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2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 22

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 complex poem. Complex is a complex word that can refer to mental state, apartments, difficulty of a situation, and so many other complex situations.

Here’s my attempt at a complex poem:

“complex”

under these wooden floors
creaking beneath her feet
lives the guy she adores

no end to wanting more
she imagines his sheets
under these wooden floors

she feels an awful bore
reading books when beneath
lives the guy she adores

she sees him at the store
always shy  always sweet
under these wooden floors

she wants to knock his door
down in this summer heat
lives the guy she adores

like a lion she roars
paces on padded feet
under these wooden floors
lives the guy she adores

*****

Workshop Your Poetry!

Writing poetry is exciting, but the hard work of poeming is working through the revision process. The best way to work through this process is to workshop the poems with other poets, and that can be done with the Writer’s Digest 6-week course, Advanced Poetry Writing.

*****

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.

216 Responses to 2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 22

  1. cstewart says:

    Complex

    I imagine his voice to be so soft
    His turbulence eclipsed.
    The place of her cheek against mine,
    Contours meant to match.
    His inside hand, strangely rough
    And rounded fingers.
    His way of peculiarity in his body.
    Her roundness; soft and insular.

  2. Alpha1 says:

    Meta-Cognition Seminar

    Found an empty seat
    back row auditorium
    notebook at the ready
    instructor on the podium
    feelin sleepy right now
    thought about tonight
    goin home to rest
    drowsy gotta fight
    recovered for a moment
    dreamin so deep
    thinkin I’m awake
    but really fast asleep

  3. PKP says:

    The New Boy

    He lived in the ‘complex’
    So he said
    His smile bright and eyes
    Hopeful
    She told her mother
    Breathlessly of the
    new boy – heart pounding
    Her mother said he lied
    He lived in the “projects”
    Nothing complex there

  4. And the world thinks I am a complex number

    A+Bi is as simple as I can be
    You say there are two sides to me
    One real and the other imaginary
    I help you solve some mysteries though
    Of science, math, engineering and lo
    You call me complex, when I uncomplicated
    And help you understand the intricate!

  5. vsbryant1 says:

    Complex Life

    All the screams a contained under the roof of the place we call home

    Angry words litter the floors on the rooms that use to hold nothing but love

    Tiptoeing through halls that were meant from running and laughing

    Complex is home and home is life

  6. bxpoetlover says:

    Complexity

    When I try to imitate
    the twisting motions of her fingers
    all I make of my hair is a tangled mess.
    That is why
    I make her rich.

  7. Yolee says:

    Mid 60s/Early 70s

    We were the family of ten living in a one bedroom apartment
    in uptown Chicago. You could short-cut to Mrs. Dunlap’s
    place from the second floor porch. We rarely saw her go
    outside. Once she told us kids she was in the movies. I believed
    her. Why would an elderly lady living alone with three tabbies
    and a big old turtle lie to us kids? Besides, she gave us starlight
    candy. I wondered what it was like to just see one face in the mirror
    in the morning and not hear “desayuno! avancen! I used to believe
    her life was easy because her every household doing had none
    of the rumpus prospering through our home. But many years
    later I reckoned complexities visit the lonely too.

  8. Linda Voit says:

    My what complex eyes you have

    The better to see you with
    said the fly to the girls
    in the crimson hoods.

  9. IrisD says:

    Onion Tears

    Onion tears I heard mother say,
    as she used her apron to wipe them away
    But she was in the process of kneading bread
    I knew those tears were genuine instead
    She never wanted us to see her cry
    But her tender heart would often sigh
    Tears cleanse the soul of deepest pain
    Clear the path for smile to follow the rain

  10. Weather Report

    Don’t escape into dreams
    which are cool to the touch
    filled as they are with frothy drinks
    topped with pink paper umbrellas.
    Here, every day is sunny
    and you’ve found your sunglasses.

    Instead, move forward
    into the complex weather of real life.
    Storms brewing,
    bills to pay, children, cars, cats.
    Everything is messy
    and has Opinions.
    Doldrums and tiny dust devils
    and time for a nap and a dance
    before the next emergency.
    Tornadoes spelling out
    This Is Not A Drill
    across your sky.

  11. omavi says:

    “the cut & dry myth”

    confused by clarity on the horizon
    lives like a haunting ghost
    calling but running so fast
    that the mind is so torn
    that reality seems ultimately surreal
    sometimes on the horizon
    the sun happily peaks only
    so a blue moon poisons everything

    knowing this is the place needed
    to be but only hurt
    in this house lives
    enjoying a passion so furiously deep
    seething with a decaying stench
    of a thing that should
    never really be

    cursing at all deities
    but in this place I choose to live
    complaining about everything
    still moving in
    weathering a storm of horrid end
    why does heart do such
    beautifully stupid things

  12. drwasy says:

    Deus Ex Machina

    It should be easy
    to love you but after
    I unwrap your skin
    all your moving parts
    hinge and fold
    from different spots
    than before.

    The bones and organs
    shift and shimmy,
    the nerves and muscles
    transmute to more
    or fewer when I fail
    to pay attention.

    Who plays god with you?
    Who shifts your fealty?

    I peel back thin metal
    a dull brass that clangs
    under my clacking fingertips
    dig-dig-digging for you,
    for the gelatinous
    sheath pulsing blue
    and red, the soft
    and tender bit.

    Under the bony cage
    My hands pulsate,
    seek-seek-seeking
    but you have traveled
    to another space,
    another time,
    or perhaps you have shrunk
    to a corpuscle.

    It matters naught.
    The key the gods
    threw down in fury
    has rusted.

  13. BiblioGypsy says:

    Beyond the shores of slumber,
    Where peace overtakes daylight’s stress
    Upon the starry shore of sleep,
    There lies a place of dreams
    Over which reigns tranquillity and
    Serenity. Hand in hand,
    They show deepest desires: wishes
    Given life. Hazy, dim, those
    Visions shrouded, lend a certain
    Happiness. Things impossible
    Or improbable upon waking; clarity
    Cloaked by nightfall, a blanket of bliss,
    Encourages, comforts, granting
    Relaxation during repose, a
    Sense of wholeness found,
    Complete.

    https://gypsywordsandwhims.WordPress.com

  14. D Street

    In tall brick cubes at the edge
    of a city people were filed away
    like old index cards in the Dewey system.
    Each apartment like a mausoleum
    entombing the poor,
    keeping them hidden and away.

    But, something happened
    that pulled open the shut doors
    that allowed children to run free
    that, horror of horror, permitted growth
    until the boxes where empty
    inhabitants, dead or gone.

    Now, urban renewal has swept in
    with renovating authority.
    Gone are the brick boxes.
    Welcoming condos, bright and shining
    hold court for those who want
    a place in the city to call home.

  15. lionmother says:

    A Complex Man

    Beneath the surface
    is the man he once was
    leaping through life on
    two healthy feet
    jumping to play basketball
    arms strong to hold me close

    Beneath his surface
    the young man lies
    face unlined with his
    arrogant eyes and soft lips
    mouthing the phrases young
    men use to entice women

    Beneath his eyes is the
    man who once inhabited
    this body
    virile and strong eager
    to catch life in his teeth
    looking for adventure
    around every turn

    each day a new place
    spacing his moments
    dreaming of a freedom
    he saw somewhere
    out there in the distance
    planning for the future
    always looking to tomorrow
    not seeing today

    His days are now filled with
    doctor appointments and
    long hours spent sitting in
    his leather chair with feet
    defeated by the disease
    that is silently destroying
    him and though try as he
    might it will not subside

    He lives with the four-toed foot
    and accepts the wounds caused
    by his need to ingest the
    steroid that keeps him aware
    and holds back the sarcoid
    injects himself with the life saving
    insulin and holds back the truth
    of how he feels.

    When asked how does he feel
    his answer is always, “Fine, great,
    couldn’t be better!”
    The mix of medication such a
    cocktail it takes five doctors to
    keep it balanced

    Beneath the hazel eyes I know so well
    is the youth he once was and in dreams
    his feet move running through the
    city streets as he did as a boy

  16. Complexities of Being Newly Single

    It’s been surprising but
    I’m learning the new rules.

    At parties, couples close ranks. I
    must talk to other single women.

    Their families seem relieved:
    Oh good, Mum’s taken care of.

    (To some I’m a husband-stealer,
    to others a harmless old duck.)

    So how do I do it now?
    With old friends, there’s no issue.

    Everything’s as always,
    except without my darling.

    We miss him, but we still enjoy
    each other’s easy old companionship.

    With the new, things can get tricky.
    Warmth may be misconstrued.

    I realise all my platonic mateships
    formed in the context of me being married.

    Not so with those I meet now. They
    perceive me as free, perhaps available.

    (No, that’s not on the cards.
    I’m still in mourning. Permanently.)

    ***

    I’m staying away from parties
    unless I know the crowd.

    I’ve put my wedding ring back
    on my wedding finger.

  17. Dini says:

    Perspective

    checking the view
    from where I stand
    observing parallel lines
    conflicting accounts
    which facts to consider
    calculating the vanishing point
    wondering what was intended
    what thought to convey
    muddling around
    seeking the truth
    …complex…

  18. julie e. says:

    MOM.

    Oh the laughing/talking/creating
    of my sister, mom and me
    all the times that we
    were together when life was good

    Oh the hurting/stinging/harming
    of mom to my sister and me
    all the times that she
    was unhappy ‘cause things were bad

    Always hoped it would end on a high note
    always hoped she’d see the real me
    always hoped that we could end things
    peacefully
    but if times were bad
    then
    so
    were
    we….

  19. tonijoell says:

    hands pressed to her ears
    a cacophony of sound
    inside the silence

  20. THEGingerSass says:

    “Songbird”
    -KB


    Fire was about to be set to the stage
    and poetry was set to escape my lips
    when I felt a songbird break free of its cage.

    The songbird seemed to be energized by rage
    as the sky erupted with a solar eclipse.
    Fire was about to be set to the stage.

    A new life seemed to dance upon the songbird’s page
    and words flowed together like the ocean’s ships
    when I felt a songbird break free of its cage.

    The songbird cried as society reverted back to the Stone Age
    and its heart was beaten by whips.
    Fire was about to be set to the stage
    
Is this the best we can do, in this day and age?
    I questioned our sanity and found it hard to come to grips
    when I felt a songbird break free of its cage.

    
Its only goal is to sing and engage,
    yet it always goes along on life’s crazy trips.
    Fire was about to be set to the stage
    when I felt a songbird break free of its cage.

  21. julie e. says:

    A KINDA LAME SHADORMA BUT IT’S JUST TO MAKE A POINT ANYWAY. ;-)

    Shadorma
    hard enough for me
    how these peeps
    “sestina”
    far past my comprehension
    Appreciation.

  22. Deri says:

    (In keeping with the idea of complexity, the “complex” in this poem is not immediately obvious.)

    Not So Simple

    Nothing
    should be this hard
    she thinks
    elbow on knee

    Digging
    at that place
    that has
    scabbed over

    Waiting
    for him to
    just speak
    those small words

    Imagining
    another man
    sitting
    in his place

    Loving
    the flow of
    sweet blood.
    Scab again.

  23. julie e. says:

    IT’S….COMPLICATED.

    Do other writers stress as much
    as I do, while i point and touch
    and ask “What do you think of me?”
    while trying to lean casually
    against a stanza just written
    with which I’m really quite smitten,
    and try to ask offhandedly
    “So, what was it you thought of me?”

  24. I attempted an acrostic of sorts -COMPLEX is spelled out diagonally in the poem. It is easily visible in my Word document, but I wasn’t sure how to make the letters bold here.

    Carry on-
    nOthing is longed for like
    norMalcy in the midst of chaos
    when Peace eludes, precludes the
    inevitabLe onslaught of
    irresolute Emotions, naked
    intentions eXposed –carry on

  25. ewdupler says:

    Racing, with the Computer Guy

    You want the change now?
    And everything must keep running?
    Yes, it’s easy to do at home.

    Let me explain the complexity, here:
    Does your home support a million users?
    Do you lose money when you reboot?

    Imagine you’re in a race car,
    Going 200 miles per hour,
    and want me to change a spark plug.

    If you don’t want it to explode,
    And if I’m not aloud to pull over,
    Give me some time to plan a little.

    • Jackie Casey says:

      I like this! But does your next to last line say: ” And if I’m not a “loud” to pull over.”? or Does it say
      “and if I’m not “allowed” to pull over”? Or does it say “and if I’m not, aloud, (newly coined?/meaning?) to pull over”. As usual, you computer guys keep me in a storm of confusion and complexity.

  26. BDP says:

    “Complex Orangutans”

    At night they sleep in treetops, in a nest
    of sticks—I wanted that as a child, swing
    from branches, power glide the canopy.

    Their hands have a masseuse’s grip with long
    slim fingers, elegant, the stuff of nail
    polish ads. Opposable big toes hug

    the bark. If their proportions were like ours
    they’d climb as clumsily as most humans.
    Instead, they’ve Cirque du Soleil grace, these high

    wire gymnasts. On soil, they clown: sashay arms
    about their hips to whirl their bodies much
    like slo-mo tops, legs twisting, finally

    toppling. And one more thing: food. They’re always
    sharing. Button-iris babies halve bananas
    for their parents. We’ve not managed that trick

    yet. Elders’ eyes are lidded as though wisdom shrinks
    their view, seen clearly without smudge or mar.
    Intelligent, they’re ninety-seven percent us.

    B Peters

  27. LCaramanna says:

    Matinee

    42 hit baseball’s homerun
    Crood’s road tripped to an incredible new world
    Ferocious dinosaurs preyed the theme park
    One man’s battle waged to save mankind
    The magician hurled into epic problems in the Land of Oz
    Gatsby roared into greatness
    All in the climate controlled confines of the movie complex
    Characters, setting, plot
    Adventure, drama, twists of fate
    With hot buttered popcorn, an ice cold soda,
    And a theater size box of Jr. Mints.

    LCaramanna

  28. In Honor of Earth Day

    Pine cones
    earth’s first flowers
    a complex mechanism
    evolved for spewing seed
    escaping the stationary plant

    The pine cone blooms
    when the green pod dries
    Not yet as velvet as winged
    butterflies nor delicate as silk
    the wooden pine petals detonate

    Silence cracked apart
    by the sudden petal snap
    and the faint ping of seeds
    as they strike the ground, hitting
    rock or shallow soil or good ground

    Whole forests sown by no human hand

  29. carolecole66 says:

    Apartment Complex

    In a corner of the city off highway 31 at the outer edge
    where the interstate will run one day, I live
    in a warren of flats stacked three high and as far
    as I can see, a square mile at least, all painted
    yellow, adjacent to the black asphalt parking lot.

    Above me a shirtless man stands on his balcony
    playing his saxophone to no one, alone, not caring
    who listens, who doesn’t. It’s about the music.
    It’s about how he plays it. His eyes are open
    to follow each note. At five, he’ll go inside.

    Next door, the television is turned up loud,
    Looney Tunes and Roadrunner and Tom
    chasing Jerry. The child sits alone in the living room.
    His mother works late; his father is not around.
    His brother watches him through a closed door.

    In the apartment below, I hear a quick yelp
    a muffled thump. A door slams, a young man
    shoots into the parking lot. He doesn’t say a word.
    The bottle in his hand is brown and his fist
    clenches around it as he disappears between the cars.

    Yesterday I met a woman by the pool
    who said she was moving on soon.
    These kinds of places are temporary, she said.
    it’s nowhere to raise a family. She been
    here five years. Tomorrow she’ll pack another box.

    We are stacked one on top of another,
    in a warren of rooms, a sad imitation
    of neighborhood, no common language,
    no blood ties. We park our cars side by side
    and lock our doors with care each night.

  30. nessajay says:

    It’s Very Simple

    It’s very simple
    The way the world works
    The earth rotates at speeds of up to 1038 miles per hour, causing the sun to appear to rise in the East
    Daily without fail
    Your parents love you, but being human they cannot help but bruise you in ways that will manifest just when you want to love someone
    Deeply without fail
    Every living creature moves inexorably and with increasing acceleration toward the day of its death, which is terrifying, and also the source of meaning, shape, and urgency in our lives
    Darkly without fail
    Your prefrontal cortex imagines the world it wants – a peaceful, just world through which you ambulate gracefully, knowledgeably with well-defined muscles and well-timed generosity – but your cerebellum and hippocampus repeat certain behavior patterns in self-fulfilling feedback loops, keeping you more or less flabby and petty and resulting in rates of viewing television or movies 100 times greater than combined rates of strength training and being neighborly by baking a pie or lending jumper cables
    Disgracefully without fail
    The way the world works
    Is very simple

  31. Human complexity is a commodity in today’s society.
    The diversity is a necessity to exercise our minds perfectly.

    Too many times people fall into an place of complacency.
    They act without thought and the mind loses efficiency.

    We think we want it simple.
    We think we want it easy.
    But thinking and discerning, my friend
    Are already complex entities.

    This poem, for instance, follows a certain grammatical procedure.
    But take it a step further and let’s complicate the structure.

    Normally we read left to right just like this.
    .bit little a for left to right go let’s Now

    .discern to hard and strange it’s first At
    .learn to begin you lines few a after But

    .do to needs it what to adapt will mind Your
    .amused hopefully then confused first At

    I hope you can see that we’re back to normalcy.
    Now let’s change the view and drop a vowel or two.

    Y?ur m?nd w?ll perce?ve what ?t sh?uld see,
    F?ll?ng ?n the letters w?th m?derate ease.

    Just a way to explore,
    The mind’s apprehension.
    I said it before,
    And I’ll say it again:

    Human __________ is a _________ in today’s _______.
    The _________ is a _________ to exercise our minds _________.

    (Now, did you look back up to see?
    Or did you repeat it from memory?)

  32. Angie5804 says:

    The music of the woods
    Is not just a bird song
    It’s the beat of the brook
    The harmony of wind and leaf
    A twig, a scamper, layers

    The music of the ocean
    Is not just the cry of the gulls
    It’s the crash of the waves
    The melody of wind and water
    A splash, a scrape, laughter

    The music of the snow
    It’s not just the hoot of the owl
    It’s the patter of flakes
    The rhythm of wind and white
    A crunch, cold, whispers

    The music of the world
    Is not just a song, a cry, a hoot
    It’s beating, crashing, pattering
    It’s melody, harmony, and rhythm
    It’s love, peace, God’s creation

  33. ValerieO says:

    Cabrini Green

    She hid under a cot
    Cousins did the same
    All covered their ears
    Lay belly down in the bedroom
    Outside multiple shots fired
    Ricochet off barred windows
    They wait until its safe again
    To play with dolls

  34. tunesmiff says:

    PLAY BALL

    Baseball, Softball, and
    Soccer huddle in the shade
    of Football’s shadow.

  35. Domino says:

    Complex

    A hive of honeybees,
    careful and sure,
    pollinate flowers and
    make honey pure.

    A mound of termites,
    with labor and grit,
    build enormous palaces,
    because they commit.

    Wasps all freely work on
    the nest they all build.
    Building their nest,
    their destiny fulfilled.

    Ants are the masters of
    underground lairs.
    The burrow and delve and
    all commonly share.

    And all of these critters
    are social and free
    to live in their dwellings
    just as you and as me.

    So on this new earth day
    in twenty-thirteen,
    let’s all make a promise
    to try and live “green.”

    ^_^
    Diana Terrill Clark

  36. De Jackson says:

    What on Earth?
    (an Earth Day poem)

    Is it really that
    complicated?

    Take what you need,
    need what you take.

    Recycle what you can,
    for goodness sake.

    She’s three-fourths water,
    so keep it clean.

    Don’t trash her lands.
    See what I mean?

    A little kindness
    will make her smile.

    Let’s assume she’s gonna
    be around awhile.

    .

  37. WayneLMurphy says:

    “Complex”

    Complex
    can be
    a variety
    of different things
    One thing
    we don’t want
    is a complex life

    It is better
    to live
    a simple
    easier life
    it demands less
    but provides
    us with more

    When things get
    complex
    they sometimes
    get out
    of hand
    and we are left
    holding the bag

    Take a look
    at what
    you really
    need
    and let go
    of what
    you don’t

    Wayne L Murphy 4/22/13

  38. Lindy says:

    Dueling Banjos

    Cinderella doesn’t care about the ball.
    The Prince’s heart for her is all -
    house and home and garden walls,
    dancing down domestic halls.

    Superman takes care of things alone.
    He doesn’t want to be a drone.
    Marching to a beat he owns,
    turning over all the stones.

    Inside of me are both of these
    complexes of a mind uneased.
    Buzzing on like threatened bees,
    they’ve still agreed to disagree.

    Oh really what should I expect,
    as I sit here to reflect -
    my twin fishes swim opposite;
    yet together, out of respect.

  39. EbenAt says:

    Snider

    It’s complex,
    You had
    to be there.

    In your mind’s eye,
    see the north end of
    The Olympic Peninsula,
    late 70s through early 80s.

    Ostensibly there
    to burn slash
    for
    The Forest Circus,
    in reality
    we were there to
    smoke,
    drink,
    cook,
    eat,
    play music,
    make love,
    talk philosophy,
    and mystify
    the locals.

    From PHD candidates
    to High School
    drop outs and
    everyone in between,
    it was
    the place to be.

    Oh, there was work;
    work which,
    very realistically
    could and would kill you
    for a single mistake.

    We waltzed through it
    with a cheer,
    a wink and
    a shit eating grin.

    We saw more fire in a season
    than ‘real’ firefighters
    see
    in a career;
    hundreds of acres
    at a shot.

    Now, we sport
    a touch of gray.
    Some are gone,
    or have disappeared.
    Most of us
    are still here
    some of us
    are still connected.

    Oh there might be
    a respectable few who
    might deny they were there;
    but we know
    who you were.

  40. Julieann says:

    The Complexity of Human Emotions

    She showed up at the door
    With tears in her eyes
    Removing her ring
    She started to speak

    The wedding is off,
    It just cannot be
    I love you, I do,
    And love you, I don’t

    I would have a wonderful life with you
    I will have a good life without you
    I want to be your wife, but
    I don’t want to marry you

    To be married to you
    For the rest of my life
    Would be a marvelous thing, and yet
    I fear, this marriage would cause great pain

    I can’t say why these feelings I have
    They led me to you,
    They are tearing me away
    Good-by, I have to go

  41. profal29 says:

    Complexity

    recovering
    from a
    blood clot/stroke combination
    paralyzed, stuck, fighting my way back to now
    I’m ok

  42. Jezzie says:

    A Sestina – My Gardening Year

    My garden’s lovely, all pink and purple
    interspersed with the odd splash of yellow
    because it is finally Spring season.
    But everywhere else, of course, it is green,
    except for the footpaths and patio,
    and, not having a lawn, where there’s gravel.

    There’s lots of hyacinths in my gravel,
    they’re all growing wild and mostly purple.
    Looking from the windows by my patio
    I can see patches of sunshine yellow
    daffodils still blooming amid the green.
    This year surely has a mixed up season.

    I missed mowing my lawn late one season
    so next year I replaced it with gravel.
    and just to make sure my garden was green
    I placed conifers amid the purple.
    Then my concrete ducks I painted yellow
    and left them to waddle the patio.

    Forsythia’s in flower, it’s yellow
    but quickly it is sprouting vibrant green.
    Snowdrops have all finished in the gravel,
    violets spring from cracks in the patio.
    But I know it is really Spring season
    seeing Aubretia cushions of purple.

    From now on there will be lots more purple
    and I’ll have seen the last of the yellow.
    I’m not keen on it in Summer season
    I much prefer pink, magenta, and green
    in my flower pots on my patio
    or amongst the rocks around the gravel.

    Then in Autumn I will clear the gravel
    and chop down my Buddleas, all purple.
    I’ll empty all the tubs on my patio
    and watch most of my trees turning yellow,
    then shades of red, although some will stay green.
    That’s the end of my gardening season.

    Leaves lie on gravel, all curled and yellow,
    my hands go all purple, flagstones go green,
    no flowers on my patio, in Winter season.

    **********
    Complex or what? My first attempt at a Sestina – not really my style but I just had to give it a go!

  43. RJ Clarken says:

    All the Answers

    “For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, simple, and wrong.”~H.L. Mencken

    Those complex problems plague us all.
    You think, “Aha!” But then you find
    you’re wholly wrong. Then you’re inclined
    to give it up. You’re in a stall.

    These issues do not play fair ball.
    (This doesn’t help: you’re in a bind.)
    You think, “Aha!” But then you find
    Those complex problems plague us all.

    So, when this happens… to the mall!
    You haven’t really lost your mind;
    It’s just shop therapy combined
    with problem solving. (A good call!)
    Those complex problems plague us all.

    ###

  44. pmwanken says:

    THE SIMPLE LIFE

    It seemed so simple then,
    the days of early youth.
    Nothing more to worry about than
    making sure my toys were put away.
    Of course there were endless
    chores on the farm, but it was a part of life.

    Life changed, though,
    when our family fractured.
    While I was really still a kid, the simple
    became much more complex.
    Responsibilities shifted, my age
    became greater than my years;

    independence became my life ring and
    self-sufficiency, my anchor. Later,
    anonymity of city-life, my sustenance;
    the business of busyness, my companion.
    Decades of responsibility brought
    another shift, to a different kind of focus.

    It’s simple: life doesn’t have to be
    as complicated as I’ve made it.
    The stuff that surrounds me is not
    what is important—the people are; and
    making time to play and doing your chores
    is as complex as it needs to be.

    2013-04-22
    P. Wanken

  45. Sara McNulty says:

    Green Complex

    Elaborately designed,
    maze of green shrubs
    meanders back to front,
    side to side. Some areas
    are wide, others narrow.
    Gamers gather at outside
    corners, all warned that no
    help will be forthcoming
    should they find themselves
    trapped. ‘Let the games
    begin,’ Master calls through
    his megaphone. ‘Only those
    who win, will rule the fools
    who could not find
    their way out.

    Poetic Asides
    April Challenge – Day 22
    Write a complex poem

  46. PowerUnit says:

    The filtered sun lands just right
    Aimed carefully, intentionally
    Through the fleeting hole
    Bounced off the myriad mirrors
    Positioned by computer
    And captured silently in the grainy blackness
    Such a complex set of states
    Set in motion by a simple button push

  47. COMPLEXION

    “It’s a bit complex,” he says.
    She staring in the mirror,
    analyzing her pores, tugging
    at the laugh lines that make
    her want to cry.

    He’s in the bedroom pulling on
    his pants going on about
    some scientific discovery he
    read about yesterday, oblivious to
    his own uneven complexion.

  48. Nancy Posey says:

    Sentence

    Language is my life sentence,
    plowing through the syntax
    of amateurs with no interest
    in going pro. Like Stanley
    in search of elusive Livingston,
    I comb through mire and mazes,
    dangling participles, lonely
    prepositions, hanging out
    alone on the corner of a clause.
    Like Thoreau, as I encounter
    them holed up in compounds
    I rouse my imperative tone
    and shout, Simplify! Simplify!
    Why, I ask, do they choose
    the complex, a clause leaning
    on the rail of its mother ship?
    I have grown to empathize
    with the man in the second-
    hand store, dealing daily
    with odds and ends, bents
    and dents that others discard.
    I want to work with words
    of my own, finding balance,
    creating perfect parallels,
    swinging on the trapeze, rope
    held in my teeth, juggling
    startling nouns, zealous verbs.

  49. Kimberlee Thompson says:

    A Particular Recipe

    Take one herb
    grown out of season
    on the slope of
    an inhospitable mountain.
    Gnaw it.

    Add one drop
    found inside an other-
    wise dry vessel,
    forgotten in a dark cupboard.
    Swallow it.

    Find a seed
    left over from sowing
    during the full moon
    when last you felt truly happy.
    Toss it

    over your left shoulder
    Lost as the day you remembered.

  50. burrhead says:

    COMPLEX SENSE

    Brother liar roamed his old cherry orchards
    staff carved with love
    original Mother tree
    clicking against rocks
    sacks of goo with porous membranes
    pedigrees of specific strains
    a little indelicate
    prized for his uncultivated immature complex
    sense of being
    roasty character
    vigor without a limp
    beam illuminating suspended haze
    small amounts of bitterness balanced
    by sweeter, saltier memories
    the middle of his life
    groundfog hugging polymetric enzymes
    as the earth warms into late morning
    enraptured by view
    mountains, shorelines, trees, the orchard

  51. Jezzie says:

    “Can it really be that hard?
    Only an idiot couldn’t work it out.”
    My husband said to me,
    Putting the flatpack on the kitchen floor.
    “Let me show you, Honey.”
    Eventually, a couple of hours later,
    Xpletives forgotten, he had done it!

  52. Michelle Hed says:

    (Sestina – the most complex poetry form (in my opinion).)

    Hope

    The fickle, blustery wind
    sucks the heat by the dollar
    from every room, quickly past the hearth
    leaving the occupants scrambling for two
    sweaters as they shiver in despair –
    and yet a weak ray of sunshine gives hope.

    There is that startling word again – hope.
    In a time and place where the only weather is wind
    and the grasping hands of despair
    claw and scratch at you as you try to save every dollar -
    so seldom is that word used, you don’t even need two
    hands to count the utterances, as you move closer to the hearth.

    Bowing your head, you sit upon the hearth
    searching for a single strand of hope,
    wishing for two,
    whispering your wishes, sending them on with the whistling wind
    dreaming of a dollar
    for every wish and sinking into despair.

    Gut wrenching, sobbing despair
    overcomes you as you fall into a ball off the hearth,
    your last dollar
    clutched in your hand, as hope
    falls into the darkness, swept away by the howling wind –
    your heart beats slowly for two.

    Yes, two.
    A life soon to enter your despair,
    wondering how you will protect that life from the wind
    as the fire within your hearth
    grows ever colder, that even hope
    is losing its tenuous grasp, like every last dollar.

    Through tear stained lashes she looks at the dollar
    and in her mind sees two
    and with the two comes ideas and hope -
    the crushing weight of despair
    is lifted, and she sits back up on the hearth
    no longer hearing the wind.

    She has a plan for her last dollar, she chases despair
    away, and wraps her arms around two, and stands from the hearth
    with purpose, with hope, and the calming of the wind.

  53. Never2L8 says:

    She loves too easily
    and then wonders
    what’s wrong with her.
    Why no one stays.
    Her hearts breaks
    are legend
    on facebook.
    Single
    In a relationship
    It’s complicated
    Single… again

  54. RAVEN’S EYE

    Where hazard’s jumbled its strange building-blocks,
    look – today a foot-traveler is lost.
    Raven circles this wonderland of rocks:

    limestone, granite under a sun that mocks
    the eye with shade, with glitter of a frost.
    Where hazard’s jumbled its strange building-blocks,

    now the lost man without direction clocks
    his pace, his chance of water; doubts accost.
    Raven circles this wonderland of rocks.

    The random roamer stops, looks around, cocks
    his head; considers two weathered sticks, crossed
    where hazard’s jumbled its strange building-blocks

    around such casual sign. There, a fox
    left prints in sand, its hunger-stride embossed.
    Raven circles this wonderland of rocks

    a man may wander as if in a box
    without an exit. As on heat-waves tossed
    where hazard’s jumbled its strange building-blocks,
    Raven circles the wonderland of rocks.

  55. De Jackson says:

    Whew
    needing a siesta after her sestina…

    Six words, seven stanzas
    ending each in turn.
    Sweaty palms, tired brain
    trying desperately to learn. (Absurd!)
    I was told there would be
    no math. But this is
    Algebra, with words.

    .

  56. Raina Masters says:

    Complex living is not complicated

    It only takes one careless person
    who sets their kitchen ablaze
    while satisfying a late night craving.
    One person to steal your assigned
    parking space, one ignorant jackass
    who needs to commandeer every
    washing machine and every dryer.
    One inconsiderate person blasting
    their music at midnight. These are
    the ones who make you glad to pay
    a mortgage, glad to do yard work in
    ninety degree weather, glad to be
    out of apartment living.

  57. De Jackson says:

    The Complexity of She

    Don’t bother;

    She is bomb shelter shocked
    and struggle spent,
    knees locked and
    dark promise bent
    too far against this hard
    -en rock.

    She is in
    -fidelis and out
    of time, lost in rhyme
    and ocean sway;
    shipped, wrecked
    on land and
    here to stay.

    She’s racked with re
    -sillience and reason,
    temptation and treason
    and the endless drive
    of thrive.

    She’s ex
    -hausted, -hilarated,
    and she’s a
               -Live.

    .
    This was also inspired by the Wordle words over at the Sunday Whirl:
    http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2013/04/21/wordle-105-a-bakers-dozen/

  58. Rhae says:

    ‘No Harder, Than This’

    the simplicity of my words are
    too easy on the masses and
    too difficult for those residing in boxes,
    my hypotheses leave me falling
    to bended knees
    praying that these find easier routes
    out of all ever said
    others play dead in order not to really feel,
    we live hill too high
    to see pass our own truths
    and these proofs reveal during troubling times
    when minds are too young or
    too weak to speak
    thru – to get thru,
    this nation is broken apart
    and those of us who
    praise the carrying of pen
    live within
    hoping for a reach out,
    well what’s it worth
    not going forth to expel the real
    pain of this world,

    I ask,
    remember when you got so wasted
    at a party
    the prank was either drawn on your forehead
    or shaving cream in hand to your face
    even syrup between the toes,
    here lies the more complex part
    WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG
    when our youth have reached a part
    where its easy going recording a rape,
    “f***!” are we too late
    have we lost them
    to losing vision so there are no better choices,

    so I try using my pen = hoping we’re all trying to use our voices
    because like I see it
    we need to seriously start recognizing
    or else
    this will SURELY be repeated.

    ©RhaeSeals2013apr
    ©2013ARS

  59. SIMPLE CURE
    (a senryu)

    Life is so complex
    Need a syringe to inject
    Some simplicity

  60. De Jackson says:

    It’s Complicated
    (an Ovillejo)

    It isn’t that I can’t trust
                you, just
    that even the stars above
                never loved
    this light, so truth will fight
                me, right?
    Here in my arms wrapped tight,
    your heart concealed
    all is revealed:
                        You just never loved me right.

    .

  61. priyajane says:

    A CARBON COMPLEX

    A simple carbon bond
    Creates encrypting forms
    From head to toes,
    From warm to woes
    Attract, contract, delete,mutate
    And up and down they all rotate
    From home to street
    and global tweets
    Galaxies of continuous ways
    Complexities of a million rays
    They all just start with a basic thing
    A simple loving carbon ring

  62. De Jackson says:

    For this poet, it doesn’t get any more complex than a Sestina. (Tried to throw in all the other meanings of “complex,” as well.) Whew.

    Love Lessons
    (a Sestina)

    ‘I am not here for your amusement,’
    she says, wiping away her tears.
    Antonio takes her face in his hand
    and slowly caresses it with no
    hesitation. This is harder than she thought,
    this fling, this thing called love.

    ‘For what is love,’
    She thinks, ‘But a muse, meant
    to be used.’ It is a profound thought,
    transparent now through her many tiers
    of doubt and fears. After all, he doesn’t know
    all of the facts at hand.

    She’s impressed, though, got to hand
    it to him, this man, her love,
    whose answer to ‘Do you love me?’ is ‘No,’
    Lovely Leila from 3B, but you amuse me.’Ant-
    onio smiles when he lies, a fact that tears
    at her very soul. Yes, much more complex than she thought.

    She is in awe of his thought
    process. The way his hand
    carefully plots its territory, tears
    tiny lines in her skin as if love
    were proven in souvenirs, shiny tokens left behind to amuse. Meant
    for her, perhaps? Or perhaps no.

    She does not know.
    It has been years since she unearthed the thought
    that she has always been able to amuse men,
    true talent for which she must hand
    credit to her mother, whose first love,
    her father, drowned his inferiority in trembled tears.

    Or so she is told. Now she tears
    a path of her own in life, since no
    one else is going to do it for her. Love
    her, the way she must love herself: in thought,
    in action. She thinks this even as Tony’s wandering hand
    doodles on her skin, messages for his own ardent amusement.

    And then, her tired heart knows this thought:
    ‘No, I am not here for your amusement, Antonio. And this is not love.’
    And she claims her life back, tears it from his hand.

    .

  63. dextrousdigits says:

    The dog was rushed to the Vet
    Yesterday he was his normal
    run around in circles,
    tail wagging,
    play with me, self.

    This morning he was lethargic
    didn’t want to eat
    not lifting his head up
    to greet me, a stranger.

    Initially it was clear he was anemic.
    After hours of IVs for hydration
    tests from every orifice
    the cause was determined.

    Fixing it, however, was a problem.
    His own body was attacking
    and eating his own blood cells
    giving him blood would just increase the attack.

    Medications like chemo,
    could likely be too strong for his
    now weakened body.
    How to decide what to do?

  64. foodpoet says:

    Complex

    Complex is juggling
    Over and over too many task balls are dropped.
    My mental ability is
    Painfully over worked.
    Leisure is nonexistent
    Eaten up by
    Oh oops another dropped x ball.

  65. Ann M says:

    Complexity

    Tousled soft-eyed boy
    set loose among banners
    and brotherhood. All ropes
    untethered, mother gone.
    What is to be done
    and how is it to be stopped?
    Too late to touch his cheek,
    or turn his heart.
    No more to do
    but hide in the hold of a boat
    and set sail
    into the hail of storm,
    all damage done.

  66. alana sherman says:

    Questions

    If longing for her shimmers and murmurs,
    why not say gathering of chickadees
    or one bird on the highest branch crooning?
    Why not say that pile of snow unmoving,
    hugging the house near a crabapple tree
    tranquilly coming into bud where she
    is not? Why not playful boy pushing
    a red truck into and out of puddles
    while the sun haloes his hair? Why not love
    this spring day, cool and breezy, dog rolling
    over and over in new grass, four paws
    in the air, downed branches by a garage,
    flowering quince lopped almost to the ground?
    Why not love for the child so far away?

    alana

  67. Bruce Niedt says:

    I’m still in a “senryu mood” from yesterday – here’s one that just came to me – maybe more poetry later.

    cherry tree blossoms
    a different day each year –
    how complex you are

  68. Beth Rodgers says:

    Wistful glances at far-off landscapes
    Proclaim hardships that don’t do much
    To quell the for-naught feeling of despair
    That some identify as the crux of existence.

    It is a hard-knocked truth to relish
    For time is a difficult mistress to face
    Uncertainty beckoning us in
    Every chance it gets.

    The world is our oyster
    We are told
    But too often we remain locked inside
    Effortlessly stuck, yet willing to
    Be guided.

  69. Glory says:

    COMPLEX . . .

    You look at me with the saddest eyes
    You listen hard to my replies
    You answer when I call your name
    You sleep, you eat, you never complain
    I love you, yes I really do
    I love to spend my time with you
    You brighten up my every day
    I’m glad you’re here, here to stay
    The only thing that bothers me
    Is when you wag your tail so free
    I thought it love, but can it be
    If you wag for every one you see
    I think I’m beginning to recognise
    That sad, sad look is your disguise
    I don’t know you, no not at all
    I’m just a sentimental fool
    As each day I’m beginning to see
    How complex a dog like you can be.

  70. PressOn says:

    POETASTING

    Iambs I confuse with the trochees;
    I can’t find new words for the Smokies;
    my rhyme schemes are bores:
    each line break deplores
    a complex for bad karaokes.

  71. Rachel Blake says:

    Simply beautiful!
    The first reaction
    before you really look.
    Study then a world revealed
    much faceted, complex .
    a thumbprint here
    layering there
    a creature disguised by trees
    subtle hues make up a skin
    rainbows deck the cloth
    The background is not dark at all
    there are that many greys?
    a Turner sky,
    Van Gogh dots,
    the lips ,
    slightly parted,
    the weight of a pearl earring,
    what lies beneath the enigmatic smile?
    A feast so rich
    it demands all senses
    to unravel the plot.
    Wonderful complexity,
    simply beautiful
    it is not.

  72. PoM says:

    POETIC COMPLEXITY

    Poetic complexity the arrangement of lines
    It’s O so much more than rhythms and rhymes
    Literary terms that I must define
    Literary systems organization of lines
    The more I attain It astounds my brain

    Trochee pentameter prosody of speech
    Personification hyperbole tone
    Metaphors smiles simile
    I did not realize the magnitude of thee
    A true poet I now see I’ll never be
    A student of poetry that’s all I’ll ever be

    This complexity and beauty of poetry
    So awesome bewildering it electrifies me
    The more I see the complexity of thee
    My love how it’s amplified
    By the beauty the complexity of poetry

  73. Words like intricate
    Lightly tap dance on your tongue
    And sing their meaning

  74. missjoyce says:

    Prompt:
    A complex poem.

    An Idea

    It starts with a spark,
    a quick wrist movement,
    brightness in the dark
    then a fast descent.

    Unless its sustained,
    this hint of your light,
    only if maintained
    can make the room bright.

    It travels a path
    all throughout your mind.
    No distinct math
    but neurons you’ll find.

    Left brain to the right
    vice versa, it goes.
    Tapping doors that might
    keep the spark aglow.

    Just keep it going
    and see where it leads.
    No use in leaving
    an unplanted seed.

    It might seem shaky
    to pursue this task,
    it might sound silly,
    you’re too shy to ask.

    Let it float around,
    tie it on the pier,
    try those rhyming sounds
    until it becomes clear.

    The poetry tips
    and ideas roam,
    all led you to whip
    this short complex poem.

  75. Amy says:

    Complex

    We used to fit together
    you were my out
    of plastic smiles and
    an empty stomach
    I was your in
    to the upper echelons
    of the small-town
    stratosphere
    we’d disappear for days
    submerged in obscenity
    There was you and
    there was me
    But boredom reaped
    what boredom sowed
    and now I pass you
    on the street and think
    It’s complicated

  76. Nancy Posey says:

    A Complex Family Dinner

    Mother, with her martyr complex, had slaved
    all day over a hot stove, No bother, she assured
    her guests. You know me, give, give, give,
    and never take. She’d worried, though,
    about seating arrangements, even considered
    place cards, assigned seats, keeping Electra
    away from Mom, but not too close to Dad,
    who naturally shied away from Oedipus,
    not just because of the battering his ankles
    took from that boy’s bad feet, but the looks
    he gave him. He couldn’t seem to help himself.
    Lolita, always such a little bimbo, found herself
    too near Uncle Humbert, without the sense
    to watch what she wore, her pigtails bouncing
    and she sat twitching and squirming. Napoleon
    from next door frowned his crossest look
    when asked if he preferred a taller stool,
    snapping orders at everyone around the table,
    as if this were his feast, not theirs. Don,
    the next door neighbor, Mrs. Juan’s boy,
    appeared without invitation, a free meal
    just the ticket that drew him, leaving without
    goodbyes soon after dessert. Aunt Cassandra
    said she just knew he would leave before
    anyone could rope him into clearing tables,
    washing dishes. Was it something I said?
    Brother always asked, reveling in guilt
    he hadn’t even earned. No bother, Father
    said, Baby Sis always comes to the rescue.

  77. Sally Jadlow says:

    Complex Poem

    Weird people live in this complex.
    We have a guy next door
    who has no job,
    stays out all night,
    comes in at dawn.
    Never speaks to anyone.

    The lady down the hall
    laughs loud enough
    to wake my baby.

    Opposite my door
    the lady cooks with ginger . . .
    every day.
    Doesn’t she like any other spice?

    Out the window
    I watch a very fat man
    from first floor
    sit on the park bench every day
    while his small Chihuahua
    runs in circles
    on a leash.

    The mom in 2B
    screams at her toddlers.
    Does she ever speak with kindness
    to her children?

    And then there’s me,
    who watches, listens, and sniffs,
    but never addresses anyone;
    just writes.

  78. laurie kolp says:

    Miraculous Complexities

    Not about her tainted past,
    the drinking days burning fast

    against lost time, lost memories
    or warning signs she failed to see

    a downward spin as food she stuffed
    regurgitating, huffs and puffs

    smoking after 5-mile runs
    denying damage to her lungs.

    No, she had no complex ‘bout these things
    she’s given up, and now she sings

    praises for her life aware,
    strength she got from being there.

  79. PressOn says:

    FORMAL FAILURE

    Of complexity
    the poet knew so little,
    mired in simple words;

    he wrote
    to ease his doubts
    and a sense of ennui
    engendered by an old vision
    of love;

    but each phrase he coined
    was a fraud, enjoined
    with desire for achievement.
    The result was dross:
    no more love; just loss
    and a sense of bereavement.

  80. Jane Shlensky says:

    March of the Fire Ants

    They’ve been down there all winter
    tunneling, training up a new generation,
    expanding their territory,
    plotting a takeover of the sidewalk,
    the yard, flower gardens.

    By spring, they’re pushing up
    big mounds of pebbled clay
    mining shafts that lead—
    to where? Foundation walls?
    Beneath the porch?

    I don’t begrudge them life,
    but they are anxious trespassers
    on my home, apt to bite,
    bringing pain for weeks.
    I can’t have that.

    I pick my battles carefully,
    but there’s no winning here.
    I spray the sidewalk. Give them
    some of my bite. Take back
    the flowers and shrubs for weeks, days,

    watching new mounds push up
    in new locations, the tiny
    belligerent workers mining
    deeper, wider, tunneling,
    expanding, this queen
    keen on empire.

  81. PressOn says:

    DICHOTOMY

    I cannot comprehend the connection
    between sex and a sense of affection;
    it would seem that the first
    is a simple outburst
    while the latter’s of complex complexion.

  82. JRSimmang says:

    “Do as I say, not as I do,”
    I remember my father, alone on the porch,
    chewing his SKOL, and spitting the charred
    remnants into an old Coors can.

    I always wondered what it was he tasted.
    It looked like gasoline, swirling around with
    little bits of gunk mixed into the oily blackness.

    But, he dipped. And dipped again.

    When I was four, I tried to drink some of it, swill it down
    like I thought he did when he was done.
    My mother told him that would be the end of the marriage if I did.
    They divorced anyway, so I guess it doesn’t matter much now.

    Dad quit anyway, and bought a pipe, a nice briar pipe with an
    old man face carved into the bowl.
    He bought some vanilla tobacco, which smelled like
    wealth and bourbon.
    At that age, I didn’t know that, but I do now.

    He said he would quit at some point.
    He said that it was bad for him, and more importantly
    I should never start.
    He wanted me to be around for a long time,
    longer than him,
    but that was pretty much a given.

    As my 21st birthday rolled around, I couldn’t help
    but think back on my 13th birthday.
    My dad sat in the corner of the living room
    with white smoke tracing the ceiling, carefully
    laying in the stain that would be there until we ripped
    out the roof to make room for a solarium.
    It was pleasant, whisky mixed with birthday cake.

    I bought my first pipe when I was 21, a simple meerschaum,
    no face, no animal, just a simple carving of a tree.
    That night, I sat with my dad on my apartment patio,
    whisky in hand, pipe lit, and
    we talked for hours about the sunrise.

  83. All these smart people
    walking around and
    everything
    gets so complex,
    in my simple way
    I notice it’s always
    to their benefit

  84. Earl Parsons says:

    A woman defined
    No other word fits better
    Than complicated

  85. Earl Parsons says:

    Oops!

    It can’t be that complicated
    Mechanical things are all the same
    I’ve got the tools and the knowhow
    And the time on my hands
    It’ll save me a boatload of jack
    And if all else fails
    I’ve always got the Internet

    Besides
    It’s just a motorcycle
    How complicated can it be?

    I’ll take pictures of every step
    Document every screw and bolt
    Lay out all the parts as I go
    And in no time, I’ll be riding again

    There
    All back together
    Check one more time before
    I hit the starter button
    What’s this?
    Where’d that part come from?
    And that one?
    And that one, too?
    Where do they go?
    What have I done?

    Oops!!
    Guess they don’t make them like they used to
    Better call a pro

  86. Ann Graham Price says:

    “Têtê-à-tête”

    She thinks she is manic-depressive, she says, using
    The language of a generation ago to describe
    What I saw every day.
    The bursts of creativity, the beautiful melodies,
    Whole programs taking shape in a single flash of insight.
    These she juxtaposed among the late nights she dragged me out of bed
    She said to shore her up
    But really just to pull me down and down into her nightmare realm.

    Did she have a choice?
    I say she did.

    There were those lucid moments when she knew,
    When she could see the wreckage in her wake,
    But it was too easy to make it someone else’s choice:
    Her husband, her friends, her family all gave her the easy out,
    All said she could not help herself,
    And therefore I must.

    Which left me with a choice:
    To follow suit, or to find a different way.
    I preferred Plan B,
    Which despite its many pitfalls and uncertainties,
    Has mostly worked out rather well.

    Especially for her granddaughters.

    She pauses, fork poised with the next bite,
    Waiting for … what? I’m not sure. Disbelief? Evidence to the contrary?
    Reassurance? Yes. Probably that one. That was always my job.
    But instead I laugh, my years of anger and misery long since passed.

    “No,” I say, meaning yes.
    “Do tell.”

  87. Earl Parsons says:

    Motherhood

    Yesterday she needed understanding
    It was a long day of conversations
    Sparked by an unruly child
    She wondered where she went wrong

    Last night she needed distance
    As she pondered her next move
    To win her daughter’s love back
    Bring her back under her wing

    This morning she needed compassion
    From a childish misunderstanding
    She had read the signals incorrectly
    Thought the worst, as she often did

    Right now all she needs is a hug
    That expression of love through contact
    Mother and child embracing
    All is well in her complex world

  88. JRSimmang says:

    Understanding
    means to plant our feet
    below the
    towering
    others who shadow our quaint,
    earthly existence.

  89. Margot Suydam says:

    The Orchard

    Translucent willowing lace bare
    against a single screened window,

    empty vase perched on the sill.
    A room singed in apricot, wall

    trimmed ripe yellow like bananas
    aging in hot kitchen air, softening

    soon to black from brown. This is
    what I remember. Your complex sweet

    could taste slightly of rot enough
    to cause a slight gag, a twisting

    away. Yet, still I digest the ripened
    words aimed to maim the unprotected.

    A dancer, I spin and spill, still
    to your guitar I strum and hawk

    and when you seed me, I blossom,
    bake in shades, and apply you slick

    to parted lips. An orchard inflamed,
    I let you circle and stake. Your stem,

    tall and lanky, staples me while
    embers prance in gray debris,

    orange glows up my skirt.
    And so now, I implore: Mix me

    up into the willowing yellow,
    singed apricot, and ripe lace.

  90. happys says:

    ~Complex Equation~

    A lady teacher gently wrote on the board
    An extremely complex mathematical equation
    With variables a, b, x to z as expression
    For her young students to find a solution

    These youths so focus with determination
    Attitude of never giving up with resolution
    Discipline and perseverance their intention
    Complex equation no more in their humble opinion

  91. JanetRuth says:

    Complexity of the Heart

    The greatest complexity I know
    Is the convenience of your eloquence
    Pleasing, tormenting me so

    You woo in whispers laced with death
    Deception shapes such pleasantness
    While disassembling bastions breath by breath

  92. JanetRuth says:

    Complexity of Words

    Words are fickle, winsome things
    With which to build our boasts of sand
    Unless their guise is augmented
    With upright action of the hand

    The logic of the human heart
    Is quick to defend and to blame
    We ought to ponder carefully
    These rudiments of hope and shame

    How smooth these syllables ally
    What credence fills their guild with voice
    Yet, we do well to recognize
    The silence thunders with our choice

  93. mlcastejon says:

    Hello everybody!

    My complex poem for today

    Lost in the abstract
    axioms and theories
    You made me decide.

  94. JanetRuth says:

    Complexities of Love

    For love we suffer to find its comfort
    Its beauty runs deepest in rivers of blood
    Love is a word best-spoken with action
    We cannot love and yet deny God

  95. Dear Moosehead,
    Is it too much to ask
    for the pitcher to pitch and the batters to hit?
    Have they got some sort of complex about getting
    the job done? Fer crissakes, what’s the matter with
    those guys? Win two – lose one! Way to go – said
    no one ever! And no, you half-wit, I have not got a
    complex about your job! I am just interested, intrigued,
    curious to know what it is and how come you’ve never
    told me. I am not obsessed. The only obsession I have
    are baseball and for reasons I don’t understand,
    writing to you every day, ya schmuck!
    Still on the road – Rays tonight. Pick me up at 6.

    Yours pondering the complexities of life while
    waiting for the lights to change,

    Ringo the Howler

  96. Mysteries of Life

    the undiscovered country
    lays not beyond the sea
    the reflection of the mirror
    is not what others see

    the mystery of youth
    may ne’er be explained
    nor the wisdom of the age’d
    in hasty youth be gained

    the demons that haunt
    may not be easily slain
    the mind playing tricks
    again and over again

    the wonder of creation
    is unfathomable to most
    as the movements of the tides
    that pulse along the coast

    the depths of imagination
    cannot easily be defined
    nor the ways for man to be cruel
    unto his fellow kind

    the complexes that we suffer
    in our hurly burly lives
    appear to be absurdities
    to simple native tribes

    as long as the sun rises
    there are questions to pose
    but the answers remain mysteries
    as every small child knows

    Iain

  97. Sorry, but i just couldn’t do this one here. If you’d like to see it:

    “not so complex”

    http://gerald-walraven.blogspot.com/2013/04/not-so-complex.html

  98. Arash says:

    Complex poem Robert, well, like some of my other poems, I’ll say this one I wrote today is a pain to decipher, lol.

    Do Not Feed the Ducks!

    by Arash

    Apple blossom plum in bloom
    Trees tentacles subdue the blue
    Spit the pits over the rocks
    Stars burst into navy blue
    Filling the lake for whom?
    Do Not Feed the Ducks!

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