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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.


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

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

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About Robert Lee Brewer

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. WayneLMurphy says:


    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


    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.


    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. Sara McNulty says:

    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. Michelle Hed says:

    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. Nancy Posey says:

    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. Bruce Niedt says:

    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. Jackie Casey says:

    “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. Sally Jadlow says:


    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. Earl Parsons says:

    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. Earl Parsons says:

    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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