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2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 2

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.

Today’s prompt is a Two-for-Tuesday prompt. For those new to the challenge, you have the option of writing to the first prompt or the second prompt–or even both if you feel so inclined. Here they are:

  • Write a bright poem.
  • Write a dark poem.

Here’s my attempt:

“impossible to fold”

boys are so silly
reading minds like directions
instead doing it their own way

girls know
how to tweak
them where it counts

not that they’re
ever even aware they’re
supposed to do x not y or well

shucks tom
dick and harry
are kind of a punch line

right white
knights don’t exist
not even in this dark kingdom

ever afters
slide under the bright
sun measuring men like maps


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

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445 thoughts on “2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 2

  1. drwasy


    In the gray of morning
    the mocking bird trills low
    and I sit at my desk
    waiting for words to come,
    waiting for your feet on the stairs.

    The thrum in my chest
    anticipates whether you
    will throw a rainbow
    or a shroud on my day.

    It is feeling hostage
    to your moods
    I cannot tolerate:
    the ferocity of
    the volatile flash
    that erupts from
    some place deep and hidden,
    a place even your mother
    could not know.

  2. dextrousdigits

    Shadowy clouds dance
    while dark memories rain down
    I shiver in coldness

    Rainbow Sky please come
    Sun bring warmth and radiance
    Flowers in my yard

  3. Dburke477

    Day 2 Dark Poem

    crouched over in the corner eating something

    it looks at me with glaring eyes which seem to stare into my soul

    i see in it has a handful of bugs he crushes them

    for it has found something more delicious, more fresh

    something to it smells so sweet, my flesh

    it leaps toward me with nails like talons

    scratching my face ever so deeply

    it quickly runs off through a door in which i was unaware exist

    i follow it unknowingly to what i’m getting myself into

    leaving a trail of crimson droplets behind me from my wound

    i begin to feel the pain which struck me like lightning

    i thought it must have been poisonous

    falling backward unable to control my body

    right then i knew…it was poisonous

    with the fall i hit my head so hard it must’ve cracked

    i begun to slowly lose my hearing

    only hearing what seemed to be thousands of footsteps nearing

    out of nowhere my hearing was shot

    but i was only left to feel something grabbing my ankles

    it felt like several of what i had seen earlier holding me tightly

    they began to drag me toward the light

    but the source to me was still unknown

    i came to a standstill feeling bugs all over

    creeping in my clothes and crawling into uncomfortable places

    barely conscious i see the light nearing me

    but this time it wasn’t me moving toward the light

    the light was moving toward me

    and thats when i saw it, towering over me with eyes like lanterns

    lighting the whole room, i see hundreds of creatures huddled around me

    glaring once again practically drooling over what lies in front of them

    but drooling to me didn’t make sense, what was i to them

    instantly i knew as my leg was torn off and thrown into a small crowd of them

    i was their feast something that would last them weeks

    they thought bugs were a delicacy but when they tasted my leg

    they knew what a true delicacy was

    and that delicacy was human

    limb by limb i was torn apart

    bleeding out as if a orange that had just been squeezed

    i suddenly am able to move and speak again

    i yell like i’d never yelled before my vocal cords screaming in pain

    as is my soul and every part of me that remains

    instantly all of the glaring eyes are back on to me

    their feast was being interrupted by no more than what remains of a human

    i hear the pounding of footsteps in the distance

    could what was once towering over me be coming back for round 2

    yes it was but this time it wasnt happy to see me

    because the only thing that made this creature happy

    was the suffering and pain of humans

    and it intended to do just so

    he puts both hands on each side of my head and picks me up like an ant

    he speaks for the very first time

    and what he had to say was not what i had been expecting

    but at that i hadn’t expected it to speak english in the first place

    but that part didn’t seem to shock me at the time

    loudly he groaned and cracked his neck

    saying to me “Sleep” and i had no idea what he meant

    until my head was slowing being ripped off

    my flesh was tearing at its seams stretching to its most ability

    but i knew it was over for me so i didn’t scream but i closed my eyes

    intending to do just as he said


  4. stepstep


    Your eyes convey a message of a thousand words
    Those who don’t understand think it’s absurd,
    But I clearly decipher the message within
    I respond although they’re my silent friend.

    Many times they’ve led me around an empty room
    Pushed my heart to pound and blossom into full bloom,
    I can’t deny all that I feel
    Your eyes sate emotions beyond the real.

    Your eyes convey such a powerful force
    Inwardly I do rejoice,
    Each and every hour is passion-filled
    Your eyes cause my entire being to yield
    Your eyes.


  5. clarior

    Darkest Dark
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Is any room a darker dark
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀than to flick on the bedside lamp
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀put there for her, as you lie
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀to yourself that the love you had
    ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀can be had with her not there?

  6. bookworm0341

    “Radiate” (bright poem)

    Light on my face
    draws me closer to warmth
    away from the darkness inside.

    Clouds dissipate
    as rays flow confidently forward-
    Heaven sent.

    Arms stretched out in reckless abandon,
    closed eyes,
    face held high,
    lungs fill with air,
    heart ignites with life
    that the speed of light brings my way.

    “Rag Doll” (Dark Poem)

    Done with being what you wanted
    A slave to your every beckon call
    I must have the word, “doormat”
    written all over my face
    as footprints have left their mark

    I’ve given 110% every day-
    and for what?!
    just so you can run off
    and leave me all alone again
    to have your fun- knowing
    I’ll still be here for you when you get back

    Heed my words-
    I will not be here
    for I am done being your lifeless rag doll
    Find someone else to control
    I have a life too

  7. Sharon

    Ebb and Flow

    Smart as a whip,
    cliché though it may be,
    children amaze with their
    quick minds and easy chatter,
    fearless and direct
    honest to the core.
    No one has taught them
    to lie, hedge, monitor their words,
    but it will come.
    The bright eyes and easy banter
    will be tarnished, dimmed by life,
    cut down by political correctness
    that robs them of originality
    and the integrity of innocence.
    Until one day they are old,
    aged by the ebb and flow of days
    the bright light of honesty returns
    if only for a time.


    They creep across the floor
    Like ink spreading toward the door
    Someone is there, waiting
    On my nerves always grating
    Hovering and so drear
    Beating my senses into fear
    The moon so bright does appear
    The thing I feared that was so near?
    I cannot say for now ‘tis consumed
    By moonlight shining into my room.

  8. k weber


    I tie myself up 
    With cords and cables

    Midnight ropes around me
    And my slippery tits ache

    I see which fingers are free
    I fuck myself frenzied

    I reach for my camera
    Just as I orgasm

    I breathe your name
    I scream for you

    I blush and take a picture
    And swim inside the ties

    You are there when you aren’t 
    And I want you to bind me tighter

    I am more wet and wish for you
    To untangle me and whip me

    I hum while you smack my tired ass
    You grab my hips and claw me

    You let me crawl the floor awhile
    Only to come back to suck you tired

    We weave the rubber into a nest
    And make love on my bruised skin

                                          – k weber

    Day 2
    Dark poem
    I took a risk

  9. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    by juanita lewison-snyder

    if ever
    there was cause for celebration
    it certainly wouldn’t be now,
    unless of course you count the 9 civilians
    gathered just outside the cubicle window
    to hear final thoughts, then
    the prisoner wet himself
    all while bearing witness
    to an execution.

    © 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  10. Jezzie

    From darkness to brightness

    In darkness I can suffer from fright.
    During the long, long hours of night,
    I hold my teddy quite tight.
    All alone in my bed,
    unable to sleep,
    I could start to weep.
    But I get up instead,
    turn on my bright bedside light,
    and very soon I start to write
    and everything then will seem alright.

  11. vsbryant1

    The dark depths of the endless night
    The shadowy abyss of a soul that lost the fight
    Deeper and deeper I fall, you rise
    Farther and farther into the night I hide
    Slowly, very slowly the demons of the night ascend
    Running faster, never winning my feet are sinking in despair known as a mist
    I see the light; no I see the fires of my personal hell
    Darkness creeping, getting closer; to late it’s already in

  12. finallyhereiam

    Two-for-Tuesday: write a bright poem; write a dark poem
    (i choose bright)

    A song of Faith

    Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow…for ages together known to Man
    This is what works, and still does; this is what keeps one strong
    The hallmark of a character prudent, the sign of a Life brave
    Oh Faith, oft beaten, and marauded, yet holding fort as a stave
    Your Journey it defines, the road you tread,
    And the impressions you carve

  13. burrhead

    More like brother and sister

    We greet and kiss and hug
    We talk about what happened
    But we don’t talk about our dreams
    Our ambitions
    Our hopes or desires or plans

    The news is on
    We share opinions about events
    But avoid our own
    Stepping carefully around our feelings
    Like dog excrement on a lawn

    When you are talking on the phone
    I get jealous when you laugh
    I wish you would laugh with me
    Like when we first met

    Where was I
    How did I miss it
    That event that
    Stole the fun from us

    Just so I don’t blame myself
    I blame the TV
    For stratifying two humans like a carpet and throw rug
    In the same room

  14. finallyhereiam

    Two-for-Tuesday (write a dark poem, write a bright poem)
    I choose bright
    A song of Faith
    Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow…for ages together known to Man
    This is what works, and still does; this is what keeps one strong
    The hallmark of a character prudent, the sign of a Life brave
    Oh Faith, oft beaten, and marauded, yet holding fort as a stave
    Your Journey it defines, the road you tread,
    And the impressions you carve

  15. profal29

    2 into 1

    bright, let it be
    but not for me
    I’ll take the dark of night
    for that is where my love
    will be
    that the dark we meet in
    will bring the light of love
    into her life
    I agree

  16. Mr. Walker

    sitting on the dark couch,
    waiting for the moon rise,

    hoping for a bright thought
    sparking new thoughts to rise,

    like the half moon still dark
    behind fog and gray clouds,

    finding these thoughts do rise
    because I put words down

    with pen and ink on grids
    counting for more than math

    any bright thought will do
    symbol, or yes, symbol,

    language, oh yes, such words
    as I cannot find now

  17. Nadienne

    Winter’s cool-mint

    glitter, balm
    after fall’s brown,
    is an eye-
    stabber when
    the world tilts
    the other way.
    This is just
    to say everything—
    day and dark,
    rhyme and reason—

  18. Feary

    I Do

    There was once a tree, you see
    White doves would fly around,
    pink ribbons in their beaks,
    Singing lovely songs.

    Cute, furry squirrels would jump,
    Smiling to all that can see.

    They traveled down the grassy hill;
    Grass so green and true,
    Hands held in hands,
    Smiling to each other.

    A carpet was laid out for them,
    And the roots of the tree stretched out,
    In one’s palms, there was a simple,
    Gold ring.

    The butterflies placed the ring
    In the man’s hands,
    And he bent down,
    And whispered those four words.

    The woman cried in delight,
    A ‘yes’ louder than an elephant,
    And they hugged,
    Kissing each other with a sweet kiss.

    Now when they were done,
    Animals of all were here;
    Giraffes, dogs, pandas, peacocks,
    And everything in between.

    The tree called attention,
    With the whistle of his leaves,
    And began the grand old speech.

    Everything was silent,
    Except for the unspoken words
    That the tree gave with wisdom,

    And when he was finished,
    He gazed down at the two,
    And what did they say?

    “I do.”

  19. bellestarr12


    There in the dark we waited.
    We knew the light was somewhere else.
    We knew it would not come to us,
    sitting in parked cars on country lanes
    fumbling with each other’s clothes and bodies,
    or on hillsides overlooking pastures and fields
    of corn and grain dotted with farmhouses set far apart,
    tiny points of light that winked out one by one
    as night deepened and the farmers,
    who would rise again in the dark
    a few hours later, went to bed.
    Sometimes we watched other distant lights,
    as those same farmers’ combines
    went round and round their fields all night,
    cutting the wheat or alfalfa before a threatened storm.
    From far enough away, they looked like fireflies.

    There in the dark we waited to grow up,
    not sure we wanted—but what else could we do?
    —to take our own places in our own dark houses,
    to worry about our own children
    who sat in the dark and waited.

    We waited as if we could leave the darkness behind
    for places where lights burned all night long
    and sunrise and sunset were only words and pretty colors
    that did not govern lives.

    We waited to come alive,
    each of us wrapped in the dark of our own cocoons,
    hiding our incompleteness,
    hoping that when the light finally came,
    we would be beautiful.

  20. EbenAt

    This to That

    Just opened the oven

    Cool gray
    salt tinged

    Simpsons blue sky
    Alert Level Red
    outdoor breathing
    not recommended

    Sucker holes
    promising sun
    before you grasp
    the gold ring.

    Hold the door howdy
    smiles that end
    at the eyes?

    I’ll take
    Door Number Two,

  21. Penpal57


    Through the dark of grief
    I think of him
    our dog. of twelve years.
    He was so loyal
    and loving, in his way.

    He was oh so sick,
    hadn’t eaten for five days.
    He was weak and he
    felt so bad when he
    couldn’t hold it anymore
    and went on the floor.

    A dark, dark day when
    they said “There’s nothing we
    can do for him!”
    Sleep well, Blackie
    we love you
    and we miss you, daily!

  22. catlover

    (a day late but here it is)

    Bright is the light
    That shines through the glass
    Seeping into the dark blanket
    That covers the glass
    To block out the bright light

  23. Eleanore D. Trupkiewicz


    Gollum hid from light.
    I suppose I see why.

    After all, I do the same.
    Darkness is my haven,

    My sanctuary, the place
    Where I rest the most

    Easily, and nowhere
    Else. Light reveals,

    And I hate it. At least
    Darkness shrouds

    Secrets, even as it keeps
    Secrets of its own.

  24. Kaitlyn

    Water Water Colors

    The darkness is soothing and deep as a metaphor
    Hidden in it’s depths
    And sightless monstrosities gnashing their teeth
    Rest their weary fear

    But water water colors in the dark dark dark
    Don’t mind if you sink down with them
    In the cold
    With the goosebumps
    And the fishy flesh

    It’s dark in the deep
    And the hand-painted dreams of those nightmares sing
    In the deep, dark wet

  25. ceeess

    Posted this on my blog with nice pix: http://quillfyre.wordpress.com/2013/04/02/april-2-writers-digest-pad-challenge-poem/

    The Dark Outside
    after Katy Ellerman

    Struggle. Darkness of senses.
    Fight fog-blur, sightless.

    Before, there was light. Before the blinding of eyes.
    There is no turning-away. In this place
    I make my peace with where I am.

    Enfolded. Enveloped. Silence. I stand
    against the dark outside this circle. Remember light.

    Inside the heart, a flutter of doves.

    Carol A. Stephen
    April 2, 2013

  26. Emmluu

    Here are a few…..one dark….the other light….

    You can decide which one is dark and light :)

    We are the master of our desire
    Boldly searching forgotten memories
    Profoundly held in the awe of our smile

    Here are my demons; fallen angels
    Crippled with desire;
    The innocence enclosed
    Like a caged dream fate has captured

    Midnight shadows murmuring
    Sleep rhythmically probes delicious dreams
    Deep past fantasy into shadows
    Of Fading music; silent but sinister

    The chaos of the centuries
    Great desire storms through
    Jealousy elevated ending a stage in
    The revelry of Love

    Crippled with tears I face myself
    Would innocence be found my fate?
    Guide me angels
    Into the arms of Love


    Abandoned soul lost in a tempestuous storm
    Cascading raindrops stream down the windowpane
    Oblivious is she to her own mournful wailing
    Leeches line up to lay claim on their investment
    Darkness falls soundly, hollowing out the pit of her being
    Dirty deeds done dirt cheap cost her more than her life’s worth
    Abundant is her despair as she lay spread eagle in a trance
    Retching pain sears a trail of unbearable anguish through her
    Knight in shining armor rusted stiff in her backyard
    Noble efforts faltered, too frozen is her spirit
    Invincible is she to Love’s embracing flame
    Gone is her heart, forbidden fruit consumed by savages
    Howl wind, Howl, sing a song of Misery
    Tonight she is a ghost cast away amongst the shadows

  27. Eve Brackenbury

    This poem is bright and dark. I hope you like it.

    She’ll get her kiss

    He keeps a bottle close to his breast
    convinced of its salvation,
    for each sunrise keeps a torturous longing alive.
    He won’t give up on his promise of one more kiss
    this side of heaven.
    The brightness of morning alerts him
    to the lateness of his duties.
    His blurred gaze turns to hellish things;
    he is entrenched with death.
    He can still feel the drink in his blood,
    mixing a bold acceptance with his paralyzing fears.
    He will not surrender;
    He will not go gentle into that good night.
    Damn her poetry.
    He is bound to return to her at the end of his tour,
    his passage secured by hell.

  28. Marjory MT

    BRIGHT vs. DARK (Etheree)

    is the
    of what is dark.
    It is morning light,
    a promise of good things,
    an attitude of giving,
    a knowing that things are alright
    and that the good far outweighs the bad.

  29. Margot Suydam

    Bright Lies in the Darkness

    I place my head on your pillow
    this crooked evening of feather
    weight fighting

    the lisp of argument wrinkles
    these clean sheets and cases
    that make up the bed

    we lie in, waiting for apples
    to turn crisp and sweet enough
    for pie baking

    for I can see a glowworm rising
    to parse the dark with its brightly
    unspoken tale.

  30. PuffofSmokePoems

    Darkness and Light

    A pregnant teenage daughter,
    poem so dark
    you cannot find a candle.

    Three years pass
    while the next stanza

    Now, this laughing child:
    All bossy charm
    and sidewalk chalk,
    asking five hundred questions
    while she blows her small breath
    at the wind chimes
    announcing that when the chimes play,
    Everyone should dance–
    Pouring light all over this house
    so thick you dance slow
    just to savor the view
    through the glowing windows.

  31. Tracy Davidson

    The darkness

    the light fades
    in his faithful eyes
    I stroke his head
    as the vet says sorry
    and rolls out the body bag

    Lost my beloved dog, Jasper, last week after 15 years of loving companionship. Missing him terribly.

    1. julie e.

      Oh i am so sorry!! i have cried so hard at the death of pets, much harder than at the death of some relatives. My heart is sad with you, and praying for “good grief” for you that heals.

  32. PoM

    The Dark poem
    Stumbling poet
    Trips and stumbles
    Blackness of night
    No rhythm or rhyme
    No stanzas so fine

    The Bright Poem

    Bright lights Tail lights
    Slowing for red traffic lights
    I hope that soon be me
    I’m off to the R. M. V.
    I’m hoping to get
    My driving permit again

  33. tunesmiff

    Blue on blue;
    Obelisk in silhouette,
    Cardinals dart and pirouette.
    Angels trapped in shadowed stone,
    Guard and plead in tone on tone.
    No stars.
    No moon.
    The sun hints it is coming soon.
    The faintest glow above the wall,
    Below the trees.
    Birdsongs call,
    There is no breeze.
    Blue fades into blue,
    Blue fades into blue.
    Blue fades…

  34. ngayari

    Bright and Dark

    Light or no light. Or dark?
    Color or no color. Or black?
    Presence or absence
    Existence or non-existence
    Life or no life. Death?
    Bright or dark?
    Two sides of the same side?

  35. donnellyk

    A late night writer, forever behind, this is for the day 2 PAD challenge, combined light and dark.

    ~Stage Lights on the Missionaries~

    Halos in layers around orbs in the dark piercing
    high in the rafters that smell of mildew and time
    like planets in orbit she sees outlines
    of ancestors in dust motes shimmering
    she feels the pull and is frightened
    but the lights are so dazzling
    and they are crying

    Eyes blinded and reeling she is drawn to her mark
    to perform and to dazzle to twirl and stay spinning
    to entice and to lure have the answers she must heal them
    she has ground level lanterns aimed just so illuminating
    bright color wheel shifting surface mood magical she works miracles
    but the lights are too bright for her
    and there are so many

    As she tires from the calling vessel emptied falling back
    crowds encroaching she is reaching backward blindly flailing panicked
    desperate for the exit slipping hands in the seam of the velvet blood
    red curtains yearning for the comfort enveloping folds that smell
    familiar though faded and heaped heavy draped final
    her lights flicker out with the rest of them stage dark
    but her daughter is waiting in the wings

  36. lionmother

    So many great poems here. Adding my two:

    Bright poem

    Spring has returned
    Crocuses bloom on grassy hills
    People shed their coats and ignore
    winter’s freezing breezes that
    hang around making it harder for the
    searing sun’s rays to warm us
    Yet with spring comes hope and the
    rebirth of long stagnant poetic juices
    bubble to the surface
    erupting in lines of words
    Creating a symphonic blend of
    voices as all rush to fulfill our destiny
    And I rejoice in each one’s melody.

    Dark poem

    Spring has returned with its misery
    The birds tweet at 2:30 AM
    My eyes, nose and throat are
    assaulted by the fresh growing new grass
    and the pollen of every growing plant
    flies in the air with its inevitable consequences
    Not that I don’t love flowers
    Their beauty and fragrance can transform me
    Why do they need to send their pollen into the air?
    Yes, I know the whole birds and bees thing and the
    answer to the why
    But being on the receiving end it is really like
    being in a war zone as the plant world awakens
    All I want is to be in a sealed room
    Too much of a good thing is Spring!

  37. Janet Rice Carnahan

    The Sun Rose

    Peaking into the day,
    Brightness scattered,
    Like pin balls bouncing,
    Through the boxed machine,
    At a pace without limitation!
    Hitting dull, dingy, worn out walls,
    Dusty battered streets,
    Broken down memories,
    Pasted across the old town,
    With a sudden vibrant new finish,
    Polished by penetrating and extending sunbeams,
    Pushing past stagnant clouds,
    Pulsating sunlight served up,
    Energy like fresh coat of paint!

    In the bright spirit of love’s renewal,
    She headed to Sunset Point.
    Holding a single pale rose,
    Close to her heart!
    Surrounded in a romantic mist,
    She moved dazed,
    Dancing, daring,
    Ready to surrender her flower to the sea,
    Just as the sun went down!
    As if in slow motion,
    Her foot slipped,
    Transforming her last moment in the dazzling day,
    Landing hard on the black sharpened rocks,
    In a smattering of rose petals,
    She fell deep . . .

    Into the dark abyss of the lost!

  38. Chimnese


    My imagination drifts with thoughts of you
    Far away in the Milky Way.
    Its heaven up here as I look into your eyes,
    The brightness of your eyes shines like
    A diamond that envelopes me from deep within.

    I play with the light as it comes through
    A beautiful form a face of a goddess
    Brightening up my heart as it sets me
    A light twinkling stars up in heaven glittering.

    You give my imagination new life, new hope
    Of coming undone, your kisses on fire
    As it burns deep within me to hold you close
    For many more decades to come.

    My imagination drifts with only thoughts of you
    Close by for my hands to meet yours.

  39. Kirito

    I never knew what it was like to be cared for…
    no one would come to hold me
    not that anyone could anyway
    they should be sliced to bits if they approached me…
    says my poisoned filled mind
    This world is so cruel
    staining that streets with the sin of gluttony
    swallowing the minds and bodies of people whole
    can’t I just stab the damn thing in the stomach?
    says my blood splattered soul
    Tiptoe through the window
    falling, falling down an endless void you go
    I could have saved you, right there in arm’s reach
    but what fun I have seeing you scream in pain, where no one can here you
    says my stone cold heart
    I am one without name
    and without any reason to act
    but needless to say that I am still human right?
    Happiness is happiness so long as you enjoy it
    so stay out of my happiness if you don’t like it
    unfortunately backing out of my realm after entering it
    means that you can no longer exist
    Stay There Dead For I Have Killed You
    I Will Always Keep On Feeding Off Of These Stupid People’s Worthlessness
    No One Can Ever Interfere With My Life- It’s Mine And Mine Only
    Be Happy Or Be Killed!
    but before I let you go to your death
    did you know, running through these veins of mine
    underneath my very skin-
    that my blood is black?

  40. kriztalladen


    It’s 2 p.m.
    and mom is out
    no one here
    but me

    in front of the green-wallpapered
    screen of my PC,
    I call Sparkee,

    who emits the only
    source of light
    in this dark room
    of mine

    All I want to do
    is hide

    These bumps, rashes
    blisters that itch so much

    To get well or not
    It’s better in the dark

  41. julie e.

    Well, i think this is the start of a poem…not sure where else it will take me.


    bright sun through leaves
    tree shadows on snow
    bird on her nest in the
    middle of a storm.

    Life keeps telling me
    that contrast makes things beautiful
    Life keeps showing me
    I can weather any storm
    Life keeps pointing out
    the import of a counterpart
    for darkness has taught me
    to love the light.

  42. LouiseBilborough

    rivers of black tears
    mascara melting on her cheeks
    sticking under her chin

    surrounded by idle chatter
    tormented by demons that jeer
    “worthless, hopeless, loveless”

    she catches the moisture
    on the back of her hand
    grey water trickles down her wrist

  43. SidraQ


    Fragile regrets spill
    from cracks in my bones.
    Where the light gets in,
    the song tells me,
    but bleached bones
    shine with their own luminous

    I’ll return to that place.
    The desert, were my jaw cracked
    catch regrets between cupped
    palms. Bring them to my lips
    drink deeply.
    Kick sand over spilled drops
    before they pool
    making cracks in dry river beds.

  44. Plove413

    We stood on the edge that night
    Happy to be there finally,
    A lover’s nest for a day or two
    A day’s drive from nowhere
    To here by the whispering lake.
    Who cared about the snow,
    The black ice, the close call
    After all we were here
    For a night or two
    Glad to spoon, to swoon
    To Miles and Coltrane,
    To fall asleep for the thousandth
    Time in our familiar arms
    To awake to light dancing,
    Skipping, twinkling on the
    Ice we’d thought was solid ground
    When we’d stood on the edge
    Of night two arrivals of love
    Secure in the shadow
    Of our waiting dream.

  45. Sheryl

    Who Sliced that Cloud?

    The Jolly Green Giant
    has an evil cousin who
    hates white feathery clouds.

    Why else did I notice
    a cloud sliced flat enough
    to reveal its dark underbelly?

    The cutlass-wielding monster
    Is long gone.

    Sheryl Kay Oder

  46. the scribbler

    Easter Vigil before the masses

    The church folk huddle, a thick crowd,
    clutching unlit candles and song sheets.
    Hushed whispers cut through the dark,
    “How many to be baptized tonight?
    “Have you seen…”. “Look at that
    little girl’s hat.” The hat– a flowered
    cap is but points and peaks
    in the dark. Color has vanished.
    A cloud of smoke passes over,
    incense to bless the new fire.
    Points of light pick their way
    into the somber pitched night.
    A voice proclaims,
    “Oh happy fault…” On this
    night of contradictions:
    to have lost is to win;
    to have tasted and tested
    death, entered the darkest
    soul’s night is to set
    the heart alight.
    This is the rising
    of the one true Son.

  47. just Lynne

    Dark to Light

    blue sky breaks
    through the wrinkled slate
    of winter clouds that overstayed
    their welcome
    still, a few clouds shed snowflakes
    limp as dandruff
    peppering the leaves
    of sprouting crocus

    so the sun buckles down
    and melts the morning frost
    pushing tired clouds
    into the corners of the sky

    robins romp across greening lawns
    their songs ring like wind chimes
    over the staccato calls
    of the crows that cling
    to stale winter trees

    spring’s blue sky flows across
    tired highways and parking lots

    deer quiver on the threshold
    pairs of cardinals dance

  48. Julieann

    Last Dance of Summer

    Dancers embrace, swaying,
    To the gentle music
    Wafting through the air

    Paper lanterns hanging
    In old oak trees
    Swaying gently in the breeze

    Dazzling moonlight bathing
    Love struck partners
    Gliding across the old dance floor

    One dance remaining
    Night’s almost o’er
    Slipping away as sand on the shore

    1. PressOn

      This is very evocative for me. It calls to mind an old hotel by a pond near a lake; the hotel long since burned down, but the floor remaining. Nice job.

  49. kali.kristine


    I am riddled
    of a person
    once been,
    once shot for the stars,
    once created more than she destroyed,
    frustrated herself less.

    But how must I return?
    In the form in which I came?

    Like Alice,
    I drank one bottle that made me smaller
    One bottle that made me taller,
    and I followed a rabbit down the damn hole.

    I lost its tail,
    fell off the trail,
    and was never to be seen again.

  50. Bruce Niedt

    I did the same, JoAnn – combined Robert’s prompt with NaPoWriMo’s prompt of writing a poem about a lie or lies. I took a more general approach to the prompt:

    Bright Lies

    Some bounce off the water or snow,
    blinding us as we drive or sail.
    Some burn our retinas
    if we look directly at them.
    Some hit the mist in the meadow
    at just the right angle, a sharp white
    sheet against the glade.

    Some dazzle us with rhinestones
    in the spotlight, then disappoint us
    when the lights go out.
    Some are mirrors, reflecting
    what we want to see
    and not what we are.
    Some are whitened smiles
    on faces purged of wrinkles,
    lips puffed beyond the natural.

    Some are collected by birds
    because they are shiny,
    and before the dumb things know it,
    they have built a nest of lies.

  51. PKP

    Okay fellow poets – we have an abundance of riches here – I hesitate to comment as I hurry trying to stuff each morsel into my mouth – knowing that I will not be able to get to each poem – I don’t have an answer to this dilemma – please know that I have read each poem thus far and there is not one here that I would have wanted to miss! That’s it for me tonight. Happy poeming or as Benjamin Thomas wished Happy PAD’ing :)

  52. JRSimmang

    “No,” she demurred, as the light perforated her
    inner sanctum. it was all together madly
    infuriating. Her mind telling her one thing
    and her eyes telling her another. “Nothing still?”
    He clicked something; she heard it far to her left side,
    some sort of switch. She thouht she should be aware of
    what each weitch does, but what would be the point of that?

    She was diagnosed early. Thank God that her sight
    wsa doomed to absolute darkness at a young age.
    This way, she could forget the blue of the summer
    sky or her father’s curiously crystal eyes.
    She could allow the memory of ancient books
    in anciet dust jackets to slide into wanton
    oblivion. Bless this gift that hath been bequeathed.
    Blessed is the wanderer who cannot see for
    their imaged sight is purer than the keenest sight.

    They, the doctors, told her the other senses would
    adapt. She would, in effect, evolve into a
    greater human being; she would become a real
    super hero. She stayed up nights (or days… she had
    trouble telling which was when) wondering if it
    would be her hearing (which would be the best) or if
    it would be her sense of smell ( which would be the worst).
    She would be fine with touch; her boyfried had nice hair.

    Touch, each fingertip, laced with tiny receptors,
    capable of rendering the Mona Lisa,
    caressing the flawless skin of a newborn child
    aware of itself as a means to a divine
    end. She liked to imagine his navel, to trace
    the dimples above his collar bone, to outline
    his jaw line and grazing quietly along his ear,
    breathing softly. She would be fine with touch.

    Some days, she could hardly contain her excitement.
    But, as her world grew darker, the sun shined less
    frequently. It seemed she was wakin up later
    and later and she was a drifter among a midnight
    sea, the water clawing her marooned liferaft.
    She was no super human. She was no faster-
    than-lightning daredevil. She was simply a girl
    who couldn’t see her hand in front of her damned face.

    She got the call sometime around noon on the first
    of March. Dr. Oestenkraft. Supposedly he
    had magic hidden underneath his finger nails.
    His voice: soothing, almost patronizing, giving
    him a fatherly aire. He extended to her
    an invitation to the sunrise on April
    the third. She laughed out loud, but noticed the subtle
    silence lingering in the receiver… She gasped.

    April 3rd, one month after her eyes were pierced and
    poked, she sat on the porch swing outside the doctor’s.
    The breeze was steady, dry, and carried the scent
    of ripe persimmon. It was sharper than orange
    but soft as lavender. Her mother and grandma.
    The doctor moved her to face the orizon, just
    so that she could feel the warmth dance across her skin.
    That morning, the sun found a way to her wet cheeks.

    She would later tell you that it wasn’t her sight
    she got back that day. She wouldn’t say it was
    the memory of the lemonade stand outside
    their house on the front lawn. To be blind, to be left
    in the night without a hand, is to compare the
    world to a chase. That day, the horizon caught on
    fire. The blues and reds and oranges she almost
    remembered rushed into her head and toes… She gasped.

  53. wdunlop

    On a Roll (bright prompt)

    It’s night, and the only light comes from the laptop screen
    As the writer writes and weaves the scene
    In his dark room, making the keyboard click and clack
    Under fevered fingers, no stroke taken back.
    It’s late. He really should turn in.
    But though all else is dark, inspiration will not dim.

  54. Deri

    I combined the prompts without even realizing it….


    insinuation vivid
    in the noon day sun

    as he waits by his car
    for that now foreign something
    that can’t happen

    anymore. “We could, you know”
    and just like that
    the interminable possibility is

    We could;
    but then — what?

    Our safety breathes
    fluently in the light
    where it becomes easy to

    forget the whispering
    lies that crouch,
    waiting ghosts in the dark.

  55. Benjamin Thomas

    Dancing in the Plain

    The dark shadows dance again in the plain

    mellowed out

    they send a call to dance in accordance with the rhythm

    of solemn wind rustling

    snaking through the fields



    who will join them?

    catch them if you can

    and dance

  56. Rora Nyx

    Movie Theaters

    You may think the movie theater
    Is dark as dark can be
    At quarter past three
    In the morning

    You may think all the folded seats
    Are seated in pitch black
    Empty front to back
    In dead silence

    You should know that moving pictures
    Are shining on the screens
    Playing through the scenes
    From projectors

    You should know that all the theaters
    Watch the films from the day
    Then choose what to play
    From memory

  57. Alphabet Architect


    Beaming, gleaming,
    commanding her audience

    Girly, twirly
    Curly locks springing like coils

    Surreal, ethereal,
    Air-like aura about her

    Taking charge
    Freely giving her opinion

    Plucky, poised,
    A noisy merrymaker

    Delightful, sweet,
    Cannot get enough of her

    Priceless, rare,
    Sparkly granddaughter of mine

  58. Lynn Burton

    After Dark

    Shadows show me the lines we draw
    between right and wrong.
    Black and white.
    They linger long after the white hot heat
    of our romance
    to drown us in conscience filled dreams
    that wake us, breathless, and wanting more.

  59. Benjamin Thomas

    O’ Bright Morning Star

    O’ bright morning star

    many yearn rightly for your budding light

    in the womb of the dawn

    O’ bright morning star

    many eagerly lingering await your bright beams

    in the midst of the dark night

    O’ bright morning star

    many anxious for your rising

    require your blessed luminescence

  60. ValerieO



    Little fingers
    Build sandcastles
    With orange and yellow
    Pails of salt water
    Wet trunks cling then dry
    As the wind blows
    At sunset they crunch butter cookies
    Marvel at their work

  61. Angie5804

    Wait for the Midday

    Early morning sun
    flickers through the trees
    like an irregular heartbeat
    light and shadows start the day
    in my eyes and in my soul
    makes me squint
    makes me wonder
    do I stay or do I go?
    wait, my soul
    wait for the midday
    wait for the warmth
    illumination will come
    just wait
    to see, to know
    wait for the midday

  62. LCaramanna

    Bright Ideas

    Benjamin Franklin,
    With kite and key,
    Flew his bright idea in
    An electrifying storm.

    Robert Fulton,
    Enlightened by Fitch,
    Floated his idea down-river with
    Steamed-up passengers.

    Thomas Edison,
    Bulb burning light,
    Sparked brilliance to
    Illuminate the dark.

    Binney and Smith,
    Crayons in hand,
    Colored the world
    Rainbow bright on white paper.

    Wilbur and Orville,
    Wright idea hatched,
    Rose above it all on
    Flying machine wings.

    American Inventors,
    Driven by desire,
    Successfully generated
    Bright ideas.

  63. taylor graham


    This is our spring fenceline,
    hypotenuse between two-lane cross-roads
    and wraithlike corner of woods,
    its legion shadows relaxing by the ghost
    of a digger-pine. No stopping
    to triangulate fun in the sun-showers
    till bedtime, till it’s the stars’ turn
    to shoot across the sky.

  64. ely the eel

    Bright & Dark

    It has been a good day,
    nothing too grand, nor magical,
    simply a few hours of quiet enjoyment,
    some idle conversation with friends,
    cheered on by the crisp sunlight of early spring,
    hands shielding eyes against the glare,
    smelling the ocean in the thin clouds,
    down here, close to the border with Mexico.

    How hopeful the sounds of passersby,
    baseball season upon them,
    the dark days of busted brackets behind,
    still a rosy outlook for the local heroes,
    not yet time for clever analysis,
    of what went wrong this time.
    There’ll be time later for the reality of defeats,
    their shadows eclipsing today’s bright sun.

    The gloomy mornings of winter are gone now,
    but summer still sleeps,
    not quite ready for her big entrance.
    This is spring, and she’s still young,
    so, satisfied, we capture
    bits of today’s breezy brilliance,
    enlivened by the simple pleasure of it all,
    grateful for this good day.

  65. viclopab

    I’m giving the PAD Challenge my own little twist and setting to music poems in English and Spanish, suggestions are very welcome.

    Yesterday’s poem was Francisco de Quevedo’s “Constant Love Beyond Death”:


    And today’s poem, Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese”:



  66. maggzee

    Liddy in the Brightness of Morning

    Daybreak and Liddy rubs her face
    I’m here today. He sees her
    She rolls to the sun. Seeking grace
    Handprint on the window. He feels her

    She stretches and curls in a particle of light
    He sits. Blinks in the lucent beams
    Oh she’s sinking, below him, out of sight
    He can only follow her in dreams

    Liddy come with me
    I will last through the day
    I will save you from shadows
    But she shimmers away.

  67. StephanieRosieG

    sacrifice of the willing

    midnight stumbling
    bumbling staggering
    stubbing my toe in darkness
    never quite dark enough
    with alley lights
    through the blinds
    and never quite light enough
    my eyes never wide enough
    a bottle and tears
    warm the bottle
    measuring testing testing
    the temperature
    midnight crying
    weeping sobbing
    needy meeting in the darkness
    i rock and feed and
    rock and sing
    and rock and clasp
    when will how will
    i ever sleep again

  68. RJ Clarken

    Crayon Chiaroscuro

    “We could learn a lot from crayons; some are sharp, some are pretty, some are dull, while others bright, some have weird names, but they all have learned to live together in the same box.” ~Anonymous

    My box of crayons gives a hint.
    Yeah, my whole world. Here’s what I see:
    Some dark shades. Luminosity.
    And hues and tones. On screen. In print.

    Atomic Tangerine. Gold. Mint.
    And Purple Mountain’s Majesty.
    Yeah, my whole world. Here’s what I see:
    My box of crayons gives a hint:

    It’s Chiaroscuro. Contrasts. Tint.
    Asparagus and Manatee,
    with Orchid and Wild Strawberry.
    The colors dance and – oh, the glint!
    My box of crayons gives a hint…


  69. Barbara

    Streaks of light
    break through the leaves
    and the rain-damp ground yields a little under my tiptoes.
    Face upturned,
    I close my eyes against the
    robin’s egg
    reveling in the brightness peeking
    through my eyelids,
    as the tall green blades
    tickle my bare legs,
    my white dress now speckled with mud, stained by grass.
    I perch myself
    atop a broad stone warmed by the sun,
    I wrap my arms around my
    brown knees and I listen—
    listen to the music of crickets,
    of birds,
    of the summer wind
    and I breathe in deeply the quiet scent
    of lavender and dew;
    and the rest of the world falls away.
    But you.

  70. keithdozier

    Many phases of light
    by: Keith Dozier

    In a sea of stars
    She’s a swimmer.
    Even when her light’s
    Reduced to but a glimmer.
    Don’t worry… she’s not gone anywhere
    Still in the same place..
    Always out there.

    Some nights she’s half there,
    Others she’s a sliver.
    But given time, she–
    Will shine again- deliver
    She will be full again,
    And will be glad to show it,
    She may even show in daylight
    Just to make sure you know it

    Some nights she’s barely
    Shining on you..
    Patience- you’ll see,
    She will become new.

    Shhhh, she speaks:

    If I’m not giving enough light,
    Hang with me.
    That will change..
    And probably soon
    Even when you don’t see,
    I’m still here..
    I’m the moon.

  71. Michael Grove

    Dark Curtains, Bright Light

    Dark curtains drawn over the windows,
    but, not really pulled very tight.
    A sliver could pass through the opening,
    and one tiny ray of bright light.

    The sun behind shone with a brilliance.
    Not even dark curtains could fight
    that ray of hope so steadfast
    in one streak of pure bright light.

    By Michael Grove

  72. Raina Masters

    Wood laminate cannot hold you at night

    The room lies dormant, uninhabited.
    The frame of a bed in pieces
    on the hard wood floor, curtains
    removed, let peering eyes in during
    daylight to see the tissue box
    on a bench, the bags of watches
    and lip balms piled in a basket.
    The television weighted by a layer
    of dust. The smell of insecticide
    lingers in the air, in the closet.
    My toes are soundless against the night
    as I break the quarantine, rest my
    fatigued body on the cold floor,
    look out into a black sky and find
    constellations, close my eyes
    and remember what was shared and lost here.

  73. PhantomPhan1881

    My darkness (a monotetra)

    There’s a darkness inside of me
    I haven’t been able to break free
    The only color I can see
    is always gray, is always gray.

    Everyone else seems to be fine,
    they can’t see this darkness of mine.
    So I stay away, draw a line,
    alone I dine, alone I dine.

  74. afg_paletta

    Silenced Thought

    I see, sometimes watch, so many lives.
    Some I want,
    others I just watch,
    mostly I wonder.
    Can any of it happen to me?

    Pictures on Instagram,
    Statuses on Facebook,
    Jokes on Twitter.
    Excitement in caps,
    Feelings in hashtags.

    Stuff of all kind,
    I want a place and so I lie,
    about something I did or saw.
    Recycle pictures from months ago.
    I ran out of jokes.

    And so the smile fades,
    as the screen goes dark.
    I look at the empty void of my computer screen.
    Reality’s back.

  75. carolecole66

    Night Walk

    Let me resist the insidious sleep that threatens
    to hammer me into oblivion. Let me fight it
    with books and bright lights, seduce it with pills;
    let them fight it out inside my head until I lie
    gape-mouthed, glasses crooked on my nose,
    gum in my mouth, book dropped against my chest.
    Hateful sleep. Beautiful sleep.
    Let me not rouse until mid-morning, wondering
    at the morning light, how it pours angrily across the bed.

    Now let me put in the time until dark,
    until I can slip out into the night and pace
    the streets, gazing at the dark houses, rows
    and rows, wondering that inside so many people sleep.
    Here and there a lighted kitchen shows
    someone’s secret life. He sits at the table
    or walks to the stove and removes a pan—soup, milk?
    –wondering at the serious life this person lives;
    the peace of a simple act; the safety of a kitchen.

    On the small bridge, let me watch the water flow
    toward the river then to the sea; brackish water,
    not deep. At night the herons disappear; the owl
    sometimes sits on the wire overhead, looks
    down at me, measuring. The stillness at the bridge,
    the quiet air, feels like a threat. The bridge is insignificant.

  76. J.lynn Sheridan

    “By the bright light of the starry blue boob tube”

    Fast forward to the middle
    where they kiss passionate and wild
    and then just call it a night.

    The big fight erupts in the third act,
    (it was a dark and stormy night,)
    blah,blah, blah, breakup,

    and anyway
    you know the ending.

    Girl gets guy.
    (A big surprise.)

    Wipe off that sweet potato
    smile and pass the remote.

  77. RASlater


    One day I took a good hard look
    At the Law they called the Word
    And could not comprehend the stark shadings
    Of absolute light and absolute dark
    There was no warmth of love here
    Only the harshness of fire and cold
    Because it is just chapter in a book
    And does not tell the all
    Of the depth of His creation
    The spectrum of His character
    The deeds that He had done
    One cannot look at the Law
    Without looking at the Love
    Sprinkled in the moments in-between

    Like a jealous lover
    Coveting our attention
    His temper He sometimes lost
    But remembering Himself
    He draws close to us
    Our hearts to woo
    As He asks for our forgiveness
    How can we say no to that?
    Forgive as we’ve been forgiven
    Love as we’ve been loved
    Fully and passionately without reserve
    Risking it all for a capricious one like us
    There is no black and white in this place
    Nor flitting shades of grey
    For here the full spectrum resides
    In the hearts of Men
    Not in the pages of a book

  78. deringer1

    My Light, My Dark

    a hint of dawn thru the window,
    one eye open to assess the day,
    still in the pessimism of darkness.

    coffee, a little breakfast
    then the dark in me gives way
    to just a smidge of perhaps.
    Light slowly rises inside me
    as day begins.

    But,when day is over
    the sunset, in glorious reds and golds
    sinks to the horizon,
    taking with it the optimism of day.

    Darkness returns,
    dropping its curtain of finality
    at the end of the play
    with no applause.

  79. BDP

    I’m sure this will make much less sense to me tomorrow, but it’s what I have for today.

    “Kitchen Color Yin-yang”

    Much like my cooking: mixed. What’s in a name?
    I’ve “burnished cherry” cupboards, granite slabs
    like “gravy flecked with melon, polished dimes.”
    You see? The salesman picked the marketing,
    the words of fruity hue and hand-rubbed stain,
    though, still, I bought it, therefore I can’t crab
    my lemonade’s more berry and my wine’s
    a burgundy shot through with mustard, crime

    on fronts both culinary and good taste
    where light and dark stage fights (no paisley hug
    of yin and yang). There’s mashed with burn, and fluffed
    with tough. Exhausting, not to mention waste.
    I should have chosen simple, not the stuff
    of sale’s pitch. Black with white, not pull meets tug.

    B Peters

  80. rubyr08

    “A Dark Poem”

    The gate is cracked open, do not enter.
    The vines fall as the gap widens, eyes staring from every direction.
    There is no escape once you’re here.
    There is no hope.
    A howl.
    Is there someone there?
    Or is it the imagination of the human mind taking advantage of the circumstances?

  81. Girlfromsandwich

    ~Across Dark Skies~

    From that first night,
    when my father pointed up to the
    bright lights in the dark sky,
    I’ve thought of that hunter
    as my faithful friend.

    When wonder, or sadness
    or searching, or wine,
    or mere happenstance lifted my eyes
    to that bright belt, I smiled.
    Hello, my friend.

    Others surely also take pleasure
    in seeing that cluster of stars in the night
    through the years, over decades
    even lifetimes apart,
    bright friend in the darkest of skies.

  82. Alpha1

    The Day We Called It A Night

    One bright mornin
    in Sept
    it became night
    in the middle of day
    when our love
    came tumblin down
    to the ground zero
    forever decimated

  83. PowerUnit

    The Street

    On the bright side of the street, the people
    glide, gather, and glow
    smile at each other and at the people who might yet walk by.
    The buildings look taller, they shine, they welcome
    familiar and stranger alike, friends
    sipping coffee or beer
    wanting to be near
    each other.

    On the dark side of the street, the people
    hide, wither, and crow
    at each other and at the next son of a bitch about to cross the street.
    The buildings are shorter, they shrink, they succumb
    to abusive and intrusive, foes
    dipping in pockets
    for a few nips

  84. omavi

    I couldn’t make up my mind so I wrote two:

    Shiny Happy People

    As they shine and bling
    As they live and dream
    As the darkness is pulled within
    Happiness is no longer a pipe dream
    Smiling and laughing
    They do what they do
    Giving out gifts of laughter
    Painting silver on dreary clouds
    Lauding everything that makes life true
    That’s exactly what those beautiful people do
    Always happy and sadness seems to slip
    Of diamond sparkling skin
    The dream of utopia is a dream so real
    Poisoning everything with a grand sheen
    Some say ignorance is bliss
    Well maybe bliss
    Is the epitome of good living


    My Dirty Little Secret

    Lust got control of my very soul
    I know I didn’t deserve to feel it
    But still I will take her and make her mine
    It walks through this time waiting for my hand
    It wants me to hurt it
    And of course I will give it a gift
    A moment of pleasure after times of pain
    A simple release after entrapment in chains
    A single breathe after suffocation reigns
    The stop of all pain
    After all hurt is expressed and gained
    I know I am an evil thing
    But everyone lauds those searching for joy
    And they despise those who need the pain

  85. Sally Jadlow

    A Bright Poem or a Dark Poem

    I sit at a polling place
    wait for voters.
    Few walk through the door
    as we wait until dark
    to close the door,
    declare it finished.

    So few take the bright privilege
    to make their voice heard.
    Such a shame.

  86. DanielAri

    Gray scale
    (Visual version here: http://imunuri.blogspot.com/2013/04/gray-scale.html )

    Eastern Death White
    Heartfelt Thank You
    Sesame Street
    Fill In The Blank
    Doorstep Newsprint

    Powdery Zinc
    Hurricane’s Wink
    Shades of Harpo
    Overpass Strut

    Zombie Lipstick
    Beneath The Steps
    Downtown Canyon
    Loneliest Monk

    Subwoofer Cone
    Hairline Fracture
    Hipster Fashion
    Chimney Sweep’s Luck
    Seagull Wing Tip

    Tectonic Crack
    Western Death Black

  87. WayneLMurphy

    The Legend of Lindsey’

    A solemn white tree
    a cold barren field
    I am quite weary
    my mount is tired

    Collapsing quietly
    I sink to the ground
    My enemy is near
    I sense her presence

    For a moment I sleep
    awakened by a rustle
    I open my eyes
    she stands above me

    “You have come alone.”
    “Of course,” she replies.
    Her fortitude unmatched
    she is fueled by desire

    She is a thin waif girl
    but a powerful foe
    Her dark sullen eyes
    cut me like daggers

    I committed the crime
    now payment is due
    I bow before her
    she raises her sword

    “You don’t have to.”
    “You know I do.”
    Her blade whirrs swiftly
    the last sound I hear

    It was a clean slice
    she takes her trophy
    She starts back home
    my head in her bag

    – Wayne Murphy 4/2/13

  88. elishevasmom


    Always the outsider,
    ever pushed to the edges,
    the proverbial fifth wheel,

    she drew a line in the sand,
    and said, “I will live on this side.
    What lived on the other side

    was darkness—
    that boundary a no-man’s-land.
    There were no passports.

    There could be no check point,
    no question, “Is your stay
    for business or pleasure?”

    Pleasure did not exist
    in that darkness.
    And any thought of

    business meant crossing
    that line—like bringing
    a knife to a gun fight.

    She built a wall,
    constantly fortified with
    stones of obsidian,

    a construct of fire-forged
    demarcation between

    light and “other”.
    Bricks burnished in the
    eruption of shame,

    the brunt of ridicule,
    unable to fix without knowing
    what was broken.

    With each dark memory
    forced behind the wall,
    her fear grew that

    it would burst—with
    her being swept away
    in the flood of darkness.

    Even as her life imploded,
    the foundation grinding to
    dust, she kept a fearful eye

    on that polished wall,
    and in turn saw only
    hear own fear reflected.

    Now, as she creates for
    herself a dwelling in the
    light, she keeps a wary watch

    on that shadowed presence.
    From time to time, a loose
    dark stone tumbles into

    her path. She braces for the
    inevitable cascade—which
    fails to fall.

    And although she may
    stumble a little, each time,
    it is easier to regain her balance.

    Ellen Knight 4.2.13
    PAD day 2 write a bright poem write a dark poem

  89. Miss R.

    ~ Staying Awake ~

    Some like the shadows
    In whose comfortingly cool shade
    They are free to wander unattached
    And shackled,
    To ask,
    To ask,
    And never to answer.
    The shade grows colder towards dawn,
    But they do not notice,
    These contentedly drowning wayfarers.

    I must swim for the land I may never reach
    Before dawn breaks.

  90. PKP


    two bright copper pennies
    glitter in the navied night
    while I wait under the street
    lamp light for you to come

    holding the brightness
    as darkness slips it
    from my grasp as the
    street stays empty
    and grows cold
    and dull
    but for two

    bright copper pennies

  91. Nimue

    with shaking fingers,
    she wiped the tears away –
    these were the first one,
    which would not pass
    the boundaries set
    by her flushed cheekbones;
    but the next wave would;
    down the cheeks,
    flirting with corner of lips,
    but aiming for the neck,
    in darkness she lies,
    letting the tears roll
    scared of the light next day
    when the face would reveal
    the games of past night,
    when her smile would fail
    to hide the hurt and pain
    her heart tires to forget in vain

  92. PKP

    Bright and Dark

    Bright and Dark
    grew side by side
    in a land far away
    now gone
    Bright’s hair shimmered
    light platinum and Dark
    deep sparkling
    and ebon

    Bright and Dark
    ran through fields
    laughing hand in hand
    rolling in dandelion dreams
    all life unspooled emerald ribboning
    in peace and love it seems

    until grownup heavy boots mashed
    the earth looking down on them
    where they lay
    dragged them up each by an arm
    and banished Bright from Dark
    forbid them ever more to play

  93. Lindy

    As Snow Turned Black

    It’s 3 am and dark as day,
    just like the sun has run away.
    I woke a dream of afterdeath
    while it was leaving her last breath.

    The nightmares of that fatal storm
    still haunt me in my sleeping form:
    her final thoughts as snow turned black
    and I’m not there upon fate’s track.

    Some time has passed, a twilight haze,
    and backward is my morning gaze.
    I search to find our history –
    the only thing that eases me.

    The memories I never knew
    are rescue from the days anew.
    in silent tears I taste the sour
    wish of saving her final hour…

    1. Dini

      Loved it!

      Anders, could you please post the search link again? I tried before and couldn’t get it to work -I may have miscopied something. thanks.

      1. LCaramanna

        Your search tool is really helpful. I just want you to know that when I search for my poems, I also get the poems I commented on along with my comments. I wouldn’t want to take credit for other poets’ poems.

        1. PKP

          Yes, I noticed that too – also in my case (and my fault obviously!!) I am listed three different ways to Sunday :) Nevertheless, GRATEFUL for this wonderful tool.

          Thanks Ander.

        2. Anders Bylund

          Yeah, well, since there’s no consistent way to tell our poem submissions apart from off-topic chat or comments to other poets, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about this. It would take changes on the Writers Digest side of things, where I have absolutely no control or even affiliation (other than publishing a couple articles three years ago). We’d also have to start tagging each entry here as a poem, comment, whatever, and I don’t think that would work. So it is what it is. Some human judgement will always be required.

  94. lorif1000


    In my classroom
    the lights glare.
    I turn them off
    for the projector
    which is worse,
    an instant headache.

    I finish the lesson,
    manage to waken
    my students from
    their video comas,
    shake myself out
    of my own stupor.

    We have a
    decent discussion
    about John Lennon’s
    continuing influence
    on the world after his death
    and the bright world of “Imagine”.

    After dismissal I find
    my way out to the brilliant
    sunshine and unseasonable wind
    of this early April afternoon
    and my eyes tear up
    from the sting of it all.

    Lori Desrosiers 4/2/13

  95. Sara McNulty


    Shining in the gold intellect
    of a Midas mind
    among certain elite
    whose feats are lauded,
    speeches applauded, he is
    ever showcased in spotlight
    of sun worshippers of the mind.


    She knows that feeling
    of kneeling in the doldrums
    of gray uncertainty,
    who she is versus
    who she can be. Leaden
    legs prevent her climb
    from cellar to roof of the mind
    where ideas germinate,
    unwatered, choking
    before they can grow.

    Poetic Asides – Day 2 – Bright poem, Dark poem

  96. Brian Slusher


    My sister & I are getting tattoos.
    She’s getting a sun. I’m getting the moon.

    NYScanner is a dark enterprise.
    So many sad jumpers filling clear skies.

    Surprised a stranger in the mirrored door:
    I keep forgetting I dyed my black hair.

    I’m brooding about things with you, my friend.
    Aren’t we bright enough not to let us end?

    Best possible way for you to transcend
    Is to let the light inside you expand!

    Trying hard to find any good reason
    For this harsh, unholy, sunless season.

    Britain’s oldest light bulb is still shining
    Dazzling since Victoria was queen.

    People take an Instagram of a lamp
    Like it’s a revelation. Sorry, champ!

    The speed of light is now variable.
    I wonder what other “facts” will turn bull?

    Only a white sock to go with the black
    So taking a two-toned walk in the park.

  97. Nancy Posey

    Sharing the Sun, the Moon

    How did I get here, as far
    from you as I can go
    without moving closer?
    Under unfamiliar skies,
    the stars obscured,
    each night I still peer up
    searching for the moon,
    knowing soon you too
    will see its light, you
    who now, so far away,
    cast shadows under
    the bright sun I move
    slowly toward, turning
    as this great world spins.

  98. rubyr08

    A Bright Poem

    Awaking in a foreign room, alone.
    The light is shining through the crack in the curtain.
    My body rises and my feet touch the carpet,
    I feel the texture change as I make my way to the bathroom.
    The light is still shining and the sun rising more and more.

    I walk out the door and I hear the waves crashing against the rocks.
    There is a chill breeze and the air is speaking.
    The air is singing with the waves, a wonderful melody.

    Step by step there is something new to see.
    A snail slowly making its way back to the forest, to his family.
    Going down two more there are daisies.
    Thousands of them that surround the steps and extend for an eternity.
    There are dandelions too.
    Make a wish.

    I have my flip flops on.
    Carefully stepping over the line of fire ants, I make my way to the opening.
    I see the ocean in front of me, and the log just lying there.
    I wonder how it got there.

    Sitting there for hours, I could.
    From sunrise to sunset would be a blessing.
    Alas, the smell of dinner must wisp my body away from the ocean.
    I must return tomorrow, for I wish not to miss the encore.

  99. De Jackson

    Boxing Shadows

    Gloves off, we embrace
    our own ebony, sweep
    bony closets clean and
    pack it all away for
    morning. When storing
    these darker sides, unlit
    tides spill loose from an
    indifferent moon. We fill
    pockets, shoeboxes, pickle
    jars, and hope that some
    -one breaks them


    1. De Jackson

      My cutty-pastey process gave my poem a quote-ectomy. This was supposed to appear above the poem:

      “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.” – Mary Oliver

  100. Mariya Koleva

    Already so many… Time is always short :-) Here is my dark poem:

    Up the alley
    I crawl
    And dulled
    To dumb sobriety
    Yet drunk on
    a monstrous lack of relation to

    Ah, the glitch is back…

  101. HandHeldWriter

    She was dressed in all white,
    Her gown beautiful and long.
    He was dressed in all black,
    His face was weary and long.

    She holds her bouquet tightly in her hands,
    And her veil high on her head.
    He folds his hands solemnly in front,
    And hangs low his head.

    She sheds a tear of joy,
    For this is such a glorious day.
    He sheds tears of sorrow,
    For this is such a sorrowful day.

    She stands before her priest,
    Listening to her vows he speaks.
    He stands before his priest,
    Listening to the the eulogy he speaks.

    She leaves the wedding with a joy in her heart,
    As the rice comes pouring down.
    He leaves the funeral with a pain in his heart,
    As the rain comes pouring down.

    She begins her life with her husband,
    Not knowing what will happen in 10 years.
    He begins his life without his wife,
    Remembering their life the last 10 years.

  102. mariaphoenix

    143 Pugh St.
    You can hear his shuffling, telegraphic gait, probably due to an old hip injury,
    “Hello, Captain!” He exclaims.
    He waddles his way to the kitchen,
    Pours a cup of joe,
    and sits on the porch.
    He sucks on his cigar,
    eyes fixed beyond the screened windows.
    “I’d drink everyday again if I could. But I know that ain’t no good. Lost my memory that way. My anger’s gone too, that’s ‘bout the only thing I was glad to lose from it.”
    He chuckles enveloped in smoke like The Cheshire Cat.
    “You want my advice? Don’t eat too much pepper ‘cause it’ll make your butt-hole itch.”
    He turns into a furnace billowing with smoke and laughter dancing around him.

  103. priyajane

    This gloomy fear
    attacked like a virus
    With wrinkled frowns
    Helping hands
    Blew it out
    With a sea green pill
    Who knew
    Miracle cure lies deep within!

  104. taylor graham


    After little sleep, what’s a new day
    good for? But the night exhaled its dew, leaving
    fresh grass-trails up the swale,
    through rimrock bones, to the creek –
    something besides bad dreams stalked the dark,
    and is gone now. Ruckus
    of acorn woodpeckers courting in blue oaks
    below the sheep-yard, as ewes and lambs come
    filing out the gate, dream-
    walking into dawn. Lilac suddenly
    in bloom. Behind the house, waves of birds
    in dim light raided the winter’s pyracantha berries.
    Now, one pauses on a twig, just long enough
    for sun over Stone Mountain to ignite
    his colors, flare his crest. Cedar Waxwing.
    This day is nothing but light.

  105. foodpoet

    Night Lite

    In the dark
    Afraid of day
    We surround ourselves
    With the glow of electronics

    Afraid of day
    We fend off dreams
    With the glow of electronics
    Web entrapped

    We fend off dreams
    Stay awake
    Web entrapped
    Phantom friends

    We surround ourselves
    With phantom friends
    Stay awake
    In the dark


  106. PowerUnit

    A Bright Red Apple

    Hello darling, come in my dear
    Apples just arrived, did you see?
    It’s wonderful you’re living near
    Have yourself a seat next to me

    Isn’t the sun lovely today?
    There is nothing better to do
    Than sit and dream your day away
    Don’t let your troubles bother you

    I’m so happy you said hello
    Stop by and see me any time
    Wait a moment before you go
    Here’s that apple, doesn’t it shine?

    1. PressOn

      Your vivid image prompted me to try this form, which I’ve had little success with:

      For gifts of rainbows
      one thanks the sun and partner:
      darkness of the rain.

  107. Yolee

    If I Were Your Poem

    I would soar through you
    and pull on every cord of light
    so that your eyes would speak
    of me existing in you;

    stand like a lamp
    in your heart whose soul
    intention would be
    to penetrate dark breezeways;

    lay my words down
    between the sheets
    where your whispers
    have taken cover;

    greet you when the sun
    is a mere candle
    in your room burning
    to unfurl it’s wildfire.

  108. alana sherman

    I always wish I’d written this:
    There ws a young lady from Bright
    who travelled at the speed of light.
    She left one day in her usual way
    and returned the previous night.

    That said, here are my entries for the day.

    1. Bright Poem

    Maybe There Is An Alphabet

    Maybe there is an alphabet
    glittering in the icicles and maybe it captures
    a message for the ordinary world
    Maybe to get old is to lose
    everything but the day in and day out
    teaches us that we are as strong
    and beautiful as we will ever be.
    Maybe fields are greener
    for the saying of green
    and the garden there
    because of the path
    Maybe it’s time to take
    another risk. Maybe it’s time
    to light another candle.

    2. Dark Poem

    Night Sailing

    Nights the Atlantic
    is in ecstasy with blue. Inkdark

    the sea attracts strangeness.
    In ripples sky and water

    become one thing—
    the bioluminescent spindrift
    are stars and shooting stars.

    A long opaline swell
    like a wall under the crestcurl

    washes over, then away
    from the hull.

    Each surge ticks time
    and our lives into measurable
    quantities. Wonderful and awful

    The moon is orange and pink
    as it bubbles up from the skin

    of our earth. Saturn accompanies
    us through the long dark watches.

    Suddenly the self, adventuring wanderer
    too is clear in the universe

    In the south Orion shines.
    Scintillations of light,
    the bangles of his belt,
    keep me from error
    with the unobstructed horizon
    a cobalt circle all around.


  109. Penny Henderson


    Dorothy opened the door
    and color invaded
    her black and white world.
    I open a book
    and am twistered away
    to a realm created
    by an almost alien mind.
    Fight the wind, drown the witches.
    Don’t let the door slam.
    Walk through that rainbow.
    Never retreat to Kansas.

  110. Domino

    Light vs Night

    Humankind has a fear of the dark
    Always, they flee toward the light
    Toward the smallest and feeblest spark
    Most folks have a fear of the dark
    In the calmest and nicest of parks
    People always seek out what is bright
    Humankind has a fear of the dark
    Always, they flee toward the light

    Yet the dark has a slow subtle grace
    If one allows it to climb within
    The glitter of stars in outer space
    Yes, the dark has a slow subtle grace
    A sparkling mantilla of black lace
    that slips away when sunrise begins
    Yet the dark has a slow subtle grace
    If one allows it to climb within

    Diana Terrill Clark

    1. PKP

      The repetition soothes the ‘human anxiety’ the “mantilla” lends that soft elegance – oh I am just going to wind up repeating the entire poem – it reads like black silk on velvet.

  111. bluerabbit47


    from pulsing
    red heat
    beating darkness
    junction unaware
    of unseen realities
    of separation
    promising brightness
    at the end of
    a pressing tunnel
    blinking screaming
    at bloody murder
    of beginning
    and all blinding
    divisions gradually
    from icy light.

    1. Domino

      This sounds like birth. But then I realized it could be other things, too. Any change is difficult, and I can see myself screaming bloody murder during any number of changes in my life.

      I like it!

  112. Casey

    “Between the Light and the Dark”

    Within a life made bright lies Attitude;
    Though sudden, rainy dawn may doom the day.
    Keep open wide the shutters of your mood
    no matter what the moment has to say.

    Keep you, your Pollyanna platitudes;
    they’re best left said and open_ in your way!
    Compel the grinning smiles inside of you
    As sun will rise no matter what you say!

  113. hohlwein


    It is not as if you shine

    – you shine –

    from where?

    this dazzle different

    this radiance, new

    no, grown

    Bold red hair now

    down straight


    your huge blue eyes

    alight with all

    the life that awaits

    that you await



    cut in the setting

    of your self

    your place

    your incisive, bright, mind


    self named anew.

    who will be the first to find you

    and how will they not be blinded?

  114. Jane Shlensky

    Dark Sister

    The package and the note are clear:
    read this twisted book, so
    we can talk about it.
    We cultivate one another’s
    night vision, appreciating
    the humor snickering beside
    the death bed, the ironies
    like girls in summer shoes
    flitting among the grave stones,
    the hilarious treachery of true love,
    the comedy of cowardice.

    Just behind every horror,
    every loss, every monumental
    heartbreak, the dark smile
    fidgets, the relief resounds,
    the laughter of life peals.
    The funeral crowds smoke
    and eat coconut pie, remarking
    on the richness of the coffee
    prepared by church ladies
    in their Sunday aprons.
    The crowds celebrate their own
    lives in the absence of the friend
    who has gone before. Laughter
    erodes the edge of the pit
    where they stand, glad to see
    one another again, knowing
    only death provides occasions
    to visit with so many old friends,
    knowing one such time will be
    the least they can do for others.

    My friend and I will gather soon
    to discuss the book and walk
    in Riverside Cemetery, try to
    find Thomas Wolfe, see if he
    made it home again, or imagine
    whether O. Henry ended this
    last story with irony.

    1. Domino

      Wow, Jane! I love this. Fave lines: appreciating the humor snickering beside the death bed, the ironies like girls in summer shoes flitting among the grave stones,
      Just behind every horror,every loss, every monumental heartbreak, the dark smile fidgets, the relief resounds,

      Just, wow.

    2. Miss R.

      This is superb. I especially love “We cultivate one another’s / night vision, appreciating / the humor snickering beside / the death bed.”

  115. Jane Shlensky


    “You’re a little too bright for your own good,”
    Memaw says, watching her tiny
    granddaughter stubbornly dress herself,
    the little fingers deftly buttoning,
    only occasionally stumbling and redoing.
    “She says she can do it all herseff!”
    she snorts, to no one present,
    rejected by a toddler.

    The old lady knows the lay of this land.
    First, it’s the dressing and tying shoes.
    Then being mommy’s helper—or
    daddy’s—then the yard work,
    cooking and kitchen work,
    the house and laundry and
    holding down a job to pay the bills,
    and if there’s a man, the bedroom
    work. There’s no end to it.
    And if she wants any children
    or joy or love, she’ll have to do
    that for herself too. Memaw hopes
    the future will be made differently
    by the time this one grows up,
    but she doubts it. “Bless her heart.”

    Memaw watches that little girl
    triumphantly smoothing her little skirt.
    “Ready!” she says, reaching for
    her grandmother’s hand.
    Memaw sighs and smoothes her hair
    as if she’s looking in a mirror.

  116. ClaytonsRamblings

    The Cave

    My eyes burn
    Pain sears through my brain
    I flinch away
    Away from the light
    The light that burns.

    The darkness is my home.
    It is safe and comforting.
    It’s all I’ve ever known
    Do not force me out
    The light will blind me

    The pain
    My vision clears

    I can see

  117. larwhitmore@gmail.com

    OK here’s a Bright one.

    Her eyes are bright with anticipation; she’s yearning to be free.
    All she knows is Grandpa is here. He’s come to play with me.
    With tea parties, and candy, with dolls and naps.
    A long walk for ice cream may even perhaps.
    Her day will be carefree, not a worry in sight.
    Until at long last Grandpa, kisses goodnight.

  118. Amy

    I had never thought of light
    as such a sharp and violent thing.
    It lays siege to the quiet subtlety
    of darkness, capturing shadow’s
    tranquil mystery. Shapes emerge-
    all hard lines and jagged corners;
    a far cry from the forgiving haze
    draped over evening hours.
    The dawn is cruel as it reveals
    the cowardice of curtains and
    blinds alike, seeping through
    the gaps in their defenses.
    Eyes shut tight to the igniting
    orange glow, I will prolong precious
    last drops of honeyed dreams
    against the onslaught of
    a new day.

  119. Patricia A. Hawkenson

    Only the Women Cry

    In the manly school
    of hard knocks
    do young men learn
    it is not okay
    to raise their hand
    against those they
    vowed to love?

    Does it make you proud
    to be a man
    when you see a woman
    dark with bruises,
    the bright light
    from her eyes
    now dim?

    She turned
    to lessen the blow.
    Did you turn
    your head as well?

    Must only the women

  120. Misky


    This is darkness. It spills like pediment
    from the scooped edge of spoons, and
    we fashion ourselves as archaeologists,

    prying away darkness in broken squares,
    chunked blocks like Elgin marbles, pure
    molten deepest darkness. Chocolate.

    But first, since there must always be a first,
    we start with warmed milk, entering
    deep in small teasing streams the breadth

    of trickling sweat and bright as sunlight
    on plump pearls. We stir it, stirring deep
    into lusty darkness of contented dreams,

    stirring like a young girl in a lavender
    gathered dress who sits waiting for love,
    stirring like I was when I saw you enter

    my room. We stir it from darkness
    to the softness of smudged moonlight,
    and then swirl it into warmed round-

    handled cups. Hot chocolate, sipped
    through red tinted lips that smear
    dark kisses on all that is touched.

        1. Domino

          What a relief! (I had my kitchen remodeled after a flood two years ago, and it felt like FOREVER!! But a nice new kitchen is so wonderful. Once one remembers where one now stores various items, anyway. ^_^

          1. Misky

            I’ll be lucky if I can remember where I stored everything when we EMPTIED the kitchen. I’m also getting bored with no water in the kitchen. It’s too cold to be running to the outside tap all the time to fetch jugs of water. And it’s started snowing again!

        2. PKP

          I have been following your kitchen remodel – we needed to do a some major reconstruction following that SuperStorm Sandy that graced the coastline of NY … all has now been replaced and things looks as they were (new sheetrock and wood flooring and paint and ceiling and roof repair) and now new kitchen which is the “treat” part of this disaster about to begin – all ordered, and planned and now waiting for delivery. (I noticed that your cabinets featured today are very similar to the ones I chose!) Enjoy :)

          1. Misky

            Don’t let your kitchen planner place the pull-out larder drawers next to the built-in oven. The handles don’t play well together, and now there’s some creative cobbling going on. Grrrr!

            What colour are your units?

  121. carinda


    the sun shines, peeking out from behind our seasonal rain clouds
    warming the playground in a sudden wash of bright, bright warmth

    my son shines with his smile
    creating and destroying cupcake castles in the sand

    the day is bright, life is shiny right now as my clothes warm in the sunlight
    my engagement ring glints in sunlight
    promising a future of happiness
    my son’s newfound ability to climb the playstructure
    illuminates creativity and prowess

    the day is bright as my clothes warm in the sunlight
    as I drink it in after cloudy days and sullen nights

    the day
    is bright
    as is my future

  122. PKP

    There was a time

    when girls were
    turned to visions
    of bright white
    collars on someday
    husbands’ shirts
    as life fulfilled

    there was a time
    when girls smiled
    sweetly in the dark
    brightly in the dark
    armed with penlights
    of secreted hope

    there was a time
    there is a time
    for some
    bright eyes
    shining through
    slitted black
    actual and metaphoric
    here and there

    there is time

  123. cbaustin71

    my offering is a portion of a larger piece, I decide to meld the two images…

    As I fall, I give
    one last desperate
    attempt, reaching
    out to grab hold
    of the fading light
    as if it were
    a solid thing.
    I sink slowly
    into the dark.

      1. cbaustin71

        arm twisted… ok


        as if in a dream,
        I wake slowly
        with the sun’s rays
        sweeping my face,
        wondering what it is
        I may have done
        to deserve to be here.
        It feels like napping
        in a meadow, late Spring.
        I try to breathe in the day
        but as my lungs expand
        I know something is wrong,
        my eyes open in terror.
        I see the sun through a filter,
        diffused. My arms begin
        to flail, but I am unable
        to right myself, unable
        to stand, something,
        a great weight is pulling
        me down. Darkness
        surrounds me.
        As I fall, I give
        one last desperate
        attempt, reaching
        out to grab hold
        of the fading light
        as if it were
        a solid thing.
        I sink slowly
        into the dark.

        -Chris Austin

  124. Michelle Hed

    Shadows and Sunlight
    “Keep your face always toward the sunshine – and shadow will fall behind you.” Walt Whitman

    They follow me where ever I go
    shadows of grief shivering in the cold,
    shadows of regret squeezing their hold,
    shadows of embarrassment wilting from the scold…

    With the sun warming my back
    I face my shadows and they become a pale
    imitation of what they once were,
    their strength fading in the light of the sun,
    the light of the future,
    until the only shadows left
    are the puppets I make with my hands.

  125. MeenaRose

    Could It Be (Bright)
    By: Meena Rose

    That it’s spring
    Why the colors seem to pop and sing?

    That my eyes are taking in more light
    Which is why everything is so bright?

    That it’s my heart beating loudly
    Showing off its happiness proudly?

    That I’m in love struck by Cupid’s arrow
    Banishing all my sorrow?

    I don’t think the whys matter
    As I watch the light dance and scatter.

    The Invitation (Dark)
    By: Meena Rose

    Danger signs made by man –
    Bright red, neon yellow, construction orange.

    Danger signs for the soul –
    Flickering light, darkened recesses, muted expression.

    Yet, there it lies, open and inviting
    Dark and foreboding – pulsing and alive.

    I peer into the darkened crevasse
    Willing myself to divine the nature

    Of the internal thrum rattling through
    Bones encased in sinew readying itself for

    Fight or flight – the darkness is captivating;
    Is it a case of the grass being greener or a

    Macabre fascination of spirit with the Dark?
    The sinuous sensuous Dark more tangible than

    The airy breezy light; is it any wonder that I
    Am a child of the night who needs but a tiny light

    To appreciate life amongst the dancing shadows,
    Oblivious of the audience.

  126. jtowns3

    Car-crash Eyes

    I wake up again to a cloudless sky,
    Wisps of wind dance and flirt with the tops of trees.
    the Poor, if they had any tears left, would cry,
    Wisps of pain dance and flirt with shaky knees.

    A girl with car-crash eyes scan the perfect day,
    Diamond bits of glass bleed over from the crash.
    a Wretch stares through the watery beams of May,
    the Sun grants itself witness of a drive turned to ash.

    How things change,
    How thoughts range.

    Revelations of hurt,
    Condemned now to dirt.

    Far from safe cries,
    Captured in car-crash eyes.

  127. vxl

    Spelunkers or Neanderthals

    The struggle
    is in the area between
    (here she thought of
    Caravaggio fondly)
    the shadow and the backdrop.
    Where the wine
    but translucence
    descends into the glass.

    (she had endlessly
    is best
    when you don’t realize
    it is beings used.
    (They would kill us
    if we told them)

    But still the wine ends,
    its dark shadow depths
    now inside us.
    Our heads are a light fire
    and lips are loose.
    (Things hidden
    become visible)
    Our hands meet
    over the remaining grapes.

    (Separated if not
    distilled by age)

    Here we had been
    looking for love and seeing
    friendship. But emerging
    from darkness
    were friends looking for love.
    Distance is hidden for a second
    (performing words not meant to be spoken).

    She pushes her hair away from her ear
    (and plays with her wedding ring.)

  128. IrisD

    Meditate on light
    to dispel the darkness
    like a thief in the night
    darkness may fall
    but eternal light appears
    at the end of life’s journey
    so keep searching for light
    and looking above.

  129. Ann M

    In the Ferry Line

    I wait in the line for the ferry.
    The sun is burning.
    A man is selling ices from a cart.
    I could sign up for something else,
    to serve soup at a shelter
    or adopt a dog.

    A taxi sits at the curb, a man at the wheel.
    He will take me anywhere I please.
    I could step out of the line anytime.
    I could go into the mountains.
    The sun is burning.
    I wait in the line for the ferry.

    The ferry has arrived from the mainland.
    Islanders are allowed to board first.
    I wonder at their purpose.
    Why are they leaving?
    I could go to Haiti and build houses.
    The sun is burning.

    You are waiting in the other line,
    with the people who have tickets.
    I wonder if you can see me.
    The sun is burning.
    I could do anything else.
    I could go into the mountains.

  130. IrisD

    Lighthearted Grammy

    Four year old Katie beckons me,
    Come here Grammy as I climb the tree;
    Now lets play hop-scotch, hurry up,
    We’ll draw pictures on sidewalk with chalk.
    Can we blow bubbles, go for a walk.
    Come make cookies, and dye some eggs,
    Running to and fro on chubby legs.
    I want to read you a book, then you read to me,
    I will brush your hair and sit on your knee.
    The light in her eyes is constant and bright
    She reflects the glow in my heart tonight.

  131. larwhitmore@gmail.com

    My first attempt at this, for public viewing.

    Who am I to judge what I do? I am only me the one who needs judging. How can I know what’s wrong or right when I am the one to judge? Judging others is tough enough but to judge myself is almost impossible. I can’t tell; when I do wrong, I can’t tell when I do right; I can only tell when I do something. Doing anything is better than doing nothing. So how can I judge myself, when anything I do is nothing? Sometimes I complain to myself about all this but I do not think I listen.
    I complain about everything I do, I complain about everything I don’t do. Where’s the logic in that? Complaining gets me nowhere and yet it gets me somewhere. Complaining can get me to start to do something which I then complain about it so I end up doing nothing which I complain about that, and on and on and on. So you see how can I judge myself?

  132. THEGingerSass

    Job Interview


    Sunbeams dance and sing–
    the air feels fresh, breathe-able;
    confidence pours in.

    This is a battle
    of wits and charm and degrees.
    Goodbye, confidence.

  133. Beth Rodgers

    This is a “bright” poem in that it contains the word “bright,” but otherwise, it could be seen more as a combination of the two prompts for today:

    She curtsies
    Knowing that her instincts are

    She can’t take it back
    That casual motion of
    That seeming innocence
    She embodies
    When she dons the façade
    Of one who cares.

    Directed at her
    Are smiles
    Portraying kind
    Bright attitudes
    Of those who will never know that
    She has made up her mind.

    She is not blissfully unaware and
    She is not falling victim to her own

  134. Mystical-Poet

    Paper Fashion Passion

    In lint-white lamp-hour light
    her paper-collared coquettish appeal
    pirouettes like a Victorian age cyclone.
    Fashion addict mystique dispersed as
    happy-go-lucky gimcrack neckwear
    emboldens her Khu. Creative complexity
    in full whirligig orbit,hovering between
    quicksilver radiance and scatterbrained
    ghostly pallor. A goddess adorned in flexible
    shroud of pearly-white stencil-cut lace.
    Her aura, fleshly quintessence of incandescence.
    Shades of bright, goddess of light
    awaiting Purusha, her cosmic man.

    © ~ Randy Bell ~ 2013
    She’s a vision to behold:

  135. Earl Parsons

    Blinding Darkness

    A smile so bright
    On a cheerful face
    He drew them in by the thousands
    He held up the Book
    Shouting the message
    Of mercy and salvation
    He sang and prayed
    Wept for their souls
    Then a passionate invitation
    The people came
    For the grace of God
    And a free pass into Heaven

    But after the tent was empty
    And all the people had gone home
    The bright smile turned to smugness
    The cheerful face turned to stone
    As the preacher retreated into himself
    And the darkness of an empty soul
    The thrill of it all filled his ego
    It was nothing more than a good show

    Now another night to fight the voice
    The voice that calls for repentance
    But Satan fights on the other side
    With pictures of long past remembrance

    For in this man’s past there was love loss
    A wife and three children lay slain
    At the hands of a old friend gone madman
    Still he blamed God for all of this pain

    His only escape from pure madness
    Is when he lets loose in the tent
    He does God’s work for an hour a night
    Spends the rest of his time in torment

    When will he realize
    The message he preaches
    Is the only escape from
    The blinding darkness

  136. PressOn


    There was once an old shortstop named Dark
    who could field with the grace of a lark:
    in his time with the Giants
    he exacted compliance
    from any ball hit in the park.

  137. PressOn


    Once upon a time
    the light of life was here:
    her presence, pure, sublime,
    once upon a time,
    meant nights of wine and rhyme.
    How love seemed bright and clear
    once upon a time!
    The light of life was here.

        1. Domino

          Haikus are so challenging, at least to me. I always feel faintly abashed at my attempts, but sometimes, going back and looking again, they’re not as bad as I thought. ^_^ All a matter of perspective.

  138. Beth Rodgers

    Here is my dark poem, soon to be followed by my bright one…

    Shades of grey
    Illuminate the passage of time
    Bears down
    A sense of subterfuge mocks
    The polite nature of it all
    Sending shock waves to our systems
    Blemishing the worldly machinations
    That make us whole.

  139. laurie kolp

    Galactic Explosion

    You said the moon
    didn’t taste of cheese,
    instead, a dip of Cool Whip
    on your tongue, a tease

    sliding down your throat
    like a sweet milk shake,
    lighting up your insides
    a firecracker quake.

    I said I wanted some
    but I only got the sun,
    a bitter tangy shock
    that made me come undone

    and when it all ended
    the earth exploded from afar,
    I knew at once we were complete
    making love, a shining star.

  140. JanetRuth

    The ‘dark’ in this poem is a shadow…

    I found an old appointment calendar while cleaning out a drawer;
    now that busy splattered page is nothing anymore,
    but numbers testifying in modest simplicity
    the heart’s wildest undoing where the present used to be…

  141. Connie Peters


    The sun’s rays reach out like
    a twirling ice skater.
    The mountains dressed in white
    appear to move miles closer.
    The field snow sparkles like glitter
    on a child’s Easter card.
    As my glasses turn
    the world becomes deeper,
    making brightness easier to bear.
    How long will it take to acclimate to heaven
    after the comparative dullness of the earth?

  142. Nancy Posey

    Not So Bright

    Not the brightest bulb, they said,
    glowing faintly green themselves,
    when she ventured to speak.
    She never had a chance to shine
    in algebra class or chem lab.
    She may have been less clever
    than they, but she knew when
    to keep her mouth shut, never
    to join games of one-up-manship.
    Lacking their instinct to go
    straight for the jugular, receding
    instead to the background,
    for years letting them fight it out
    in that petty battle of brains
    that was high school. She learned
    by listening, and she sharpened
    her with wordlessly in her head.
    She knew discernment would never
    be a category on Jeopardy, but
    she practiced it all the same,
    waiting until her time came
    to shine. Her insight, no gift,
    but born instead of her patience
    and attentiveness, paid off at last.
    It’s a long worm than never turns,
    her father had told her, and when
    for them at last it did, she got it.

  143. Ber

    Darkness Falls

    He always looked at things so clear
    straight down the line
    somethings never change he thought
    but these words he would soon swallow
    for all he had fought

    Hands over his eyes
    tears ripping through his skin
    darkness filled his mind
    leaving him blind

    In every corner of the room
    nothing made sense
    vision blurred
    eyesight in a whirl

    Shadows of the past
    knocked on his door
    voices filled his lonely mind
    suddenly a voice came from behind

    A familiar voice
    he turned around
    her gentle touch
    her looks did astound

    Taken her hand
    standing up in his pain
    her arms around him
    he would never feel the same again

    As darkness shifted
    and the sun shone brightly in to the room
    all that lay in the mist
    was the sweet smell of her perfume

  144. cam45237


    I sprinkled stars
    Liberally on the canvas
    Some yellow, golden, bright white, simple silver
    And one a supernova
    Disappearing in the center
    Of a flare
    Of vivid light

    I obscured the moon
    With dusty clouds
    Of purple
    Seas and craters
    Peer out from the drifting fog
    And beg me to erase the brush strokes
    That they may better contemplate
    My universe’s end

  145. JWLaviguer

    Queen Cersei

    Her bright eyes hide the darkness within
    scheming, calculating, cruel
    and yet
    a loving mother
    as any other
    protecting her children
    forsaking all others for them
    when you play
    the game of thrones
    you win
    you die

  146. annell

    Day #2

    Prompt: Write a bright poem or a dark poem

    In the visual world
    When the artist
    Wishes the viewer to
    See one thing
    He must show the other
    For the viewer knows

    To show brightness
    Dullness must be shown
    A bright color used next
    To a dull color
    Will make the bright color
    Look brighter

    Until Matisse discovered
    Dark could show light
    Dark was always used
    To show dark
    The key is to show

    In my own work
    I am contasting
    Light to Dark
    Bright to dull
    Warm to cool
    And back again

  147. Misky


    This was like being caught in the flash
    of a pan – struck flat by a sun-brazed grill
    that whipped waves of searing heat off the sand.
    She was a marinated steak waiting for the pan
    to preheat, waiting for it to smoke blue
    before adding more suntan oil. She cooked
    expletives, scorched and crackled to cinders.
    One-Two-Three, she counted out loud,
    and dashed for the cover of one umbrella,
    then the next, feet so fleet they smoked,
    and when her toes finally plunged into soft
    rolling waves, she stood ankle-deep cooling,
    soaking up tropical breezes and salty
    brightness, and there she stood until sunset,
    when darkness rescued her from the heat.

  148. Genevieve Fitzgerald

    Day 2 – a bright poem / a dark poem

    The woman stood next to the man
    As worlds rushed by
    His peripheral vision
    As light became lighter
    As here became heavy
    And she asked
    Not about sense or form any more
    But if he wanted an omelette

  149. ewdupler

    Trout Season

    April rains, with fishermen, each year the same.
    And this year your eyes lit up with just that wish.
    You retired, that fishing sport would be your game.
    Smiling, so excited to go out and fish.
    Asking daily, for a license in my name,
    No, I had not yet, but knew that was your wish.
    Now you’re gone, but how I wish you could persist.
    Sadly like the fish, and you, my chance is missed.

  150. bxpoetlover


    I tap away on this keyboard
    listing names from your side and mine
    because of that night
    I wore my dark wash denim jeans
    (you know, the ones that make you…anxious)
    you beamed at me when you drove up
    I eased next to you and
    you sped through traffic lights–
    it was a full moon after all.

    When we got there
    you said
    close your eyes
    moments and beats
    and then there were burning candles
    flickering against the grape purple undertones of your skin.
    With your lift and touch
    our voices ebbed and roared like thunder.

    The diamond you eased on my finger in the morning
    is a prism
    when I hold it to the light.

    1. cam45237

      yup! wondeful imagery and a well-thought out and constructed poem from start to end. Love the dark wash denim jeans and their parenthetical effect.

  151. annell

    I was in Santa Fe yesterday. But here is my poem for day #1:

    Poem a day:


    Taos Valley
    Spread out
    Below the mesa
    The houses like
    Childrens blocks
    Scattered in all directions

    The morning quietly waits
    The sky a pale blue
    Delicate clouds on the horizon
    Coyote fences along the road
    Below ground
    New growth unseen
    Trembles with expectation

    Travel the back roads
    Welcome the unexpected
    In the canyon
    Where it is warmer
    Some fruit trees
    Welcome spring in full bloom

  152. Iain Douglas Kemp

    Dear Moosehead,
    Dark? Oh hell no! My mood is not dark,
    it’s about as black as pitch and getting worse!
    3 in the 9th! Are you kidding me? Your sister could
    pitch better than that – goodness know she beans
    me with her shoes 9 times 0ut of 10! The bullpen
    better be up and working hard this morning and
    some batting practice wouldn’t hurt, neither.
    Only consolation is I got the whole day in my cab
    to make some green, may not do well on the tips though
    – I’m spitting feathers out here! If the tips are in
    I’ll get the beer and dogs but don’t hold yer breath.
    On second thoughts, it would be nice if at least one
    member of your family shut the hell up once in a while.
    Pick ya up at 6.

    Yours ripping off the tourists

    Ringo the Howler

    1. Penny Henderson

      The chippie on the Chesapeake feels your pain, Ringo,
      though I find myself comforted
      by a 2 nothing home opener in Nationals park.
      But all season, a girl has to keep looking over her shoulder.
      Them damn Yanks may be gainin.
      Tell the Moose I sends my regards to him and his.

  153. Weedlewom

    Good morning, all! I am new to this, but here is my offering! Susan


    You would think
    we’d be prepared for it,
    the way the light begins,
    low and shy,
    barely illuminating
    the sky.

    Then it creeps
    uo the sides
    of buildings,
    across lawns,
    reaches for tree trunks
    where it begins
    its ascent.

    everything is luminous
    as the light
    dazzles treetops

    and the morning
    has arrived.

    Susan Dean Wessells

  154. Iain Douglas Kemp

    all good – all the time

    the knockers knock
    they always will
    the mockers mock
    to get their thrill
    but I smile on – feeling fine
    it’s all good all the time

    they put me down
    that’s their way
    they slag me off
    they say I’m gay
    not gay just merry – drinking wine
    it’s all good all the time

    one step forward
    to steps back
    stretched to breaking
    I’m on the rack
    struggling to find a rhyme
    or reason it’s all good all the time

    keep away from El Barrio
    never cross the park
    watch your back out there
    especially after dark
    but I’m whistling my favourite line
    yeah, all good all the time

    it’s an uphill slog
    a long ways to go
    just a set back
    on with the show
    shaking off the city grime
    it’s all good – all the time

    they doubt I’ll make it
    they have no faith
    they call me a fool
    a dreaming waif
    being happy ain’t no crime
    it’s all good – all the time


  155. Jerry Walraven

    This bit of Brightness is Brought to you by . . .

    Red bell peppers
    over blue flame
    as they release
    their water
    and their waxy
    supermarket skin
    cracks and blackens
    the brilliant red,
    but adding
    a smoky hint
    of mystery
    to this otherwise

  156. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    Early Morning

    The sky, facing east, is
    elephant gray – blending mountain
    and clouds into one.
    Slowly, as if the great beast
    is rising from the mud,
    the sun inches up, making
    a backlight for the wintery cumulus.
    Suddenly, I can see enough
    to witness that the sky is falling
    in huge flakes of white –
    April’s joke, no doubt!

  157. missjoyce

    I walked into a room
    of silence and a crack
    of dust and dirt
    of books.

    A ray of moonlight slid
    through the blinds
    like me.

    What, where, why.

    Pieces of
    a broken mirror
    gathered around my feet.

    Around the table
    I walked
    to search for

    What, where, why.

    I look around
    the shadowed room
    with no sign
    of light.

    The door slides
    open slowly.
    Across the room –
    a silhouette.

  158. uneven steven

    Morning – thanks again for the month of prompts – going a bit abstract for a while it seems
    happy writing!

    we see things
    for what
    they really
    sunlight disinfects
    and all that
    But it’s in the dark
    that we sleep
    and don’t say it
    like it’s a bad thing
    we dream
    so few of us daring
    even to try
    in this stark light
    we all call


  159. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    This is both in one:

    Occupation: Poet

    … exercised in the still night
    when only the moon rages …
    — DylanThomas

    I’ve spent my life this way —
    sitting up late at night on my own
    with the moon and the darkness,
    making poems

    through school and university,
    marriages, children, pets,
    friendships, jobs, travels,
    in sickness and in health …

    Now that I’m old and alone
    contemplating what’s to come,
    I see it will be the same.
    Why would it change?

    Half-dozing at my computer,
    envisioning solitary nights
    up late for the rest of my life,
    absorbed in the making of poems,

    I hear the voice of my last, dearest love
    call as from a long way off
    his eternal encouragement: ‘Yes!’
    and I become light.