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    2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 20

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

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

    For today’s prompt, write a beyond poem. The poem could be beyond human comprehension. It could be from the great beyond. It could be from beyond–another city, country, planet, solar system, dimension, etc. Don’t be afraid to go above and beyond with it.

    Here’s my attempt at a beyond poem:

    “beyond imagination”

    the ants are preparing a ball tonight
    for the return of their prince. the queen ant
    has sent the king ahead to welcome him.

    the prince ant left in search of a princess,
    but all he found were queens and their armies.
    no matter. at the dance, he’ll fall in love

    with a peasant ant. she’ll be protected
    by a spell from her fairy godmother
    ant. everyone will celebrate, save

    the queen, who’ll be left alone with her king.


    Workshop Your Poetry!

    Writing poetry is exciting, but the revision process can be too, especially when you’re revising with a group of dedicated poets and an experienced mentor. As luck would have it, that can be accomplished with the Writer’s Digest online course, Advanced Poetry Writing.


    Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer


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

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

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    About Robert Lee Brewer

    Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

    220 Responses to 2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 20

    1. foodpoet says:

      Beyond the team
      Lies the journey
      Toward a new resolution

      We walk apart
      Taking stock and moving forward
      Beyond the team

      Choices are made
      Some are kept
      On the journey

      We may falter
      But can fall back on each other
      Toward a new resolution

    2. Nadienne says:

      [another sci-fi poem]

      Beyond the Rose-Colored Sky

      When the coals of the banked fire glow red with the coming darkness
      And the time for practical chores is ending,
      Before the night’s shadows learn how to leap, how to grow,
      How to stalk the treasures tucked away in their caches,
      Flasks of the strong stuff get passed around
      And the Restless Folk settle in against the log bench-backs,
      Stretching out their legs in the soft pine duff.
      Only now does Legend and Prophecy,
      The Off-World Savior,
      Seem real enough for words:
      This hope in the smoke
      Who will swoop down and end all their troubles.

    3. alana sherman says:

      A while to get this one. It’s an idea taken from a NaPoWrMo prompt (#26) an erasure poem. Original by Matthea Harvey

      Beyond The Sea

      The mermaid is fine
      with letting it all hang out—
      the bits of fat at her belly
      her scaly tale.
      Her lover loves it
      she’s an open book.
      He makes her gasp,
      studies her to see if she’s lying.
      No need for sad stories,
      he just watches. Before long
      she starts to sense her lover
      is restless. She shows him
      her collection of keys
      to convey a sense of openness.
      She even reads aloud entries
      from her diary. But he’s convinced
      she’s hiding things and she is—
      her long black hair, her perfect skin.
      Her red mouth and how she secretly
      loves that there are places here
      or here, he can’t touch.

    4. PKP says:

      Beyond the horizon

      Over the rainbow
      And all that
      Where bluebirds
      And those thing sing
      And silver linings
      Luminously ring
      Those promises
      Made in song and
      Verse and whispers
      In the dark
      Beyond the
      Slivered horizon

    5. vsbryant1 says:


      Beyond the pain I see the light
      Beyond the struggle I see the purpose to the fight
      Beyond what sits at the tip of my nose is a world of possibility waiting for me to be hold
      Beyond all my woes is the promise of a bright day
      Beyond doubt there is you, love unconditional, my skies of blue beautiful hues

    6. His Master’s Love- Beyond Common Belief

      Will wag its tail, to see you home
      Will follow you, despite the chide
      All for one acknowledgement, for love.

      He will wait for you to pet his coat
      And will pounce on him who dares you so
      He unconditionally loves you, and is always,
      Believed to love you just for food

      But He writhes at this misgiving, yes
      Tis not food O! Master, tis never food
      You feed my canine soul with love, And I
      Reciprocate it, in double measure.

      For your gentle fondness of my yelp,
      My run to you when you ope that gate,
      My mischief and every play-fetch date,
      Your words to me, that you think I don’t get,
      O Master, I do, every bit.
      And that is what keeps me going,
      All your words, and all your biddings,
      Are for me, my reason to be,

      And that, my Master, is what I truly treasure.

    7. Yolee says:

      Letter to Self-confidence

      I know you’re doing well. Perhaps you’ve hiked
      another mountain today and looked to see if I trailed
      behind. Every now and then I put my boots on,
      the proper get-up, and fetch my climbing stick.
      But when I catch a glimpse of that girl with red
      hair in the mirror, an idea blows a fuse and she
      looks at me for a fleeting moment, then walks away.
      I know I’ve disappointed you for many years.
      I miss you. This wedge between us has gotten bitter
      like still coffee in a cold cup. Come back to me.
      I need you.

      Sincerely, Y

    8. mschied says:

      Beyond porridge

      Goldilocks must have been an unfed child

      Why else would she have risked
      the wrath
      of a momma grizzly over
      of porridge

      To be fair to Mssr. Southley
      no delectable details
      permeate his prose

      Little Goldy
      could be feasting on honey-drizzled
      figs within her frumenty
      or plump and juicy raisins
      shriveled by the sun

      But to chance the loss
      of life and limb
      for the unappetizing
      of lumpy mush
      seems the height of

      pardon my rant -
      I misremembered
      the part about
      anthropomorphized ursines.

    9. LouiseBilborough says:

      how far do I have to run
      to escape myself?

      desert plains
      mountain roads
      the edge of the sea
      the farthest horizon

      which chemicals do I have to swallow
      to escape myself?

      the bottom of this bottle
      the end of that joint
      the powder in my nose
      the pill in my pocket

      whose love do I need
      to escape myself?

      mum and dad
      my little sister
      the guy in the bar
      the stranger in my bed


      what will take me
      beyond myself?

    10. Deri says:

      The Things We Hide

      Beyond the obvious
      and solid walls
      the sun moves
      to peek in windows,
      jailhouse shadows
      crawling from wall
      to wall in time
      to the rhythm
      of a day going
      too slow.

      The cat follows to
      lie between the lines.
      Squint eyed, he watches
      you, tail flicking.
      Shudder to think
      what he would say
      if he could but speak.

    11. burrhead says:


      It started
      At the old house
      The one we lived in
      Where horses and motorcycles mixed

      I began to feel alone
      Not we, but me
      Outside looking
      Watching myself move about the world

      I went from not knowing I knew nothing
      To knowing there wasn’t anything I knew
      My family and the neighbor kids
      Went about their days without me

      Didn’t matter if I was with them or not
      I was alone either way
      Not much has changed
      I still feel lost and unattended

      My mother who I wished one day
      I could get close to
      Has been dead for a while now
      I realize but do not dwell on
      Where I belonged
      Is now and always was so far away
      In time and space and feeling

      Since we lived in that old house
      Where the garage next door was on fire
      And all the neighbors came with garden hoses
      To put it out

      Around then
      I went beyond
      I can’t get back
      Where kids played baseball on the lawn

      Where cows and hens kept us
      My thoughts and Mothers were the same thoughts
      Were connected
      Beyond that now

    12. Lindy says:

      The Great Beyond

      Beyond the black and white,
      beyond all that’s wrong and right,
      beyond the day, beyond the night,
      beyond the prayers for peace and light;

      beyond a blind man’s sight,
      beyond the tears in silent flight,
      beyond the life that died in fight,
      beyond the storm in all it’s might;

      beyond the paisley words I write
      hides a world in modern fright
      of love and it’s impending bite -
      afraid the sun will shine too bright.

    13. tunesmiff says:


      Beyond the bright horizon,
      Beyond the setting sun,
      Beyond the new tomorrow,
      Is where my heart will run.

      Past gray of everday,
      Beyond the rain of now,
      From the darkness of regret,
      I struggle on, but how?

      Outside the bounds of my strength,
      Despite what others know,
      Weakness is my starting place,
      And shows me where to go.

      Beyond the bright horizon,
      Beyond the setting sun,
      Beyon the new tomorrow,
      Is where my heart will run.

    14. Mr. Walker says:

      beyond imagination-
      any movie trailer that
      has that phrase spoken in it
      should wink out of existence

    15. beyond

      At that age, I wondered about
      God’s last name
      and why swinging high
      made your stomach drop
      and why that felt so good.
      And about the edge of the universe.
      If everything has an edge, I reasoned,
      Then out there, beyond the moon,
      beyond the galaxies,
      there must be plywood joists,
      propping up the scenery
      at the edge of everything.
      Beyond that backdrop,
      the scent of fresh-cut wood,
      plain floor littered with
      sawdust and crumpled gum wrappers
      and beyond that—
      This was how I learned my mind
      could feel like swinging high.

    16. mlcastejon says:

      Beyond reach

      My clown mask falls down
      in a survirval attempt
      Time for some true words

    17. “Beyond”

      Beyond my last moment
      I soared higher than
      you could hear

      I ascended beyond the clouds
      up where the wind
      blows all alone

      I was greeted by warmth
      and a smiling face
      in my great beyond

      Someday you’ll join me
      yonder, ’til then I’ll wait
      patiently for you

      Wayne L Murphy 4/21/13

    18. catlover says:





    19. THEGingerSass says:

      “A Job Hunt Cinquain”

      Job Hunt
      strenuous, hopeful
      searching, applying, crying
      hoping for the best
      Looking for work

    20. EbenAt says:

      To Boldly Go

      In ’68
      I built
      The Pan Am Orion III
      and dreamed of
      the moon

      Over the years
      horizons expanded
      Moon to
      Solar System
      to galaxy
      to universe
      and then

      Came string theory
      Universes wasn’t so crazy…

      Now as I write
      I ponder
      the 12 others
      or not,
      In all those

    21. Linda Voit says:

      four vandal daughters
      spray paint love on Caring Bridge
      lift their father’s heart

    22. vickiejohnstone says:

      I’m playing catch-up, so here’s my attempt for yesterday. My excuse was that I was on a plane. :)


      Beyond the day
      Afore the mentioned
      Skimming the waves
      Bridging the fjord
      Footsteps in the snow
      Melting the roses
      Spilt like blood, red
      Casting brilliance
      In a white blanketed

      Beyond the moon
      Where the stars dance
      In the darkest heavens
      Enjoying their wealth
      Their courage foreseen
      Casting silver dust
      They float suspended
      Darting across the skies
      Swept up in a draft of

    23. Domino says:

      Beyond the Ramparts

      If I look beyond the ramparts
      and down into the valley,
      beyond all my father’s vanguards,
      the place we go to dally.

      I know father would be so angry
      if he knew where I sometimes go
      but I find myself longing and hungry
      for what father does not know.

      So I get my basket for flowers,
      my cloak and sturdiest shoes,
      and go wander the valley for hours
      looking for flowers and you.

      And sometimes, if so fortune favors
      we will find each other there.
      We kiss, as the friendliest neighbors,
      and you pull the pins from my hair.

      And oh, how the time swiftly hurries
      as over the hillsides we roam
      We often forget all our worries,
      until it is time to go home.

      My father is getting suspicious.
      He’s starting to have me watched.
      The thing is, he’s also ambitious,
      and the last match he made is all botched.

      If your folks would have a discussion
      with father, maybe he’ll deal.
      If he learns of the repercussion,
      my pregnancy, our love’s seal,

      Then perhaps he will reconsider
      his senseless antipathy,
      selling me to the highest bidder.
      Perhaps he will give you to me.

    24. happys says:

      ~Beyond My Control~

      Life is full of surprises
      Sun in a drizzling spring day
      Good news from afar the other day
      A windfall received from e-bay
      Extreme happiness today
      Suddenly, tears falling but keep at bay
      Tears falling beyond my control
      Yes, they are tears but tears of joy

    25. Glory says:

      This World

      Sky laden with dark clouds,
      above a blanket of pale gray snow
      frozen lakes, a world eerily
      quiet and still.
      The world beyond my grave.

    26. BDP says:

      “Beyond Measurement”

      A scooter, river muskrat, paddling fast
      and making headway. I’m no match on shore.
      The current shoves him, mud impedes my path.

      Straight through the water, steady, then he veers
      ninety degrees … ripples, no longer there!
      Some farmers vow—or hope—these herbivores

      foretell the depth of winter by how far
      they burrow in a bank. A simple key:
      feet to den, feet of snow. Seems hogwash, pure

      and plain. I’d like to check the mystery,
      find his home, poke around, this city gal
      who wants to validate despite no need,

      who loves the hours of watching magic fall,
      each one different from the other crystal.

      B Peters

    27. Margot Suydam says:

      Beyond upwind

      There is a hint of clove, a scent
      hidden amidst this mountain

      dust and pine, as if owls could
      abscond spice to build new nests

      spend it late in the nocturnal hour
      then sail upwind in celebratory glee

      taking calm beyond the moonlit
      darkness, no one dare squander.

    28. Melanie says:

      Beyond Worship

      She came with a bottle of perfume
      And stood by the feet of her Lord
      Broken by sin and by sorrow
      Upon him her silent tears poured

      Hair soft and fragrant fell gently
      To soak up the tears on His feet
      She emptied the bottle releasing
      An aroma both heavy and sweet

      Nothing remained in the bottle
      All was surrendered to Him
      Lavish, extravagant giving
      Her action no impulse or whim

      Some watched her with frank disapproval
      Her action so striking and bold
      Her waste was beyond comprehension
      From a harlot if truth to be told

      Jesus approved of her worship
      Her actions spoke louder than words
      She rouses me from my weighed offerings
      Exuberance in me she stirs

    29. drwasy says:


      Beyond the words
      slithering like water
      silky satin
      behind the lips
      too many silly
      syllables and no
      white space
      before the hands
      dance their crazy
      dance of defense
      lies a lie
      treasure hidden
      deep enough
      almost but for
      your eyes
      corners tainted
      with treachery

    30. Alpha1 says:


      4 walls closin in
      1 empty weddin bed
      2 nite
      bitterness rooted in
      like a cancer
      gone wild
      eatin at the heart
      suckin out
      the soul of life
      blowin smoke
      rings in the air

    31. PressOn says:


      When Harpo chased blondes in the parks
      and Chico placed bets with the sharks
      and Groucho was hissing
      and Zeppo was missing,
      no Marxes were there to toe marks.

    32. PowerUnit says:

      Songbirds sing their songs of everlasting joy, until
      Season changes prod them leave
      On their tireless flight
      Into the great beyond

    33. julie e. says:

      (just might be a cinquain)

      funny sweet
      laughing caring accepting
      gone beyond my voice

    34. De Jackson says:

      Beyond Words

      Brush some color between
      these black and white smudges,
      these tight little budges of be
      and you just might see why
      space is no final
      frontier. There’s no comfort
      here in lead
      -ing and kerning
      and tracking those stars
      across this bright white
      sky. Why not allow them
      their tiny square
      ebony thrones. Some
      -times you’ve got to let them be,
      yonder their way home.


    35. Beyond
      the sweating and
      over performing leading
      lady and man
      in the too bright spotlight
      of the 8th grade production
      of once upon a mattress
      future starlets and leading men
      shift uneasily
      stage left, stage right,
      in the wings,
      singing in the chorus,
      moving props at change of scene
      wondering and worrying
      if their chance at glory
      will ever come
      each spending half their
      lives learning
      they’ve already been lead
      actor in this all star cast of
      a play called
      each of us only perfecting
      that one big
      flourishing bow
      for when the final
      curtain falls

    36. P.A. Beyer says:

      Beyond the Arc

      Beyond the arc where thoughts and dreams fall
      Beyond the realm of love, hope and courage entwined
      Beyond the circle of a child’s smile on a merry-go-round
      Beyond the amber clouds and kaleidoscope sunshine

      Hides the gift of wisdom awaiting a soul
      Brave enough to believe that happiness is not a mirage

    37. julie e. says:

      It just might be a cinquain–

      so desired
      loving growing missing
      beyond my sad comprehension


      Sometime its hard to see
      beyond the moment it seems.
      Just can’t grasp far fetched misty dreams.
      Too stuck in the now situations of daily adhesion.
      With no long range visionary consideration.
      Just need to branch out and cover more ground.

    39. shethra77 says:


      Over there behind the wall…
      Look quick! It’s made the pepper fall.
      Crack and thump, the shaker rolled
      under the fridge. It’s getting bold
      to pull this crap in broad daylight
      to bother me. It’s just not right.
      If I had ways to make it stop
      I’d chant the words—yeah, make it hop
      up to the light or over the pond
      or wherever they fly in the great beyond.


      Just beyond the page
      is a poet.

      And a poet is just beyond
      the pen.

      Just beyond the pen
      is a will to write, then, now and again.

      Just beyond their word
      a heart is transferred.

      Some goes without saying
      and some unanswered.

      Just beyond the heart,
      is every man unheard.

    41. mich says:

      Beyond this moment may be possibility
      this moment is a certainty
      Beyond this laugh may be tears
      this laugh bubbled up and sloshed over
      Beyond this love may be heartbreak
      this love makes me feel complete

    42. GATEWAY

      Just beyond the gate
      is the other side.

      You’ll only recognize it
      when it comes upon you.

      Yet you must swim
      within a plethora of choice,
      in a sea of many sides.

      So many waves, so many sides
      Yet from whence do they arise?

      But fate, is not
      determined by
      the other side.

      Its only
      determined by you.

      Just keep your
      head up and
      your eyes open.

    43. carolecole66 says:

      Beyond My Wildest Dreams

      I got beyond myself, refused to play my role
      and found myself spiraling out into infinite time
      and space. It was that purple blouse you made me wear
      or the boxy oxfords so I couldn’t blend into the airless
      rooms of public school. When I dreamed
      it seemed my reach was farther than my grasp.
      It was hard to see beyond the chicken yard, the
      canning jars, the desperate gasp for breath created
      by the dress you chose for me. Bile rose in your throat
      every time you looked at what you’d bred.
      It punched you in the chest. Now
      I’m living past the borders of the mad,
      beyond the colors of the sky, hues so vivid
      so insane that every time you look for ribbons
      to weave into your hair you say that everything,
      every thing, you ever thought you knew has slipped
      beyond your comprehension.

    44. DESTINY

      Tune your perception,
      and skillfully subject the eye
      over the unraveling horizon.

      For just beyond the still clouds
      there lies a certain destiny
      overlaid with hope.

      The way is insufferable;
      But a course of action must be taken.
      And not without inevitable challenge.

      If your will is resolute,
      then your journey is success.

      The only failure, is not to begin.

      The prize will be determined…


    45. Beyond This Moment

      Beyond this moment
      of writing
      looking out
      at thin gray clouds of twilight,
      who knows what awaits.

      Poetic Asides
      April Challenge – Day 20
      Write a beyond poem

    46. Julieann says:

      Beyond and Back

      I crawl to the screen door
      Sit down and stare at what is beyond my grasp

      Older, I play in the yard
      Running full tilt into the fence, looking through
      The slats at what is beyond my vision

      A chain-link fence surrounds the old schoolyard
      I try to climb to the top
      To reach what is on the other side

      College, jobs, family, what lies beyond
      The sunset, beyond the horizon
      I do not know, I want to know

      I am retired, I live alone
      I rarely go beyond the front fence
      I’ve lost my curiosity, my dreams are dead

      I wheel my chair up to the screen door
      And stare out at what is, at what once was

    47. LCaramanna says:


      Sixty-four Crayola Crayons,
      Perfect points
      packed in a brand new box,
      Present possibilities
      Of artistic creations shaded
      Mauvelous, Robin’s Egg Blue,
      Dandelion, Granny Smith Apple,
      Tickle Me Pink, and Scarlet.
      Sixty-four Crayola Crayons
      In an artist’s hand
      Color the imagination Cerulean -
      Way beyond
      The rainbow.

      Lorraine Caramanna

    48. omavi says:

      “… of Escape Velocity”

      Reaching escape velocity i soar
      And my body roars against a viscous
      Night as stars call to me
      Welcoming me to walk along
      Trails of gas and fire and space
      As i stretched out my hands
      Brushing the core of a red giant
      Embracing the warmth of creation
      Perfection as motes of dust
      Dance the dance of creativity
      And on a solar wind i ride
      Catching wave after wave
      Heading beyond
      Racing towards an end
      That can never be found
      Full breasts strokes through murky
      Nebulae in the process of birth
      Floating through the wake
      Of black holes as reality
      Becomes elastic and mind
      Struggles to maintain surety
      That this universe
      Will always have more to give

    49. missjoyce says:

      A beyond poem.


      open the door
      don’t be
      of what it may

      let the cool
      breeze hug
      flickering lights

      what to
      leftover food
      and beer

      fruit salad
      tummy craving’s

      start to look
      lift but don’t spill
      a pond

      don’t be fooled
      of junk
      treasures await

    50. PowerUnit says:

      Evolution is how we became who we are
      Your disbelief does not disprove it
      Truth does not depend on faith
      As faith does not depend on truth
      We know life on this planet began from the simplest forms
      And we know the universe as we know it began with a bang
      I do not argue for or against
      Belief is pointless in the big picture
      Yet given all we know
      All we can do
      Given the expansiveness of the universe
      And our understanding of it
      Given all our theories
      All our science
      All the knowledge we have filed away
      We still cannot create life
      We cannot ignite the simplest cell to begin ticking
      This obvious mechanical, chemical, and genetic organism
      This simplest version of single celled life
      Cannot be created by man
      It is so far completely beyond our ability
      And it’s a mystery I hope will never be solved.

    51. deringer1 says:


      I don’t understand
      why you hate enough to kill
      it’s quite beyond me.


      I waited as you wandered
      through the confusion
      to an oasis of calm

      You dipped your hands into
      a river of
      my tears, cooled your head

      and wet your throat with
      the sadness of
      the dark desert between us

    53. Larry says:

      Beyond illusions that’s where I come from.
      That place where the swallows really do come home.
      Where I love and I laugh, where I dance and I sing.
      That place where hope resides, that place where love begins.
      That place where children’s laughter is never ending.
      That place which is beyond your reality.
      That place which is here and yet is not.

    54. In a Span of Days

      Beyond my ken
      malevolence stalks
      the innocent,
      hiding in view
      amongst us,
      death and mayhem
      like an earthquake
      made by man’s fire
      and that’s just
      on our soil.

      Out of the ashes
      hovers the American spirit
      bruised but ever strong.

      (Still thinking of Boston and Texas)


      last night raccoon crept into
      my dreams through the sliding glass
      door I left open so my eagle totem
      could return from flight and my single
      hiking boot go out searching for
      its mate in dream I woke to clatter
      of the two brass shipping-urns
      for laboratory solvents a matching pair
      which in their fall knocked the charred
      clay olla from its sill toughened by
      double-fire it didn’t break but rolled
      its way dreamlike down the hall
      above the bed, dream-catcher
      feathers smelling no doubt of bird
      set up a flutter drawing raccoon
      omnivorous always hungry to become
      entrapped in twine enhooped
      in magic circle caught in the bead-
      work as dream-catcher captured
      raccoon could he pull me
      into his dream

    56. tonijoell says:

      Beyond Recognition

      A creaking floorboard in a pitch black room
      the tap-scrape-scratching of a branch
      against your window pane.

      Just beyond your vision
      where your imagination breaks what you see
      into something else; something twisted, something wrong.

      You tremble inside your own skin,
      whispering “hello” into the darkness,
      praying no one responds.

      Knowing you hear it, a second breath.
      an echoed heartbeat beyond the silence
      and just then the lightning flashes and you see it:

      the anticipatory grin,
      the calculated pounce–
      damn dog!

    57. Angie5804 says:

      I’m jumping on the shadorma train…

      A bluebird
      Sits on a fence post
      Beyond my
      Warbling a three note song
      Soft and sweet and sure

    58. Beyond the Empty Quahog Shells

      Upwind of seaweed rotting in hot sun
      past bilious-bellied fish long dead
      beyond the empty quahog shells
      that gulls dropped on rocks
      and left to gutter like
      drowned butterflies
      in sea water’s curl
      –lie farmers’ fields
      under salt-stung air
      where brown-headed
      cowbirds graze among kine
      and lay their eggs in nests not theirs
      for other birds to hatch and hunting owls find.

    59. Jezzie says:


      Hey Myschka, did you enjoy the walk you did with our Mum today?
      Well, I was there too, walking along right beside you all the way.
      There we all were, deep in thought, on our favourite Saturday walk
      and it was so peaceful, there was no need at all for us to talk.
      I notice your limp is much better now, you’re not dragging your paw
      and you walked so much further than you ever could manage before.
      You didn’t want to stop walking and go back home the shortest way,
      you would have gone further but Mum guided you back, I’m glad to say.
      I was really hoping that the triangular wood we would pass,
      where we went on our first walk and ate the dandelions in the grass.
      Remember that? It was over twelve years ago, when we were small,
      bursting with excitement and with absolutely no fear at all.
      I was there with you today, having fun. Did you see me running?
      I went crashing through the woods, chasing squirrels that were coming.
      Mum stopped a while and stared because she thought she saw something moving,
      she listened carefully but walked on again cos she heard nothing.
      But it was me. I was there beyond the invisible curtain
      between your living world and Heaven I am now in for certain.

    60. priyajane says:

      Beyond, is a place I love to go
      On a golden magic carpet yo- yo

      With a blink of an eye,
      When I see birds fly,
      In the pigments of red
      Or, bare tree beds
      An elusive talk,
      On a bubbling rock.

      The distant view from moving trains,
      Unleashings of soft music scales

      Winds in shawls,
      Suspended white walls
      The teary dew,
      Chocolate fondue,
      Mysterious clouds
      And snickering doubts.

      With an invisible zap, in an instant I’m there!
      Come join me, where I float on air-

      Beyond the infinite, beyond beyond—

    61. Never having traveled more than a mile or so
      beyond the state line, she found it easy to dream
      of all that lay beyond her reach, exotic places
      where people unlike her own kind spoke in tongues
      musical and rhythmic, ate food with names that might
      be spices, might be places; she would never know.

      She stood at the kitchen sink, arms in soapy water,
      staring far beyond the fence row, imagining talk
      around the table in a million other living rooms,
      houses like hers but not like hers, familiar laughter,
      frying chicken, apples baking, babies crying
      for their mamas before the sun has even risen
      above the treeline beyond her view. Dreaming
      of some other life is only that, a dream, illusions
      out of her grasp, not yearnings. Within her grasp,
      within her view, the only life she’d ever want.

    62. PressOn says:


      The hawks are circling, up and up in rounds
      and whorls and eddies in the bubbling air.
      rising to find another breeze up there
      that thrusts them on, toward their breeding grounds
      in woods and barren tundra. Here I hear no sounds;
      no cries or screams aloft as, pair by pair,
      they traipse across the sky with innate flair,
      their wingbeats sure, as if they know no bounds.
      How strange, indeed, to feel the ancient worth
      of these mere birds. Why should I love them so
      as ancient urges bid them sally forth
      to bring once more the breath of spring to Earth?
      I feel my soul rise as I watch them go
      beyond the blue horizon, heading north.

    63. profal29 says:

      beyond my life I see no others
      whence once I sold a pack of mothers
      now, I only see the me’s
      I wonder why this has come
      has my baby left this one
      or have I begun to see the me
      that has no other place to be
      I am so angry, with no one to
      take it out upon, just some kid
      who never had a life anyway
      I am what I am, and a misanthrope
      would be a good title for me
      the more I see, the less I want
      from this race of humans
      I do know that there are
      wonderful ones in this race
      but there are more not than are
      more who don’t see, don’t respect
      think that there life is the one
      and no one else matters
      they make up their own rules
      decide their own decisions
      follow others that decide for them
      don’t think twice about morals or
      what could possibly be right or
      ease up there fellow, nice and slow
      but really, my panties are in a twist
      I have a mile long wedgie that burns
      my life is riding a giant swing that
      never stops to let me off, I am pissed
      and I am seeing no release
      none, zippo, zilch, no room to breath
      nothing that says chill pill, no ostrach
      hole to stick my head into… nothing
      I am a misanthrope and today
      I am hating the human race

    64. ewdupler says:

      Beyond Belief

      I cannot believe
      Don’t understand
      How can it be
      It wasn’t planned

      Hasn’t happened
      There is no way
      You lie, I pray

      An old wives tale
      It’s not the truth
      Just a fib
      A myth of youth

    65. PressOn says:


      Amidst a muted orange and purple haze
      the dried-out cornstalks wave a gentle sigh;
      the last of summer’s sparrows flit on by
      as sunlight bends its final burst of rays
      across the meadow, catching scattered splays
      of chicory and asters. Blue jays cry
      and scold the crows, then both depart the sky
      to roost and rest. These are the tipping days,
      when warmth of daylight trysts with nipping night;
      when gold and blue succumb to muted hues;
      when passions pause, and yet, excitement thrums,
      for in the east, a glow is growing bright
      while Earth wafts moist perfume to spread the news:
      behold, the lady of the evening comes.

    66. Just Deserts

      “Upon a pillory – that al the world may see, A just desert for such impiety.” (sic)
      - Warning Faire Women 1599.

      Left out there, that he might rot
      Beneath the sun, bright, blazing hot

      Crimes of thought, beyond the sane
      A mind burns, wracked with pain

      Jury dismissed, the verdict given
      The heart broken, the body riven

      Clamour raised as the gallows tested
      A life of heresy, with haste arrested

      To give witness of the unspoken
      Upon the rack of decency broken

      So brought forth, gagged and bound
      Hoisted high, legs swing o’er the ground

      Poet hanged and right resumed
      The wordsmith by hate’s consumed

      Just deserts for heinous deeds
      Beyond the pale, let vultures feed

      Long days decay, stench in the morning
      Still declaring the ruthless warning

      Speak not that which shall be muted
      The sentence: death is ne’er commuted


    67. lionmother says:

      Beyond the Words

      The author creates and
      the words spill onto the
      page engrossing strangers
      who have never known the
      joys and sorrows of the
      who read the words and
      never really know the
      feelings beyond them
      the ones that compel the
      author to place these words
      on the screen
      then push the author to
      show them to others
      What is it that forces
      these authors to bring
      you their innermost thoughts
      as if only then the
      beyond of them will
      inspire the reader to think
      of their own beyond?

      Far away deep in the
      brains of people who
      will never know the
      author in person
      some read the words
      and wonder more
      about the author’s life
      Why did they write
      this particular story?
      Were they a tortured soul
      or was it just the push of
      their own beyond?

    68. Marjory MT says:

      Beyond today is yesterday and tomorrow,
      all things not set in this very instant of time.

      I began to write – but it is beyond me what I will say,
      how I will express in words what I am not sure I feel.

      I am here, but it is beyond me to understand the
      where, why and what-for of my existence.

      I am here, yet I am beyond myself;
      Beyond the quiet nudge of understanding.

    69. identity says:

      Out There

      Out there, beyond the black sand-wall’s
      Relentless march in conquest of
      Scorpions, cockroaches, and parched sage–
      Out there, where grass is green under a
      Cooler sun and deer and antelope run free
      Among proud evergreens of ancient age–
      Out there, under the bow of a stately spruce tree
      By a tranquil, meandering brook and a bee
      My heart waits for me, out there.

    70. Cats, Poetry & Death #55

      Beyond the Night

      In a land of darkness and mystery,
      far from the maddening, crowding day;
      a world of fantasy and freedom,
      a world of trials, tribulations,
      laughter and tears,
      there is where you’ll find me.

      In a world where violence is futile,
      where cats speak every language,
      where the impossible becomes
      there is where you’ll find me.

      In a mist of time and space and creation,
      way out past the universe’s end,
      a spiral arm of delights and adventures,
      a galactic confluence of memories, poems unwritten and
      imagination rolled into something new and wonderful,
      there is where you’ll find me.

      In a warm safe bed comforted by cats,
      closeted behind closed, locked doors,
      protected from the ghouls,
      both real and ethereal,
      slumbering sound and deep,
      as still as the dead,
      drifting from crazy scene to hazy
      dream, there is where you’ll find me,
      fast asleep in a world all of my own,
      dreaming beyond the night.


    71. nessajay says:


      we are each born with a smudge of beyond in us
      some smudges small
      as a smushed gnat
      some smudges wide
      as a river delta

      the smudge
      of beyond
      is our loneliness

      beyond pulls us
      the more beyond we have in us
      the more we want to marry that arc
      behind the blackness

      when flocks of birds rise up
      when a voice on a blue note
      cracks our hearts and eyes open
      that’s a love letter
      from beyond

      beyond whistles through
      like a windy canyon

      beyond makes you the saddest
      about going to work
      because you want to lay under overspill of blossoms
      generous spring rain off your lips
      daffodils grow through your back
      sit in vigil
      with those yellow flowers
      on the knife-edge of mystery
      as they so soon
      begin to cramp and let go
      to wither
      and change

    72. Jane Shlensky says:

      Robert got me humming today. Maybe this one will pass that along to you.

      Rising Sun

      “Beyond the blue horizon/ Waits a beautiful day / Goodbye to things that bore me/
      Joy is waiting for me./ I see the new horizon/ My life has only begun/ Beyond the blue horizon/ Lies a rising sun.” Howard and Cochran

      Miss Annie whistles better than a man
      as if she’d played a trumpet in her youth—
      a fulsome sound, rounded with vibrato.
      It’s beautiful to hear; it warms the heart.

      Cleaning and nursing staff love helping her
      to hear her hum or whistle something grand:
      some Louis Armstrong, love songs, or big band,
      the music she once danced to, each old song

      a memory that fills part of a day
      now that she’s old and like a comma, bent.
      This snappy melody makes them all smile
      and even young ones want to know the words.

      She warbles, “Goodbye to things that bore me…
      My life has only begun…” Their eyes shine.
      She sings and whistles grandly up the hall
      curled in around her walker, moving slow.

      She suffers pain, but you would never know
      the way she greets a day and meets each eye.
      She’s what the old ones call a “sweetie pie”;
      her music lets them visit former days,

      remembering when they were young and spry,
      slender and fond of flirting, dancing, sex.
      Sometimes one of her songs sticks for a day
      in their old minds, where little else abides.

      A young attendant brings his worn guitar
      to learn her songs, share camaraderie
      with her young spirit, his thoughts years ahead,
      imagining his body gone to seed,

      imagining dark shadows in his head.
      He wants to be like Annie, one sweet day,
      He wants to be a sweetie pie with hope
      in new horizons, faith in rising suns.

    73. Dear Moosehead,
      Yes sir! That was what I call a ball game.
      I do love seeing the ball go beyond the fence
      and Mr. Pettitte really shut them Jays down –
      and good! If Kuroda can do the same today,
      there’ll be sobbing in the home dugout at
      Rogers! Talking of sobbing, I’m doing some myself.
      Yer ma & sis have kindly agreed to spend another
      week in New England which would be fine, ‘cept
      it pushes my AmEx beyond straining point.
      So bring the green stuff would ya? I’d pick ya up
      but I got a late JFK and really need the Presidents’
      help right now. By the way, I may have an “in” for
      your cousin, through a guy who works at Yankee
      Stadium so you’d bet watch yer over-secretive ass!
      Jimmy the Greek says he has a theory too, but knowing
      him, it’s obscene!
      Meet me at the bar – it’s a 1 o’clock pitch and I’m running late!

      Yours beyond content and looking positive,

      Ringo the Howler

    74. Moonlight Lessons

      Harold’s purple crayon scribbled
      fantasy dinosaurs
      on adventurous paths
      all with a sense of wonder,
      but he never drew
      a line in the sand
      that I couldn’t cross.

      A quiet little pajama-toed boy
      knew how to draw me in.

    75. Jane Shlensky says:


      For a boy firmly planted in plowed ground,
      he knows a lot about what lies above,
      trailing across the blue and through the clouds.

      His hand shielding his eyes, his hearing tweaked
      for distant engines, he can name each plane
      as if he’d formed its wings in his own head.

      His life’s flotsam and jetsam claim his thoughts.
      He’s done with making models, flying kites.
      He’s memorized horizons long enough,

      imagining that flight might save his life.
      His wishful thinking hinders his progress
      across tobacco fields with hoe or plow.

      His daddy warns him plenty, daydreams kill
      a steady living—places we don’t go
      are no more real than palaces in air.

      The more he talks, the more the boy will stare
      into the sky, his face askew with loss.
      The old man sees the problem—knows it plain:

      farming requires a man to look to earth
      to nurture what’s beneath his weary feet.
      His son belongs to yonder and beyond;

      air is his element and flight his need.
      What good is tying eagles to the ground
      to treasure shackled beauty where we are?

      It’s best to let them soar so we can love
      the ground we stand upon, the sky above.

    76. Ber says:

      Beyond your Dreams

      Reaching beyond the fields
      as far as the eyes can see
      looking for more
      looking out to sea

      Branches shadow
      birds in flight
      winds that sweep away
      the children s kite

      Dusting foot prints
      gather along perfect images
      posing for the camera
      saying words like sausages

      Flickering sunshine glowing in the sky
      clouds full of shapes
      feeling the escape
      running wild water
      up to the knees

      Bringing them back
      to the time of ease
      no pressures of life
      so simple and at peace

      Silence of the day
      no rain to wash them away
      hand prints left in the sand
      castles built on demand

      As hunger fills them up
      the dry it hits their throats
      looking back over their shoulders
      of beauty of its coat

      Don’t take me for granted
      don’t leave me to long
      come back and see me
      playing your song

    77. Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to use at least five words from a list of about 28. I always like to challenge myself with this type of prompt by trying to cram as many words into as few lines as possible. So here I used five of the words (twice, elusive, generator, miraculous, dunderhead) in a quatrain:

      To a Reckless Golfer

      It’s beyond belief that twice now
      elusive beneath the thunderhead,
      you were not lit up like a generator
      by lightning, you miraculous dunderhead.

      Just for fun, I’ll share the other one, which is a tanka but didn’t follow Robert’s prompt: I used six words from the list in this one (truffle, upwind, ghost, owl, curl, abscond)

      Evening Tanka

      amongst the truffles
      a young rabbit looks for food
      upwind from danger

      ghost-faced owl dives, curls talons,
      absconds with his evening meal

    78. “The Great Beyond”

      “I am the king of Great Beyond”, said Don.
      His trusty steed, the bit held in his mouth
      did chortle at the hat upon his Juan;
      did know his master, leading him due south.

      “I am so keen for Great Beyond”, said Don.
      I seek to capture all one cannot see.
      And in that moment, waved his magic wand
      So open to the opportunity.

      The Great Beyond, so Don discovered: “when”
      is not in past deeds nor in future trial.
      The moment that is When is paper thin
      and so the space you sit in now with style.

      Our Don, with sword upheld and hat a ‘cock
      dreams of the things the Great Beyond is not.

    79. PoM says:

      Beyond Live Free or Die

      Have we crossed that line
      That moment in time
      Or can we still rewind
      To a more innocent time
      To save the human vine

      Weapons of mass destruction
      Just a matter of time
      We no longer can trust
      Our human minds
      To many radicals
      Are on the rise
      Willing to die
      Cause humanities demise

      Is there still time
      Or did we cross that line
      Must it come to implants
      To control human minds
      To prevent the destruction
      Of humanity and mankind

      Must we surrender our freedom
      Our privacy of mind
      In order to save
      God’s beloved mankind

      There may come a choice
      Live free or die
      We now have the weapons
      That can destroy mankind
      Freedom and privacy of mind
      Or the survival of mankind

      We’ve mapped the brain and DNA
      We’ll soon be controlling
      The human brain
      Is this what we’ve come to
      Have we stepped beyond
      The boundaries of Privacy
      And freedom of mind

      Freedom or survival
      The choice of mankind
      Must we resort to implants
      To save human kind

      Can we save humanity
      Before crossing that line
      And still live with freedom
      And have privacy of mind
      Live free or die
      It’s just a matter of time

    80. RJ Clarken says:

      Over the Rainbow

      “…Some place where there isn’t any trouble. Do you suppose there is such a place, Toto? There must be. Not a place you can get to by a boat or a train. It’s far, far away – behind the moon – beyond the rain –” ~Dorothy’s lead-in lines to Over the Rainbow, The Wizard of Oz

      Behind the moon, beyond the rain,
      there is a place that’s safe and bright.
      I nearly reach it late at night,
      when dreams fill up my tired brain

      beyond the bullets, bombs and pain.
      No talking heads. No scared sound bite.
      There is a place that’s safe and bright.
      Behind the moon, beyond the rain,

      a yellow brick helps me regain
      a sense that life can be all right.
      And in those dreams, I can rewrite
      the script to make the sadness wane
      behind the moon, beyond the rain…


    81. Beyond

      The daily grind
      of dirty kitchen floors,
      piles of laundry,
      and screaming kids,
      lies a land
      waiting to be discovered
      after we have passed over
      the great divide.
      Few seldom see its glory
      until the time comes
      for home going.

    82. “sometimes words”

      sometimes words
      and flutter
      along curious paths
      like butterflies,
      seemingly easily
      within reach
      when outstretched fingers
      close on their prey,
      their prey
      flutters away.
      just beyond.

    83. bxpoetlover says:

      Going Beyond

      Writing poems is beyond a hobby.

      It is catharsis, gleaning memories, deciding which to reveal, wondering if doing so only helps me, determining who might be hurt, and conjuring explanations to ease the pain.

      It is the furious scribbling in black or blue ink, crossing out, ripping pages, and the stacking of notebooks.

      It is eavesdropping on all of the angry mothers, distant fathers, wayward children, philanderers, oppressive bosses, and stupid co-workers on the subway cars and streets, culling dialogue for new speakers and new stories.

      It is typing into the Memo app on my phone when I am out and about and assaulted by inspiration. My fingers are too big for the keys. I keep hitting the back button to correct mistakes. I know I should not censor rough drafts. Inner critic is both friend and foe.

      It is the trolling of the internet, exploring poetic webzines, comparing your wordsmithery against the Published Ones, doubting you are good enough, asking who might ever read your work, and knowing you must write anyway because words don’t/won’t leave you alone.

      Writing is beyond a hobby.

    84. Never2L8 says:

      Music of the Universe

      The summer evening surrounded me,
      closed-in, seeped-in my skin
      as I looked-in the blushing sky,
      birds twittered- in the trees.
      From the thicket two crickets
      joined- in with violins, insects thrummed-in,
      tree frogs broke-in, every now and then,
      as I lay breathing-in serenity.

      Then my hearing became acute;
      I was one big ear.
      The stars whirring-in harmony to
      planets humming-in time
      to the moon strumming-in
      gentle guitar chord.
      But underneath and far away
      the sun drummed- in a unifying bass
      to the chicka, chicka of galaxies and space.

    85. Beyond the Horizon
      (tanka series)

      I liked looking out
      across the great valley
      from your veranda
      and beyond, to the mountains
      and higher still, into cloud.

      That was when
      the valley and beyond
      was your province.
      You played your didgeridoo
      and even the trees listened.

      Two large hawks
      used to wheel and glide
      in the vast blue.
      Perhaps they are still there
      but you and I are elsewhere.

    86. Above and Beyond

      They give without want
      Of thanks in return
      Just gratitude for their sacrifice

      They care for mankind
      For freedom for all
      They risk everything, even life

      They uniform up
      Proud of their stripes
      Together they’re a strong family

      When troubles rise up
      Look around, they’ll be there
      Ready to protect you and me

      So the next time you see
      A uniformed servant
      Thank them for carrying on

      We need these brave souls
      Thank God they’re around
      And willing to go above and beyond

      A special thanks for all that serve in uniform to protect us and keep us free. And on this day, a special thanks to all that helped in Boston.

    87. JRSimmang says:

      In her bed, limitless awaits.
      The covers are drawn tightly around her cherub face.
      Long ago, longer than time,
      her parents demanded she turn off the lights.

      The shadows consume,
      They twist and laugh, and spin and bloom.
      All the while, there she lays
      thinking of all the little, tiny cherubic ways

      that the prince will rescue her tonight,
      how he will show all his charming, wily might,
      how the dragon won’t stand a chance
      when it is stabbed with his steely lance,

      or how the wretched queen
      will bite into her own apple and her face will turn green.
      The king will be freed
      from the spell with spell’s speed,

      or how the vacuum of space
      expanding rapidly, cooly, in front of her face.
      She’d reach out and touch
      the surface of such

      objects as Jupiter, Orion, and the sun.
      The night, she thinks, is no more than real.
      The monsters in her closet
      could do no more to cause it

      to change and morph like their shadows.
      Perhaps, she thinks for the very first time, blankets below
      her knees. That the night
      could quite possibly, probably just might

      be her friend
      in this beyond day.

    88. Boston celebrates
      Freed from the grip of terror
      The healing can start

    89. Dini says:

      Robert, very clever. Love your “beyond” poem today.

    90. Raina Masters says:

      Everyone needs closure, even the dead

      Who would even think to look for me
      here? My flesh has fed the crows
      and the other scavengers that search
      these dirt paths for food. At least
      my body was good for one last thing.
      My outline is firmly embedded in the
      earth now, the Spring sun bleaching
      my bones. I didn’t want to die in
      sweat pants but at least they had the
      decency to not leave them around my
      ankles afterwards. It was quick, you
      should know that. They had a gun.
      They took what they needed from me,
      my bike, my cell phone. They left me
      with a few minutes of shame before
      they snuffed the light. I didn’t hurt
      for very long. Turn right at the giant
      boulder and follow the grassy path
      with the rotted foot bridge. I’m
      sleeping under that oak tree a few
      feet from the water. Please take care
      of my dog. She won’t understand.

    91. Beyond

      B eyond here, beyond now, beyond me, beyond them
      E ternity waits
      Y ou wait
      O pen our eyes and ears to see and hear spiritual truths
      N ever let us sit amuck in the moment
      D o an amazing thing in our lives beyond our comprehension.

    92. I love the images in this poem…well done!

    93. Beyond the Horizon

      Perspective is relevant to the viewer.
      Stand at the edge of the sea -
      the horizon opens before you,
      curving in a wavy blue-green arc.
      Sit at the edge of a garden -
      the horizon fits the occasion,
      gracefully greening the borders.
      Climb to the edge of a mountain -
      the horizon expands far into tomorrow,
      pulling the imagination to wonder.
      Step to the edge of thought -
      the horizon magnifies the universe,
      filling the mind beyond the common.

    94. pmwanken says:

      (a shadorma)

      sounds, words; familiar,
      yet unclear.
      She reaches
      beyond the fog to grasp her
      fading memories.

      P. Wanken

    95. Arash says:

      Sometimes possibility of lack of love is beyond comprehension or at least too painful to consider.

      What If?

      by Arash

      What if everything
      the white teapot and the blackened red kettle
      the plate of dried lemon slices the clogged
      sugar shaker dried dates and the tarnished
      silver tray with beetling flowers that clawed to the edge
      and tickled my puny fingers what if
      every single night awake
      all the chatters whispered and laughs
      held back or tried to and every word deciphered
      to mean love (every word not
      softly forgotten)
      a fake?

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