before scheduled
    Quietly made his way to the door
    On the other side a new adventure
    He took a deep breath or two
    And said a quick prayer of hope
    Today is his first day

    Then an arm wrapped his shoulder
    He looked around to see his new boss
    Smiling with a nerve calming smile
    Welcoming the newbie to the crew
    “Relax”, the boss seemed to whisper
    As he opened the door and went in
    Today is his first day

    Away from home for the first time
    Arrived at the campus at 8
    Then an arm wrapped his shoulder
    Today is his first day

  199. After the Spiritual Healing

    Relief — to be assuaged of grief.
    Not yet completely free of it,
    but at least a respite from the worst.

    The pain can’t be so bad again.
    With thanks I reconnect the links:
    in my heart he lives, we’re not apart.

  200. vxl says:

    More and Merrier

    a midst drinks
    I lost his eye.
    The offering: a threesome.
    My willingness as a
    romantic gesture
    had become me.

    Rogue experimentation
    meant to bring
    back the little teapot
    with recently steeped
    vitality –
    now an invitation.
    RSVP with an exclamation.
    She came immediately

    to our door.
    Narrow waist.
    Narrow eyes.
    Like me,
    but younger
    and still with that lean look
    carved into her
    by hunger.

  201. kali.kristine says:

    A thought popped into my brain
    and suddenly became a train:
    I would write a book about a crime,
    my idea had arrived just in time!
    I was on a creative flow
    Where did it come from? I dunno.
    I try not to question these things;
    you never know what the uninhibited mind might bring…

  202. missjoyce says:

    For this Month

    On April Fools I start my journey,
    to write a poem a day.
    This will be hard, as you can see,
    I have nothing else to say.

    But I love words and how they rhyme,
    like stories with a beat.
    So I’ll give this PAD a try
    and give you something to read.

    Yet tonight I shall bid you farewell
    and end this little plight.
    Tomorrow, I’ll have more to tell,
    for now its just good night.

  203. S is for Smile

    I seem so sad
    and serious
    sinking into a insatiable swamp
    or being swallowed
    by some sensational sea monster.
    Serve me up a sense of humor, please.
    I’ll sit here sulking while waiting its arrival.
    This poem has been brought to you by the letter S.

  204. Mike says:

    I knew when my dad looked forward to a trip. He’d pack his socks, usually a freshly purchased package, about one month before departure. Dad died last year. One of the memories I keep is how excited he’d get, almost like a young boy, when it came time to pack his socks.

    My dad’s last journey,
    an express ride to heaven,
    no need to pack socks

  205. bxpoetlover says:

    When The New Gets Old

    Days, weeks, months, years.

    Make every one count.

    Learn something. Like how to flutter a fan and your eyelashes.

    Meet someone. Try advice on the previous line.

    Go somewhere. Smile. The first half of Line 4 can happen.

    New shoes, new clothes to fit new curves every once in a while,
    else you spend too much time trying to pay for it all.

    New hairstyle. Repeat lines 4 and 5.

    Write a new poem or revisit an old one.
    Breathe metaphoric life into it.

    Even when gray hairs and the aches and pains arrive
    With each rising sun come
    new opportunities.

    This is my philosophy.
    My final twilight will be met
    with minimal regret.

  206. phebe.davidson@gmail.com says:

    Another day,

    the first in April, and you are not here.
    So there is no dopey April Fool’s joke, no
    one to drink the morning’s coffee with,

    no one to talk to when the phone
    doesn’t ring. Grief is like that, after all.
    The absence of laughter, the lack

    of presence at a table, the silence,
    that ringing in the ears that still listen
    for a footfall, the clatter of fork

    or spoon dropped in the sink,
    the theatrical moan of when you heave
    yourself up from your favorite chair.

    I think again of Shakespeare,
    how Hamlet got it right, nailed it
    like a hide to stretching frame:

    The rest is silence.

    I sit here now, this April’s fool,
    watch a pallid sun rise silent over water.
    Birds outside our window

    clamor soundlessly for seed. More
    need in this world than can ever be told.
    I hold my cup coffee. I feel old.

  207. katherine therese says:

    love this. here is my contribution:

    Raining Dogwoods

    The first glorious day
    Of authentic spring
    I explode up
    Through the thorned brambles,
    Dancing dandelions and twinkling periwinkle
    To admire the sapphire sky.
    In this crystal moment
    Happiness reigns over me,
    Weightless and immaculate
    As dogwood petals.

  208. Happy April, friends!

    Coming Home

    You avoid the rows of plastic chairs
    to pace the terminal as if chasing
    the remnants of last night’s dream.
    Ignore the sound of landing jets
    and happy homecomings–it’s not
    for you. You will not be home,
    not really, until your heart is back
    in your arms, for good this time.
    You put it in her keeping
    the moment you saw her eyes
    bright with a smile undiminished
    by rows of plastic cribs
    and other babies crying
    for arms that do not come.
    Your arms twitch with phantom
    need to hold her, to give her
    your name and the promise of years
    in exchange for scraped knees,
    first days of school, and drawings
    of a colorful family on the fridge.
    The distant things are there, too–
    the letting goes, the giving away,
    the generations that begin with her

  209. Dear Moosehead,
    Well, ya dumb schmuck! It’s ball season!
    Hallelujah! And what better way to start than with
    a good ass-whooping for those no-good Sox. Hey!
    Ya know if you put red sox in with yer whites they run
    …funny that, ‘cos that’s the one thing they ain’t doing today!
    Oh yeah! yer mother and sister are back from St. Lucia so
    the joy of ball season is about to turn into a living hell.
    Listen I gotta make some green on 5th this morning so
    pick me up at 12 would ya? Bring money for dogs and beer.

    Yours ready to howl from the bleachers,

    Ringo the Howler

  210. JanetRuth says:

    You always come this way
    Tumbled gold
    Or placid gray
    Grace-breath spilling
    In moment-opportunity
    From heaven’s finger-tips
    To mortal hands and lips
    You always come this way
    Oh, dawning of new day

  211. Billie says:

    Every Time (1st draft)

    Every time a heart breaks a poem is written.
    on a tear stained napkin, or table cloth linens.

    on a piece of homework, on grocery lists,
    littering the parking lot.

    filling up trash bins.

    because every time a heart breaks.
    a heart will be mended, by butterflies, and heart palpitations
    of a new arrivial.
    and a poem is written.

  212. Unexpected Arrival

    This morning sun conspires
    with the panes of glass
    in these windows
    to cast
    distracting images
    on the surfaces which surround me,
    transforming the seemingly sold
    into shimmering pools of mystery,
    into which
    I sink.
    but happily.

  213. PressOn says:


    A fool
    and his money
    are frequently parted,
    oftentimes before the money

  214. ewdupler says:

    Goodbye, Dad

    Oh why
    Does it happen
    To those you always knew
    Would last forever in your life?
    You died.

    Was it today?
    No, I didn’t notice.
    I was too busy with goodbyes,
    For you.

    You know,
    I loved you so.
    I will miss you madly.
    The hole you leave cannot be filled
    At all.

    My Dad,
    Your words to me
    Will last inside my heart.
    Until the day I see you in
    The sky.

    For now,
    You’re looking down,
    Without the pains of life,
    Smiling while you wait for us in

    Oh why
    Was it today?
    I will miss you madly.
    Until the day I see you in

  215. Dan Collins says:

    All winter waiting,
    sleeping on Japanese limbs
    shoots of Red Maple

  216. Marie Elena says:

    Happy 2013 PAD to Robert and all!

  217. Marie Elena says:

    Tea Cup of the Month

    It was the thing back in the day.
    I happen to be there when periwinkle arrived,
    And witnessed her delight as she carefully unwrapped
    The fragile beauty,
    Which seemed to know its place in the curio
    With other to-be-admired-but-never-used china.

    Some now live with me, and the remainder in Atlanta.
    I wonder if the Atlanta cups
    Have touched lips.

  218. PKP says:

    Green shoot

    there after storms
    salt watered
    soil into uncertainty
    centered in
    browned grass
    a single verdant


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