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 broke poem. The poem could be about a broken record, broken relationship, or someone who is just flat broke (no money).
Here’s my attempt at a broke poem:
“he tells me no”
he tells me no way to tell you
what you’d like to hear it’s all true
the other girl her hands & mouth
knowing when confessions head south
i throw him out & search for glue
this broken heart purple & blue
wanting to ask what can i do
feeling that small twinkle of doubt
he tells me no
there’s no way to prepare this stew
that does not involve crying too
over the loss the need to pout
he is a jerk with a nice mouth
but when i want him to stay true
he tells me no
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Writing poetry is exciting, but the hard work of poeming is working through the revision process. The best way to work through this process is to workshop the poems with other poets, and that can be done with the Writer’s Digest 6-week course, Advanced Poetry Writing.
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Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
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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:
A BROKEN HEART
She was such a perfect soul
Made from a perfect mold
Until he took her heart
Tore it all apart.
Her spirit, now, he broke
Treated it like a joke
She never wanted it to be more
Than a swinging, open door.
He holds the key
But refuses to see
How beautiful the relationship
Until he made the slip.
LaSteph
Paris P. Ogilvie
what does it matter
if the world’s in shambles
if our lives are shambles
so long as we have
wine, cigars, chocolate,
shade on these hot sands
we can see a mare of fresh
water just past the horizon
and this desert becomes a beach
LIVE FROM THE EMERALD CITY
There ain’t no Super Glue,
That can fix the things that you
Did to this heart of mine,
When you up and said good-bye.
There ain’t no paint and patch,
No way to fill or match,
Or cover the scrapes and scars,
You left on my heart.
No, there ain’t no Bond-o;
The cracks will always show.
If I try to hide ‘em all,
Face the bent and dented side to the wall
I’ll still be the Tin Man from Oz,
I know I’ve got a heart because,
I can feel it breaking,
Always aching,
To see your ruby shoes,
Next to my cowboy boots,
Again.
EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT
Everything
Was perfect
Till Adam
Watch’d Eve take
The apple.
“The Ponderings of a Ponderer”
In halves
In two
like me
without you.
Separated
Split apart
like a Lois Lane
without her Clark
Yet, Superman always
finds Lois Lane
so they’re back to two,
or is it three?
Now for the more important question,
Doesn’t that make you feel
broken,
without me?
Mosaic
She bends at the waste
to pick up shards, small
bits of color scattered
like forgotten ashes
of the dead resurrected
into tesserae. She sees
where each broken edge
should join another to
make something new.
Advice
I knew you wouldn’t know how
to fix what was really wrong—
admit it, you’ve never been good
at owning up to your shortcomings,
and she stopped taking time to
listen when you wanted to talk, for
once, as rare as that was, and spent
more of her time in other places,
other rooms, maybe other sets
of arms—probably—because she
knew what you refused to admit:
that there wasn’t anything to fix.
“Broken Words”
-KB
Broken signals death;
irreparable defined.
But you may find tape
or adhesive of some sort;
Give your life another chance.
the first broke was okay but did some deeper thinking and came up with a “poetry breakup poem”
In the Carnival of Desire
We dream dance
our troubles away
drift in a daze
Waiting reality reef
Knowing that dreams are untruth
in the carnival of desire
emotions break free
we are open even catty
and we walk away
We are stone faced
angry at departure, but
in the carnival of desire,
we confront if only in
the inner recess of once closed minds.
Logic has no place for breakups,
emotions raw burning
cold and festering brew
up and out of once sealed lips
in the carnival of desire
this tent has closed.
Poetry must be shared
lived breathed,
But it will not be ignored.
It will be closed to your vain heart
and poets will depart
the carnival of desire.
Broken
Broken bits of
Rubble are strewn
Only I can no longer
Keep up shoring memories
Even saints break and I am
No saint
It’s Broken
The thread that held me
to my girlhood is thinning
and soon it will break completely
Sure I still see the smooth face
of a young girl in the mirror, but
now it has lines and cheeks no
longer plump as a peach
My body sags too
and suddenly I am looking
at a caricature of what I used to be
The firm and taut child body no longer
is mine replaced by a stranger
In the distance
I see the girl I was and the
thin line that holds me to my
former self as it stretches
tighter each year
Some will say my thread is
still strong and I am still that
young girl, but inside I know that
soon I will be left on the other side
of age
Soon I will be old with hair no longer colored
to hide its true essence
and an acceptance of the me of today –
who is holding the girl inside as a keepsake.
A little bit late…
My broken haiku
With no direction
Falling down so many times
You stole all my time
casting a call
the target
riddled with bulleted lists
is not a bull’s eye
My troubled mind I’m so confused
My thoughts are more scattered than the evening news
Brain is overloaded with information I knew
Emotions frazzled with the things I wish I didn’t do
My heart is trembling from left to right
Only God knows my worries so together we’ll fight
Taking each step one day at a time
Taking the time to know that I’m fine
Screaming inside as I see the signs
Fear and rejection pose a fine line
Move it along there’s nothing else to see
Just a broken spirit and little old me.
Broken
Before I knew you, life was uncertain
The road that laid ahead way sad and broken
Remembering the moment when our eyes first met
Knowing nothing would ever be the same , while watching you walk away
Over and over I tried to fight what was there
Every excuse, every line, every reason to say goodbye
Keeping you near, while keeping you distance
The thought of you haunts me endless, plaguing my mind
Eventually I gave in to the best thing that could ever be
Happiness wrapped its arms around and held on to me
Never again will I deny what my heart yearns to have inside
Never again will I be broken, never again
Broken
codependence
we dance in circles you and i
starting tenderly even shy
and i can’t help but wonder why
we push each other to our best
supporting each other in our rest
but things tighten around our chest
we see only what we want to see
arguing our opinions blatantly
not letting the other person be
we ignore each other’s pain
feeling the other is to blame
until we cannot hide our shame
we cautiously seek each other out
expressing our personal doubt
understanding what we are about
we dance in circles you and i
starting tenderly even shy
and i can’t help but wonder why
also published on hcfitzpatrick.com
Brain Broke
Not as broke as I was
in the early days. Broke
is what we use for a bank
account or a car, but for me,
broke was my brain.
There are days, nothing
but broke, and when I’m
broke all the way, I cry
hard, and the blubbery
actions help relieve me.
Broken.
Cold.
Always running.
That’s his life.
A cycle of violent nights.
Relying on the weakness of others to survive.
He spends his days in the darkness and
the shadows busying his eternity.
They said, “…let no man divide,”
divided they are…
“…until death do us part,”
death divided them and not by man.
She spends her days being outside in the
world keeping her mind busy.
Relying on her very own strength to survive.
A cycle of sleepless nights.
That’s her life.
Always wondering.
Alone.
Broken.
Broke
My refrigerator won’t freeze
and a doorknob came off in my hand.
A lightbulb just went out and
I smashed an antique wine glass.
My car door clicker doesn’t click,
the computer just went dark.
The washing machine is overflowing
and the disposal’s stopped up.
My lover has broken my heart,
so I’m trying to write this poem
but the lead in my pencil has snapped off.
Tell me….what ain’t broke ?!
Rhyme Time Love Story
She broke
her spoke
and a bloke
stopped to help.
Frog croaked
spilled his Coke
shirt got soaked
so he removed it.
Hot like smoke
no joke
preacher spoke
and now they’re married.
Broken, we try to fix each other’s cracks,
the ones we caused to suffer, pasting
homemade remedies on still bleeding
wounds, with broken smiles and pain-filled
eyes that readily acknowledge
the hopelessness of our sad efforts,
forlorn slivers of small talk caught
beneath the thin layers of skin on
broken hands, already red with infection,
still trying to piece together the shattered glass
that had once protected our love.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Say we break for lunch
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
It’s noon almost, high time we get up out of bed
but we’ve not that much out to be getting.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I say we break for lunch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
The day’s getting on. We should get something done
but we’ve nothing useful needing doing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I say we break for lunch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
I’m out of cigarettes, smoked your last one last night
but we’ve no good reason to be smoking.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I say we break for lunch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Between sky’s blue and the river’s black we should float,
but we’ve nowhere in mind to go drifting.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I say we break for lunch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Where’re those bills we got in yesterday’s mail? Beh
but we’ve no spare cash to be paying.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I say we break for lunch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Some internet’s always good for blowing some time
but we’ve no web sites worth the surfing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I say we break for lunch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
There was this poem I was really wanting to work through
but we’ve no unused words waiting the writing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I say we break for lunch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
I say we reschedule everything the whole rest of the day
until things get in sync with their timing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I say we break for lunch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Yesterday
Was it yesterday you broke my heart?
You turned away, without a sigh,
Didn’t wait to say goodbye
Didn’t notice all my tears
Never thought about my fear
My fear of losing you.
When yesterday you broke my heart.
Give me your raincoat
Homeless under the vydok
Glazed eyes whisper pain
Broken Home
I let everything in our house
Stay broken for you.
I left everything
In our house
Broken
For you
Now that you’re gone,
Slowly,
Like springtime arrives this year,
Broken latches,
Broken railings,
Broken chairs,
Are cured.
I fix them
Then
Make dinner
Make a poem
Make a home.
PKP says:
April 13, 2013 at 7:43 am
Hi to all – if am in error and have simply somehow missed this wonderful poet before -apologies to her and regrets for me! In either case – DO NOT MISS this beautiful blog and terrific writing. BRAVO!
: http://natasa-summerblues.blogspot.com/2013/04/day-12-cracks-in-wall.html
NATASA BOZIC GROJIC – WOW Beautiful site and two wonderful and linked poems. Welcome (?!) I believe you are new to PAD (?!) wonderful writing Bravo!
Reply
PIECES
These days
it seems everything
is cracked somehow,
an eggshell chipped
lightly against glass
a petal torn from a daisy.
I see nothing
whole only parts
ripped the fatal flaw
apparent in everything:
this world, this home,
you, and I.
Is nothing sacred
or whole?
Broke
framed by mountains
combed lines of vines
trellised and heavy with grapes
rich and bursting
terra rossa and sandy loam
warm nights
and harsh days
sweet earth and leather
pepper and spice
the psyche stained
with purple-red juice
You bustled into my life at the start
and immediately I lost my heart.
Your deep brown eyes I could never resist,
and I was simply longing to be kissed.
As time wore on my love grew deep,
and I would watch you fast asleep.
I’d be slumberless, counting sheep,
worrying my long night away.
Years later I began to weep,
knowing that I could never keep
you, my love, from going astray.
Our life would always be that way,
until finally, resignedly, I’d say
“On your bike, you’ve had your day!”
knowing as these words were spoken,
my loving heart had been broken.
Breaks
Oh for a break in the weather!
Rain is the new normal.
At least the marigolds
are thriving in the wet,
and the leaves of the weeds
are large and glossy.
Where have you gone,
getting away before this rain began?
To leave in Spring was damn graceful,
right at the start of the gentle season
before monsoons and heat.
Time to break up, you said.
But you said it kindly, knowing
what I refused to admit.
Now, seven months later and more,
I rage at time going past,
afraid that at last it will break
the threads that stretch between us.
My friend said of a neighbour
the other day, ‘Her husband
has been dead nine years.’
And I wonder about that.
How does one break from the past
enough to go on living?
I think my mother was only half alive
all those years after my stepfather’s death.
I don’t want that for me,
and yet I don’t want to forget you.
Not that I can. Memories break out
like ghosts all over the house.
This poem is inconclusive.
There is no resolution yet.
I am taking a little break
from ghosts and weeping
to sit in my garden and write,
during a small stop in the rainy weather.
Rosemary -an exquisite sparkle of respite in this hard journey – a human question that expands from the practical to the mystical and in so doing describes perfectly the pathos and beauty of the human experience as symbolized here by you taking that well needed break in the rain amid mystic marigolds in bloom. If this were not poetry but simply one heart crying out – it would be poetry – you have captured a prismic interlude – all facets shining with light – plaintively, powerfully, empowered and vulnerable, the budded parts of self reconfiguring – opening at the brink of bloomimg -exquisite writing on a topic at once profoundly personal and connected to each and all. Wonderful on all levels.
Dear Pearl, your comment is poetry too! Thank you.
Hugs across space – unvirtually
The day was chilly, overcast,
it seemed appropriate it was cold
Every part of me was cold
There seemed no warmth.
She had been to communion so many times
had heard those sacred words each time
“he broke bread and gave it to them say this is my body
which is broken for you”.
But today, it became personal
The grave had been dug,
the coffin had been lowered,
she just couldn’t toss dirt down.
It was final, and she knew it would never end
She walked over and picked three flowers.
Instead of dirt, Rose began to
to toss rose petals slowly,
one at a time onto the coffin.
She had whispered the words
that poured from some deep well inside her.
“These are pieces ripped from my heart today.
They have been given freely
as you are precious to me
and these pieces have already been committed to you
while your were alive.
Now your memories will fill these pieces
with gratitude that I knew you and
that I had an opportunity to give you
some pieces of me”.
In that moment brokenness was not sadness and pain,
but an umbilical highway to our connected lives
which made me more alive despite the sadness
and filled me with awe and appreciation.
You really nailed it in this one.
Before we moved in different directions
Before we moved in different directions
Remember those nights on the high school rooftop
Orion’s gaze deliberately clouding our senses
Knowing that freedom comes with sudden starts and stops
Each rub on the rosary followed by at least two “God blesses”
Naively believing forever was our permanent backdrop
You tell a whole story in these few succinct, yet leisurely lines.
Broke, Broken, Braking
I
Was
broke
I was
Broken
I was
Braking
Why
Was
I broke
Why
Have I
Been
Broken
Why
Do I
Need
to
Brake
I
Was
To
Broke
To
Fix
My
Broken
Brakes
To stop
Me
A Very Small Tree
The first time I fell that day
the left crutch became a roller skate
and I went down, helpless
like a tree felled in a forest
crashing against the underbrush,
in this case, the bedside table.
All around me, the detritus
of the lame and bed bound—lamp,
clock, coffee cup—went flying, and I
lay on the floor, purple flowers
blooming on my arms and legs,
feeling like pulp at the lumber mill
only not as useful and not nearly so
beautiful.
An early morning walk and this prompt conspired to inspire… http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2013/04/13/creativity-project-year-two-day-94/
Breaking News!!!
By the time that I retire,
SS funds will have expired;
so my broke ass will have to labor,
(and pardon, please, my crass behavior),
till my wrinkled shell gives out.
Dear Grim Reaper, take me now.
Broken Dreams
Broken dreams litter life
Like broken beads in the street
Dreams of Alaska with wild Caribou
Or of a Key West sunset
Dreams of family and friends
Or of growing old with one’s true love
Sometimes our dreams are torn
From our heart and hands like
A necklace is ripped from our neck
Other dreams slowly roll away
As do beads from a carefully preserved
Necklace breaks and scatters with age
Despair or a sense of death often
Follows broken dreams robbing life
Of beauty and joy and excitement
Likewise broken dreams cultivates
Appreciation of promises kept, of goals achieved,
And the hope of the future
PERSONAL AD.
Words in search of symbolic phrase
would like to meet nice poet
with living muse.
Love it.
Haha! Thanks. 🙂 That was fun to write.
I BROKE MY HEALTH.
My fences
in dire need of repair,
leaked
leaving boundaries
undefined
(poor protection
at best)
So these days,
fruit
by vegetable
by medi-
cation (and therapy)
I strive to
firmly set my posts
and boards
so I may walk long
enjoying
the earth on which
my
fences stand.
Broken
into
a
million
little
pieces…
Can’t
speak
a
word
or
think
a
thought.
Brains
scattered
like
ashes.
Tell
me
when
I’ll
be
“normal”
again?
And So All Good Things Must End
We sat under
a broken sky,
marveling at the
charred wreckage
of our crumbled
roof top.
We talked of
forevers,
now nevers,
finger-locked
waiting for the end.
We remembered
that first apartment,
the broken futon,
spilled candle wax
like blue blood splatters
on egg-shell white.
Eating crossed legged
on our mismatched plates.
I thought about
our first fight,
and wondered if
you knew how
close our end was
even then, in that
white-hot beginning
when our sky
began to burn.
Rocket-fueled, our words
are beyond recalling,
the missiles aimed for
the place where
all our possibilities lie.
None of it was meant to be
and we neither of us
mourned for what
we have done,
as we sat,
finger-locked,
under a broken sky.
‘”Rocket-fueled, our words
are beyond recalling, – powerful!
“Broken sky”. Never seen broken sky used in this way…powerful, poignant and wonderful.
Under An Oak
I’m broke
No joke
Can’t afford a single smoke
I woke
Some bloke
said my license was revoked
No cloak
Got soaked
At least let me have a toke
She spoke
He poked
They both thought I must have croaked
I’m broke
No joke
Poetic Asides
April Challenge – Day 12
Write a broke poem
BROKEN.
Their family broke the other year
now I, the house, am waiting
the dust lies lank, a beggar’s coat,
over scattered left-behinds
their family broke the other year
and each one moved away
and left what was–or might have been–
a home, now dull and silent
their family broke the other year
and I, the house, am waiting
for voices, footsteps once again
to let me give them shelter.
good use of repitition
Good one!
Thank you both!