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    2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 26

    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 casting poem. Casting can take on several meanings, including casting a spell, casting a line (such as in fishing), casting the actors in a play, and I suppose even the act of creating a cast.

    Here’s my attempt at a casting poem:


    she imagines herself played by anne sexton
    & he must be robert redford
    or brad pitt

    doesn’t matter she thinks
    & maybe the other lover
    the one who doesn’t exist the same

    as he doesn’t exist
    not really
    must be played by pablo neruda

    who never says a thing
    she can understand
    & she loves him all the more for it


    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

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    176 Responses to 2013 April PAD Challenge: Day 26

    1. cstewart says:


      He was like a siphon,
      Casting his net far and wide
      Looking for any gullible fish,
      To bite his hook,
      Take down his bobber,
      Sink his line.
      For nothing visible.

    2. mlcastejon says:


      People come and go
      On a sick parade for you
      We are no puppets

    3. shethra77 says:


      His net shone golden
      under that sun, stretching out across his world
      through dimensions, through each layer
      of the stuff of time and space
      he invoked, entranced, entangled her,
      drew her in, leapt time,
      jumped space.
      Plastic reality broke its binding.
      Though she’d reasons not to be there,
      he’d no cause to need or find her,
      spells wove the net and the net held the power
      power dissolved
      all the slag of time away
      all dross of space away
      formed reality anew
      and the two
      He cast the spell:
      golden net

    4. foodpoet says:

      Winter Shadows

      Winter casts a long shadow,
      grey masks, horns, animals,
      march in time with my elemental
      pulses and the leaves of the forrest below
      sing as they flew the ripping claw of winter.
      sleep fog rises from the forest debris and
      I alone
      in cold solitude watch the seasons

      For now I am king of winter
      but know in cold fear
      that man’s summer is encroaching
      bringing green up to the tops of mountains
      that in my youth only saw

      Now my tears melt
      and i fade to dreams of
      pure pristine snow.

      Winter no longer casts a long shadow.

    5. Casting Spells

      In that moment I glanced away, some witch cast a spell on my children. I remember one golden flash of light. I blinked against the dazzle while they grew tall and secretive, lean with a hunger to be Away. Now there are whole days when they are strangers, sweet or surly, prowling this world we shared, looking for a way out.

      What else can I do but study every spell I find? With luck and diligence, and so much time now that I’ve worked myself out of this job, each day is patched together with spells I cast myself. They are listed in the book we all received, along with Dr. Spock in his serious dark cover. The other book at every baby shower is Spells For Moms, with teething, tantrums, and chicken pox full of notes in the margin, recipes adjusted to taste. But now I’ve reached the back of the book, with all its untested spells. One marked Acceptance, another called New Chapters Blossom Like Wild Violets. And the last spell, the one I practice every day, titled Good Fortune For Their Roads.

    6. vsbryant1 says:

      Love in a Bottle

      Two parts sugar
      One part chocolate dusk
      One heart of cupid
      Two feathers of an angel
      Put everything together and what do you got
      Love in a bottle kissed with the sweetest touch

    7. Casting a Die

      When He casted you, you were hollowed,
      And sent.
      Upon the Earth, you travel on rent.
      Your cast was trashed, you are unique,
      So give up pretences, stop being oblique.

      That hollow, you will, fill in with your choices back here,
      You pick up what you want, or are given, for fear.

      It’s never too late, to start walking tall,
      There is oft’ one window, to reverse it all.

      Kick the non-positive out from your hollow,
      Nothing, more than a fickle will, is shallow.

      Impressions you choose, will, your journey here, last,
      Never give up, for someone thinks your die has been cast.

    8. dextrousdigits says:

      Inside my brain there is a theater
      where characters appear
      on stage to remind me of
      who I am and how I am suppose to behave.

      Often they are replays of earlier life events from different perspectives.
      Sometimes like dreams, waiting for Jung to interpret.
      The stage has hosted Hitchcock thrillers with me screaming,
      Sound of music, with me actually carrying a tune
      Dancing in a series of hot scenes
      Allowed me to travel with hobbits,
      back or forward in time
      or to other dimensions in space.
      Pleading for mercy, just before being stabbed,
      tossed off a cliff or taken over by mechanical insects.

      From time to time I join them on stage
      for a few scenes
      or one will jump off stage and sit next to me
      to have a little heart to heart.

      I find myself asking characters questions
      “After all these years you still believe?
      And exactly what is the right thing to do
      when being honest could cause irreparable injury
      to someone I truly care about?
      How do I pick between these two men?
      How come you never told me these things when I was young?

      When I get tired of the echo’s from the past
      or the play gets boring or too vivid or scary.
      I leave my popcorn and soda
      Stand up and walk out of the performance.

    9. Deri says:


      He casts his line
      and sits in
      patient stillness

      The waiting is
      the hardest part
      when hoping for the one

      On the other side of town
      a girl has logged off her computer
      weary of sharpened hooks.

    10. LCaramanna says:

      Lighten Up

      Cast off your heavy winter jacket,
      abandon your boots, hat, and gloves,
      take to the sidewalk.
      In sweatpants and sneakers
      remove that extra cold weather comfort
      from hips and thighs.
      Lighten up!
      Color those winter blues grass green,
      wear an outfit that screams spring,
      accessorize with flip-flops and shades,
      tilt your face to sun,
      cast your laughter to the sky.

      Lorraine Caramanna


      When you came on the
      scene I knew
      the search was over

    12. Alea Iacta Est (The die has been cast)

      She will not follow in their steps.
      She will not drink.
      She will not suffer abuse.
      She will not be the abuser.
      She will not be unemployed.

      She will go to college.
      She will get a job.
      She will be kind.
      She will make a difference.
      She will not be judged by them.

      She is breaking the mold.

    13. bxpoetlover says:


      There are many fishermen
      cast about the sea
      Only a special net
      Will catch a fish like me

    14. julie e. says:


      and I cast about for the right word
      right phrase and I can’t tease it out
      of this brain where the rain is
      90 percent likely part of the storm
      going on in my heart my soul.

    15. tunesmiff says:

      A chorus to verses yet unwritten…

      Scattering seed by the side of the road;
      Scattering seed in a field.
      Scattering seed among thistles and weeds.
      Greatly affects what they yeild.

      The first may grow briefly, then be beaten down;
      The second grow more than you need.
      The third may grow quickly before being choked out;
      Everything matters where you sow your seed.

    16. Nesting Mockingbirds in Sierras’ Cast Shadows
      ​by Todd Harris

      two beaks
      four legs
      four wings
      three eggs

      Sierra’s cast shadows climbing out
      directing dawn-spun westing winds
      damp night-curled petals sharing sleeping frogs
      awakening cloudless blue-spread fog’s amends

      simple symmetry rounded stout
      propping mom’s nest-raised dark-white flag
      against woven branches’ cradle strong
      immixing old feathers’ truss against cold eviction

      lovers paired await open hunger’s song
      still closed eyes anticipating fair-sight’s charms
      first morn’s flight drafting now boney arms
      joining airborne nature’s warm-hearted interdiction


    17. drwasy says:

      Cast Off

      Each morning she slips
      on his flannel shirt frayed
      thin from wear and time
      it seems a part of him
      brushes against her, the hem
      against her bare thigh
      warm and alive,
      as she makes her way
      from her cold bed
      to the kitchen lit
      by another hard day.

      He took the other shirts,
      pants and jackets, too;
      books, boat, excuses,
      the tools she needs
      to fix the leaky toilet.
      Only the shirt remains.
      She can smell him some
      times when she strokes a sleeve
      against her face, the smell
      of shampoo and sweat,
      sweet tobacco smoke,
      the smell of the fog
      when he cast off.

    18. not sins
      but laws
      the loving bonds
      tying us all
      casting stones
      slinging judgements
      who amongst you not breaking
      municipal code 3789 subsection 5
      or another
      just like it

    19. Jezzie says:


      Never cast aspersions without checking facts first,
      the person who slanders is quite often the worst.
      Never cast a clout until May be out, they say
      you will regret it soon, without a doubt, next day.
      Always cast your vote in the correct direction
      if you vote the wrong way, they’ll lose the election.
      Be careful when you cast on or off your stitches,
      or your knitting will have wavy, ragged edges.
      Don’t cast off from the shore when the seas are heaving
      or this World you may very soon end up leaving.
      Beware the gypsy who threatens to cast a spell,
      her spells won’t work and she will take your cash as well.
      Don’t stand by the canal and cast your fishing line
      when a boat is passing, or it will break the twine.
      When you’re casting characters for the play you’ve penned,
      be careful not to offend your very best friend!

    20. dr todd harris says:

      Nesting Mockingbirds
      ​by dr Todd Harris

      two beaks
      four legs
      four wings
      three eggs

      Sierra’s shadow-cast climbing out
      directing dawn-spun westerly winds
      damp night-curled petals sharing sleeping frogs
      awakening cloudless blue-spread fog’s amends

      simple symmetry rounded stout
      propping mom’s nest-raised dark-white flag
      against woven branches’ cradle strong
      immixing old feathers’ truss against cold eviction

      lovers paired await open hunger’s song
      still closed eyes anticipating fair-sight’s charms
      first morn’s flight drafting now boney arms
      joining airborne nature’s warm-hearted interdiction


    21. tonijoell says:

      Beyond Orion (Fib Form)

      net wide
      into the
      night sky – with sweet luck
      you’ll catch dreams, not just falling stars.

    22. P.A. Beyer says:

      Latitude and Longitude

      We are never alone
      Not with the constant signals
      Broadcasting our location
      To the satellites
      Orbiting Earth
      Tracked by servers
      It’s a comfort
      To know
      We all have a place
      A position
      On this globe
      We are never lost
      We are never alone

      Unless the battery dies

    23. Alpha1 says:

      Shadow of a Giant

      Thought I could walk
      in those boots
      that Papa wore
      comin up from
      the dirt of a
      at a time when
      the whole world
      stood against him
      walkin those fields
      tendin those crops
      from sunup to sundown
      castin a shadow
      wide as the horizon which
      til this day hangs over his
      descendants who now
      know it can’t be done

    24. THEGingerSass says:

      In order to be cast as a teacher,
      the student must pretend
      to know what the hell she is doing
      as she creates
      theoretical professional development
      for a career she has yet to enter.

    25. Dini says:

      translucent silver
      drifting atop sparkling blue
      casting cares downstream

    26. Cast Out

      Cast out at sixteen,
      he hustled for food
      in New York City.
      Pretty Boy, they called him.
      Wheat colored hair,
      eyes like turquoise
      stones, he appealed
      to men and women
      eager to feel the softness
      of his caramel skin.
      At eighteen, he hated
      his life on the streets,
      strutting his sweets
      for anyone willing to pay.
      One day, miracle appeared
      in the form of a director,
      off-Broadway plays.
      He was asked to read
      for a part, but had to be
      convinced that this
      could be a start
      to a new career. He had
      nothing to lose, nothing
      to fear, and so was cast
      as himself.

      Poetic Asides
      April Challenge – Day 26
      Write a casting poem

    27. Somehow this poem developed a political theme, and it won’t please everyone, but here it is anyway.

      O’Reilly Goes Fishing

      Took my favorite rod and flies,
      waded out hip-deep, where the river
      bends to the right, and started casting
      aspersions, doubts, accusations,
      reeling in my catch, one after another.
      Tonight I have bigger fish to fry.
      My fans won’t even realize that I’ve
      filleted my dish of reason, logic,
      and fairness, nor will they notice
      when I choke on the bones.

    28. Julieann says:


      He built an exemplary tackle box
      Of the well-organized variety, he
      Sanded and varnished and hand crafted
      The latch, then carved his initials
      Into the top – JCC

      He gave it cubbyholes, and doors,
      Of all shapes and sizes to hold
      His collection of flies
      He hand tied himself

      The other drawers and cubbies
      Housed chuggers and spoons
      Jigs and flukes, spinners, and
      Curly tail, rubber worm, and even a Rat-L-Trap

      Lift out the second tray to reveal
      Sinkers and floats and hooks
      Of the one, two, and three barb variety
      Also in the tangle were leads and line
      Of different weights along with a fish scaler and knife

      But he was happiest on the creek bank
      Casting into any pond or creek or hole of
      Water he could find, his casts were
      Perfect, rarely missing their mark

      The funniest part was a cast going
      Awry and hooking into the overhead tree
      He never lost his cool or his hook
      Why he’d just up and climb that tree
      If that is what it took

      One fishing hole in particular did try
      His patience, it was loaded with cypress
      Stumps and brush and things to catch his hook
      But not to be outdone, he would just
      Skinny down to his boxers and wade right out

      Many a fish he caught, many a pleasurable
      Hour on the creek bank he enjoyed
      Casting and casting, backlash or not
      Hook in a tree, hook in a stump
      His casting was right on its mark

    29. BDP says:

      “Hero Syndrome”

      You cast yourself against my window pane:
      your beak pecks glass, your feathers puff. The threat?
      A mirror image. That new bird’s a bane!
      You stare at him while he stares back. Forget

      that guy, that doppelganger. Think perhaps
      a rival taunts you, territorial
      competitor? The answer’s nope. Your flaps
      against the stranger, hops upon my sill

      to scare him back?—a futile job, Robin.
      Though I don’t blame you, doing what it takes
      to stop from falling prey to hobgoblins:
      marauding birds who want your sky blue eggs.

      Reflection basher, flinging at your own ghost.
      But when the foe is real you’ll be in practice.

      B Peters


      An incantation to bring divine inspiration
      To pen marvelous poems without any hesitation.
      It is time to unbind your mind,
      Now carefully… recite each line:

      A grain of salt, a grain of sand,
      A grain of honesty from an honest man.

      A tear from a phoenix, a tear from a dove,
      A tear from a someone’s recent broken love.

      The sight of the blind, the hearing of the deaf,
      The riches of a poor man who has nothing left.

      A drop of blood, a drop of rain,
      A drop of your worst remembered pain.

      A shot of lies, a shot of truth,
      A shot to your heart when it wasn’t bulletproof.

      The pin prick of a needle, the slice of a razor blade,
      The memories of every single mistake you ever made.

      The love of a friend, the hate of an enemy,
      The heated intensity of a lover’s jealousy.

      The eyes of a hawk, the ears of an owl,
      The omniscient presence of an all-knowing power.

      The barbs of a quill, the smear of spilled ink,
      The paper that awaits the thoughts that you think.

      From the top of my head, to the soles of my feet,
      I now declare this spell complete.

      Several seconds passed, and then several more,
      I didn’t feel anything, just the same as before.
      The words were correct, my intentions direct,
      And yet… the spell did not take effect.

      Time went by before I realized,
      It wasn’t the incantation, it was me… inside.
      I failed to see the natural ability
      To express myself openly and freely.

      And then suddenly, it dawned on me,
      Like a voice that spoke directly to me:

      There is no magic in the spell you cast,
      Because whatever inspiration you seek…

      you already have.

    31. De Jackson says:


          The first
             has been
          in this house
                       of lies
              and glass.

                                   Make no

                                                   I will cast
                                                                    the last.


    32. De Jackson says:




                                       everyone has
                                            a part in down
                                          and up
                                                     -setting the broken.


    33. carolecole66 says:

      Mathematical Certainty

      My father stands at the bow of the boat and casts
      outward again and again looking toward the horizon
      over the flat, impenetrable waters. The silence is profound.
      I sit in the stern with my cane pole, fat brown worm
      threaded through the hook under the red and white bobber.
      Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the smooth
      whipping cast, the line slung into in a long curve,
      the lure shattering the glass, then sinking. If I study
      the water, if I study the tall man in front of me, if I study
      the straight plane of water, the sharp right angle of line
      to water, the 45 degrees of pole to line, perhaps I can
      at last begin to understand the darkness in his eyes,
      the imperturbable shadows of his distant face.

    34. Using the idea of “erasure” I cast T S Eliot’s “Ash-Wednesday” into a different style of poem:

      T S Eliot’s Ash-Wednesday: an Erasure

      I do not hope
      do not hope
      not hope
      I no longer strive
      Should I mourn
      vanished power?

      I do not hope to know again
      I do not
      shall not know
      transitory power
      I cannot drink
      where trees flower, springs flow

      ,,, time is always time
      place always only place
      What is actual is only for one time
      one place
      I rejoice – things are
      I renounce the blessed face
      the voice
      I rejoice, having something
      to rejoice

      God have mercy
      Pray I may forget
      matters I too much discuss
      These words answer
      for what is done
      May judgement not be too heavy

      These wings no longer fly
      but beat the air
      which is
      smaller, dryer than the will
      Teach us to care

      Pray for us sinners now at the hour of our death

    35. DanielAri says:


      Months after moving in,
      I was still new in town.
      On any unassigned
      weekday, cast on my own,
      I’d ride N to the end,

      west to the turnaround.
      Singles dotted the sand.
      I found my place and frowned.
      Red beach blankets bannered,
      personals for women

      and men, lovers or friends.
      I’d quietly get stoned
      and pretend to pretend
      my preference bathed alone.
      At home, I would come down,

      eat some soup, write a poem
      to author the unknown.

    36. Raina Masters says:

      Casting stones, shadows and dares

      No one saw you again after that.
      It started with dares and bravado,
      that one would walk across the train
      bridge entirely naked while singing
      She’ll Be Comin’ Down The Mountain,
      our stupid games never hurt anyone
      before and you were a perfect
      silhouettes of curves and hair, it
      made me regret not kissing you when
      Heather dared me. The perfect pitch
      in your voice surprised me. I’d never
      heard you sing before and I fell in
      love, thought maybe I could spend my
      life with a girl. We threw the ballast
      around, took our eyes off you and never
      saw you reach the other side, never saw
      you tumble to the earth below. It was
      as if the earth swallowed you whole.

    37. priyajane says:

      She wakes up religiously
      putting her cast on diligently
      The masks of expressive smiles
      and well executed scripts and styles
      Playing all her parts

      Then, with the waning moon
      Casting off that made up tune
      In the noiseless world of dreams
      She finds her secret pearly scream
      and floats her oyster shell

    38. pmwanken says:

      (a shadorma)

      Why do I
      insist on reeling
      them back in
      after I’ve
      been told I can cast my cares
      on the One who cares?

      P. Wanken

    39. PowerUnit says:

      The Darkness

      Stuck in a rut
      Life on hold
      The daily routine sucks in all hope
      Hides opportunity
      Suppresses Life
      Waits for somebody to cast a light
      Drive away demons
      Tear down walls

      Just step forward
      That’s all you need to do
      It’s all anybody asks for

    40. omavi says:

      Casting Call

      This story is my life and
      What a life is how it’s lived
      I wonder who will be the leading man
      When the world talks about me

      Maybe he will be tall and strong and
      Maybe his words debonair
      And his action makes all wow

      Or maybe he will be a thinker
      A tinkerer of words and thoughts
      A scientist of passionate things

      Maybe he will fight the power
      Become a pillar of community
      Hemming all the world’s ills

      Or maybe he will be like me
      Flawed on surface and within
      Fighting to win the race only rats win

      Maybe he will be loving and caring
      Laying down body so that lady
      Won’t have to dirty her feet

      Maybe he will be Omavi
      And when the curtain falls
      Maybe he will be real


      The sun set, making more beautiful
      blues and ambers still as a rainbow arching
      from creek-fall away vanishing into dusk.
      The fishes are cold there, gold or ashy-silver
      by turns, as they curve and turn constant as
      amazement. Grasses deepened their greens,
      watching the stream as it banked and eddied
      under riffling sky. The next October comes
      always too soon for young swimming,
      heavens quicker dark and darting with fish-
      stars, leftover flakes of sun, lips sticky
      with peach-flush. Of this, make a shadow-
      portrait with winged eyes blue as a jay,
      flashing fins, moon rounding its cheeks to
      perfect scales of a summer gone.

    42. PoM says:

      A Casting Poem Draft

      I cast my thoughts into a gramatical sea
      Hoping to write a novel the world might read
      Little did I realized how intense it would be
      Fear doubt insecurities
      They haunted and terrified me
      These demon life through have bludgeoned me
      Only recently I’ve begin to overcome thee

      When I was young and somewhat dumb
      English and grammar skills vocabulary
      I could not see nor understand the value of thee
      I speak read and write that’s all I need
      What use have I to learn and study these
      Now I see what a fool the younger me be

      I now understand the value of these
      Without them a writer I will never be
      So I cast my heart mind and soul
      Upon learning all these
      Older now harder to retain these

      Now daily I learn acrostically
      Practice the basics improve vocabulary
      Though my eyes they’re failing me
      I read daily faithfully

      I cast my heart into a linguistic stormy sea
      Limited grammar skills vocabulary
      Writing a novel it terrifies me

      Today I cast into a doggerel sea
      Seeking to capture some balladry

      Perhaps my niche is poetry

    43. dford says:


      She was prime material, certainly not their version of pretty or cool. Use your words as weapons as others have done to you! She’s insignificant, do not burden your minds with the hell she’s been through. When the rapture is upon us and we’re in our darkest hour and those worthy spared his wrath, I’ll step forward proudly, whilst you merely cower–no more aspersions shall you cast!

    44. RJ Clarken says:

      Casting Shadows

      “Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.” ~Carl Sandberg

      Then cast me as Calliope.
      Your writing tablet’s in my hand.
      The shadows dance on windswept sand.
      My silhouette is, by degree,

      like blossoms from an almond tree.
      It echoes like a wisp, a strand.
      Your writing tablet’s in my hand.
      Then cast me as Calliope.

      Just write one word and you’ll be free.
      I think by now you understand
      that poetry’s your promised land.
      O let me be your muse, your key,
      and cast me as Calliope.


    45. Cast or Crew

      What if it’s not all about me? he wondered.
      Maybe, after all, I’ve wandered onto stage
      like some Rosencrantz or Guildenstern,
      bit part in someone else’s play. Or even less.
      Perhaps I should just tiptoe in
      all dressed in black when lights are low,
      moving props from here to there,
      sliding a chair to the wings, replacing it
      with a corner bar, two wooden stools.
      In that case, I won’t bother learning lines,
      examining motivation, blocking,
      affecting gestures; instead, I’ll play
      my role not with gusto, but that certain
      je nais se qua. Or maybe lines in French
      have been reserved for the actors.

    46. RobHalpin says:

      Perfectly Cast as Wife, Mother

      Fifteen years
      ago I thought you
      were perfect
      as my wife,
      but you’re even better in
      your role as mother.

    47. DaisyLove says:

      Cast your votes!
      To the prettiest,
      The happiest,
      The greatest.

      Deep down the ugliest,
      The darkest
      The weakest.

      Every thought and every action
      Masked by smiles,

      They see beauty,

      She feels beastly,

      Cast your votes!
      To the prettiest,
      The happiest,
      The greatest,
      The ones who can mask it all.

    48. Domino says:

      Homage? Or Borrowed Genius?

      A friend of mine, a few years older,
      had cast her face
      in ceramics class
      and then made a teapot
      with her face.

      It was unique and original
      and so,
      wanting a bit of that magic,
      her genius,
      I made a cast of my hand.

      It was several years later,
      so all of the students
      I was the original,
      unique one.
      But I wasn’t.

      I cast my hand in the shape
      of a hand cupping water.
      And I still have that
      younger hand,
      green-glazed and
      still cupping,
      and still
      not as inspired
      as I wanted it to be.

      • PressOn says:

        I presume there’s an ache here. At lesat, that’s what’s coming through to me. The images are strong.

        • Domino says:

          I never have felt what I created was what it was supposed to be – If one has a creative mind, perfection always seems right out of reach, doesn’t it? Sometimes, when cooking, the food tastes just how I want it to. Sometimes, when singing, I sound like I am supposed to, but creating artistic things like ceramics, and historical clothing, and poems, for me at least, there is always something not quite perfect. Maybe that is why we keep striving?

    49. MISCAST

      Thrown into the line of fire
      He retreats into a shell
      Whispering hopeful sentiments
      Eager to be set apart.

      The disturbing part is
      That it always ends up this way
      Where the indecisive ability
      Takes center stage
      To the incessant terror that
      Runs through his mind.

      He wonders if
      He is in the right place
      He is saying the right things
      He is getting my point across
      He is really going to let life pass him by.

      Then he realizes
      Just because he was miscast in life
      Doesn’t mean he was miscast in his pursuit of it.

    50. Casting Glances

      She casts many glances in a day.

      To her unruly child
      in the grocery store
      who screams
      because it’s naptime,
      not shopping time.

      To the man who cuts her off
      because he wants to turn right
      from the left-hand lane.

      To the neighbor
      who loathes her children
      because their ball
      sometimes falls in her yard.

      To her husband
      who comes in late from work,
      tired and worn
      from a grueling day.

      Her glances say it all.

    51. Yolee says:

      Casting Call

      I was not prepared to cast my eyes on love,
      but you, stammering to get me to go out
      when everyone else was out of the office,
      and finally doing so on a clear cool evening
      at some Chicago Theater got my heart to thinking.
      So I brushed off cobwebs, dust and wiped
      the window clean. I replaced the floorboards cast
      by some previous age of innocence while the cow
      cast a calf in the yard out back. It didn’t take
      long before I would cast my future in yours.

    52. Angie5804 says:

      Cast Off

      Looking behind doors for her
      to jump out and surprise
      to shine a light on this darkness
      I only find the socks she left in the corner

      Stop casting shadows on my days
      stop whispering words in my ear
      stop with all the blame
      let her pick up her own socks

      Seems no one can cast light on the situation
      nothings emits the answer
      no glowing nightlights, no full moon
      just distant stars that wink

      I stumble on in ignorance
      Painting the walls a soft blue
      Packing away the photos
      Humming her song

    53. EbenAt says:

      One Cast

      Confab with camp host;
      He’s in there.
      Old Man Brown,
      twenty inches plus.

      At the picnic table
      Elk Hair Caddis
      spun onto hook;
      fuzzy topside
      leggy beneath.

      You’ll get
      one shot;
      it better be

      Quiet approach,
      crawling through
      tall grass.

      Rise up
      slow as a cobra
      line coiled
      Rod tip points.

      One shot,
      slow motion,

      With heartbreaking
      He takes it.

    54. Cast Your Cares

      Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. I Peter 5:7 NIV

      Bring God your worries and your fears.
      You’ll find He has attentive ears.
      His Spirit listens, calms and cheers.
      He knows your tears. He knows your tears.

      No trouble is too big or small.
      The Lord can handle one and all.
      He picks you up each time you fall.
      Yes, on Him call. Yes, on Him call.

      He cares for birds and flowers, too.
      And how much more He cares for you!
      He knows your needs before you do.
      Yes, it is true. Yes, it is true.

      So seek His face, don’t fret, but pray.
      Commit to do His will today.
      He is the light, the truth and way.
      Trust and obey. Trust and obey.

    55. Turn your face to the sun,
      take one step into the light;
      may it fall warm upon uplifted face.
      Let not shadows behind fill you with fright.
      You cannot escape them,
      they cannot be evaded.
      Constant companions they will stay;
      your storied past cannot be traded.

      Eyes lifted to bright sky,
      take another step. Smell the clean air;
      it is unfouled by former path,
      so have not a care.
      Shadows are cast behind, short or long;
      with light ahead they fall behind you.
      There let them stay, as is there place.
      Ahead, in the light, is your beautiful view.


    56. happys says:

      ~Cast A Spell~

      Once there was a good looking man
      Who came across a poor woman

      Food or drink the woman was asking
      But his attitude has been insulting

      He gave no single consideration
      For the poor woman’s situation

      He later realized his mistake
      And wanted to appease her ache

      Lo and behold, it was too late
      His rudeness determined his fate

      The poor woman left him without a trace
      But silently cast a spell on him in chase

      Good looking man no more
      Turned to an ugly guy to mourn

      Arrogance was he with superb aptitude
      Need an urgent conversion to good attitude

      The indomitable spell will not be lifted
      Unless his sincere kindness is enlisted

      Outer beauty often cannot pass the test
      Except when a pure kind heart attest

    57. Ann Graham Price says:

      After casting about for less common meanings for the word “casting” (those metal doohickeys you learned about in machine shop, the piles of earth and let’s not talk about what else the earthworms leave behind them), I am casting in the towel.

      Can’t think of a thing.

      Today I posted prose on my blog. Decided to wax prosaic rather than poetic.

      anngrahamprice.wordpress.com, if you’re curious.

      Love reading everyone else’s work here. It’s very impressive what some of you folks have come up with on the spur of the moment.

    58. ewdupler says:

      The Master Casting

      Silver thread and magic fingers,
                A hook bent to the will,
      Warping colors to patterns,
                Casting life stripped from quills.

      See the master preparing;
                Casts a spell for the fool.
      Breathing life toward a hatchling;
                Flitters subtly, on queue.

      Treading softly into water,
                Those around cast a look,
      Knowing the master won’t falter,
                Drawing fish to the hook.

      An illusionary tactic,
                Casting flies on the line.
      Then a haul, quite galactic,
                And a trophy trout, fine.

    59. burrhead says:

      Surfcasting the Internet

      I came upon Joe Walsh
      Got to thinking
      What is my favorite
      Joe Walsh song?
      I had one
      But could not recall the name
      or hum the tune

      I had to scrape my memory
      with a spatula
      Against crusty debris
      I could protect my brainpan
      if I soaked it first
      But found I lacked the patience
      So I forged on ahead
      with the steel against cast Iron

      Scratching and scouring
      damaging the seasoning
      The song was in there hiding
      Tucked into some little bin
      Where melodies reside and hide

      Then it came to me
      The Album
      The James Gang Rides Again
      So I searched online
      It wasn’t “Walk Away”
      or “Funk # 49”
      But there it was listed as
      “Cast My Fate To the Wind”

      I watched Joe with his guitar
      Like a fiend I needed more
      So I watched Chet Atkins
      Earl Klugh
      And finally Mel Tormé
      Sang about “a month of nights, a year of days”

      I was really on a roll
      Finding that song
      A long lost friend

      Most renditions instrumental
      I was unaware there were
      Lyrics scribed by Carel Werber
      But I listened to Mel
      Sail through life
      Survive another winter

      I smiled and then turned in
      When I arose
      I checked online again
      For the April PAD challenge
      Pleasantly surprised
      I found a prompt
      To write about a cast
      “Cast my fate to the wind”

    60. Margot Suydam says:

      To Grandmother

      I raise a toast to society
      ladies marching to church
      always matching in mink
      hat and coat, creaky pews

      fur-lined before luncheon
      at Schraffts’s on Madison,
      white-bread toast and gin
      taken in teacups at art deco

      countertops while the grand
      children romp idly on ice
      cream piled high as a treat
      their mother never got

      there on time but arrived
      in a flurry of thank you
      pushing back a strand
      of vagrant black hair.

      As if cast as Ginger Rogers,
      swung tight on the arm
      of her partner, you grace
      the room in perfume still.

    61. PressOn says:


      When the last of light
      yields at last to night
      and the stars are glittering,
      and the birds of day
      all have had their say
      and are done with twittering,

      it is time for bats
      and a cast of cats
      to patrol until the dawn
      and for dream-filled cares
      and, perhaps, nightmares
      to persist till grist is gone.

    62. The Casting

      The full moon was clear and bright when I went out to cast circle.
      At first there was only stillness, then there came a rushing wind.
      I cast my spells into the wind, which carried them clear to the moon.

      (This is a Korean form called a sijo.)

    63. ValerieO says:

      for Maya Angelou

      Something in the tone of her voice
      Keeps me spellbound
      In stillness, listening to words
      Drawn to their pace
      I want to learn
      Drown in wisdom
      Cascading from her thoughts

      • PressOn says:

        This feels compelling, and also feels a bit like music. Come to think on it, Dr. Angelou once was a singer and dancer, as I recall. Anyway, I love this piece, especially the last two lines.

    64. Lindy says:

      Shadows Come Before

      Rarely do the bunch of us
      stay present long enough
      to pay attention to the sea
      as the waves are getting rough.

      Our world exists among us,
      yet we observe it in hindsight;
      everyone glaring backwards
      directly into the light.

      If only we should turn around
      and give credence to the calls
      of nature and the way things are,
      we might prevent the squalls.

      It could just be philosophy
      in the calm before the storm,
      but I believe in coming events
      casting their shadows before.

    65. Glory says:

      By Moonlight

      Place your hand in mine
      to feel again the soft touch
      of silken skin, fingers
      long, finely tapered, polished
      nails that glitter in moonlight

      Place your hand in mine
      to know again the silent thrill
      as palms caress and fingers
      entwine, hold fast and then
      to part beneath the moonlight.

      Place your hand in mine
      to find again that which you
      already know, the magic touch
      that pressured tale that tells
      of love once lived by moonlight.

    66. missjoyce says:

      A “cast” poem.

      A Shadow

      It was such bliss
      rooted in a lie,
      then every kiss
      meant a sad goodbye.

      He held her hand,
      not wanting to let go;
      feet buried in sand
      and sunshine followed.

      She was all ready
      but his truth broke her;
      with this honesty,
      she knew it was over.

      Her heart melted,
      time rushed fastly so;
      this love has ended,
      casting a shadow.

    67. PressOn says:


      Where do they go, these thin blue lines
      that cast their way across map;
      that mark the paths to other times,
      to places that might bridge the gap
      between my dreams and every trap
      that bids to drown them in the twines
      of memories and fond old rhymes?
      I want to know. I want to tap
      the energy that leaps at me
      from twisted asphalt, gravel, sand;
      from places hidden secretly
      off highways running straight and grand.

    68. priyajane says:

      Sorry- looks like my brain is cast in a thick mould today– I posted this in the wrong spot earlier !!

      They’ve been handed down from fairy tales
      Legends, and our mindful wails
      The proper moon phase is the key
      Trees and stones may work for thee
      Candle colors play their part
      Specially, when you wish for hearts
      Lucky charms can pull some strings
      Careful- some can permanently cling
      Remember, Midas paid a price
      There’s a science to this energetic device
      Casting magic is an art
      Comes with faith and working hard
      A mystical childish reform
      Can liven up our uniform
      So cast your wishes out to blue
      You never know, they may come true!!

    69. Linda Voit says:

      watching my dad cast
      strong, sure, over and over
      understanding fish

    70. BLUE GOUGE
      for the girl whose picture was on the news

      This road I first walked thirty years ago,
      edged by black oak, pine, and cedar – my dogs
      casting for scents on a fresh breeze;
      deer prints cast in the dust of early June
      as if there were no other characters
      in the cast of this new scene, mountains
      mined, gouged, and logged, then left as if
      If I’d listened harder
      I might have heard, under years of leaf- and
      needle-fall, earthworms making castings
      through Sierra loam. What more?
      Do ghosts cast spells?
      That late-spring morning, I felt it
      like a doubt cast, a warning – months before
      was found, on the ridge above, her body.

    71. The Castigated

      His name was Cornelius Castro
      Captain of the Castigated
      A ship so rebuked by others
      For few survived its wrath

      Captain Castro and his crew
      A cast of surly characters
      Outcasts each and every one
      Set sail for McCaster’s Cove

      The Cove was cast in folklore
      As having hidden treasures
      That Captain McCaster’s crew
      Had cast into the bay

      The mutiny cost the Captain
      His life and all his booty
      Cast overboard by outcasts
      The act cast many tales

      Captain Castro was determined
      To prove the tales cast true
      Ignoring all the naysayers
      All determined to cast disbelief

      For Castro had a map
      Cast by the hand of McCaster
      Or so the tales cast stated
      The Captain cast off doubt

      McCaster’s Cove now lay
      Off the forward bow
      Captain Castro told his cast
      To cast the anchor now

      Castro had cast a plan
      A cast of seven would row
      Their dinghy onto shore
      And find the long cast treasure

      But Captain Castro’s cast
      Left aboard the Castigated
      Cast off and left them stranded
      McCaster’s Cove castaways

      Should this tale cast a moral
      When outcasts are your crew
      It’s impossible to forecast
      What your crew will cast on you

    72. Jane Shlensky says:


      We pier fish all day under glaring sun,
      old fishermen lined up on either side,
      intense and taciturn; they’re in the zone.

      He lends me his old rod, his favorite,
      hooking the shrimp, he shows me to cast out,
      To watch the sinkers glide, to slowly reel,

      Feeling the pull of life beneath the waves,
      Communing with the swish of silver fin
      Long before I see it. We do not talk

      Or eat or sip coffee, for we are lost
      In fishing dinner home. I understand
      Why he left us to give himself the sea,

      Why we stayed home and worked while he fished ponds
      Or searched Great Lakes, Alaska, Florida.
      He gave himself reprieves—left us behind

      Our presents wrapped, awaiting his return,
      His voice jolly, his face less taciturn—
      We envied that, his journeys without us.

      The sky and sea conjoin, a matching hue,
      Locating a horizon, challenging.
      We ride a wooden pier thrust into blue,

      watching fish rise to us, a dance of peace,
      removing any need we have and time
      is meaningless as we bring in our catch.

      I love to paint, to dance, to sing and play
      Piano, so I know what art can do
      To rub away our edges, leave us whole.

      When life becomes poetry, simple, pure,
      When every facet of the thing we do
      Becomes an action that can save our soul,

      The lift of falling line, the flutter down,
      The cresting wave beyond, the dance of cast
      And reel, the slowly lifting arms of men

      Who left their troubles somewhere inland, stowed
      Until they can return and bear them up,
      Resolve them as they can, now that they can.

      My birthday gift to take my Pa fishing
      Became his gift to me, a memory
      Explaining who he is and was, his way

      Of bringing dinner home, standing so small
      Beneath big skies, communing with his God
      Fishing for peace, for nature’s poetry.

    73. PressOn says:


      the assistant director asked,
      “Would you sleep with me for a starring part?”
      She said,
      “Of course.”
      Then he asked,
      “Would you sleep with me for a bit part?”
      She said,
      “Of course not!
      What kind of girl you think I am?”
      He said,
      “We have established that.
      Now we are just discussing your role.”

    74. JWLaviguer says:


      I am a castaway
      on this island called loneliness
      burning fires day and night
      like so many bridges between you and I
      in hope of being saved
      but the ships that sail by
      only want one thing from me
      that which I cannot give
      and the sand between my toes
      is washed away by the tide
      along with my hopes and dreams
      my message in a bottle
      is a cry for help
      and I cast it into the waves of desperation
      but every morning, alas
      it has washed up on the shore again
      unopened and unanswered.

    75. PressOn says:


      sell good used cars.

    76. Lessons from the Casting Couch

      Casting your net wide is fine and dandy,
      but don’t waste your time, casting pearls before swine.
      As you step through the door to the Casting Director’s office,
      you may well cast your eyes down in doubt,
      be sure to cast an eye over what lays before you.
      Take care not to cast aspersions on the competition,
      for even the newest of leading ladies casts a long shadow;
      so if there’s name-calling to be done, never cast the first stone.
      Cast your bread on the water in the hope of getting a bite,
      do the best to cast a spell that will charm and win favour.
      Careful that you don’t cast a pall on the situation,
      because there are plenty more where you came from,
      all cast from the same mould.
      You are cast adrift in hostile waters so be prepared
      for an ordeal like never before – you’ll need a cast-iron stomach!
      Try and cast your lot in with the better sort of people,
      but once the die is cast,
      then you must accept your lot,
      casting caution to the wind
      cast off,
      clothes off,
      get casted
      on the casting couch.


    77. Cast

      It was a beauty to behold
      Art at its best
      Donned with bright colors
      Drawn by the hand of
      An undiscovered pro
      His sister
      Work accomplished
      All while he slept

      He would have to wear it
      For at least a month
      According to the doctor
      But he’d not be afraid
      To show it off to all
      And credit his sister
      For the beauty of
      His cast

    78. It’s a way of life
      Casting shadows on the truth
      It’s just politics

    79. alana sherman says:

      For My Daughter

      You wouldn’t stay
      so I became a witch
      learned to weave spells—

      You wouldn’t stay
      I practiced charms
      to call you back,
      to bind you.

      Here’s one—Tomorrow
      you won’t take the bus.
      I’ll keep you here, we’ll play

      all day. I say you are
      too young to go to school.
      You wouldn’t stay

      Another spell—

      You never have to go to sleep
      until late. No one will ever
      tell us what we have to do.

      We’ll make a picnic in the park
      and what you need to know
      you’ll learn in my classroom.

      You wouldn’t stay.


    80. “Cast”

      I cut off
      the shackle
      that restricted me

      I ran swiftly
      until I broke
      the bone snapped in to two

      It seemed forever
      until I could walk
      without using the crutches

      So I released myself
      just to be cast again
      I will retake the field once more

      This hard cement won’t hold me
      I shall soon be healed anew
      It is only a matter of time

      Wayne L Murphy 4/26/13

    81. JWLaviguer says:


      Is it the liquor
      or the movement of her hips
      that make my head swim
      as she clicks her castanets

      Faster and faster she spins
      the clickety-clack fills the air
      as her skirt twists and turns
      the sequins reflecting the light

      An ancient dance as old as time
      the Mariachi tries to keep up
      with her seductive moves
      and our eyes meet

      She smiles and lowers her gaze
      she has me in her spell
      of her I am intoxicated
      as my heart beats faster

      go the castenets
      speaking to me in morse code
      of an ancient ritual bathed in love.

    82. Mr. Walker says:

      Casting About

      i would cast my movie
      with community theater actors

      a bunch of unknowns
      but sincere

      in their amateur status
      (remember there is love there)

      it would be messy and imperfect
      just like life

      i would want a different director
      for each act

      would that be three or five?
      i don’t know yet

      i might be persuaded to let in
      a couple of Hollywood actors

      but with bit roles
      and so much makeup

      they would be hardly recognizable
      in their cameo status

      i would want Harlan Ellison
      and Sharon Olds to play themselves

      and the guys from Barenaked Ladies
      could all be samurai

      that might have to be a dream sequence
      or a flashback to a previous life

      and I definitely want
      Michael Giacchino to score it

      maybe I should get to work
      on the screenplay

    83. Dear Moosehead,
      Well there ya go! Back on home turf
      and putting the world to rights, casting
      aside all doubts that they can rise to the
      call, come from behind and win. I cast a
      line into the muddy waters of yer ma &
      yer sis’ combined swamp-like minds and
      suggested that they spend Mets week with
      my aunt in Atlanta – they like the idea, I can tell,
      but ain’t taken the worm yet. Sounds great but
      there’s a trade – I gotta put up with Jimmy the
      Greek for a week, since the Braves are up here
      against them before we get them! Still, at least
      the only thing that numbskull throws at me is a
      baseball! Plus he can cook a damn site better
      than anyone in your family. Must be that whole
      Greek side of the family thing. Let’s see if we can
      cook us some Jays again tonight.
      Pick me up at 7 – bring money for beer & dogs.

      Yours casting aside the losing streak blues,

      Ringo the Howler

    84. PressOn says:


      In the olden days of chamber pots
      the streets were filled with lots and lots
      of sewage, scum, discarded snots
      and, here and there, pervasive dots
      of rats succumbing to the hots
      of procreation. London’s plots
      were worse than most, abetted by shots
      of airborne gunk from window slots.
      This led the Queen to order lots
      of posters reading, “Cast no pots.”

    85. nessajay says:

      Cast in a Play

      Cast out your doubt
      and be done with it
      Spin on casters
      Drink castor oil
      all these things will get you moving

      In the right direction?

      In your direction
      along the silver spoke that pulls you to the hub

      It is an overcast day
      we rock and roll together inside heaven’s oyster
      I cast around for words to explain
      the way the light lifts me
      but am left opening and closing my mouth soundlessly

      like a grouper in the swim around

      I used to take my son there
      to the science museum
      He called it “the dinosaur bones”
      of course the skeletons were not real
      They were high-tech
      polymer casts
      that flabbergasted us

    86. PressOn says:


      Madam’s panties, worn and red,
      are tribute to her gender;
      to hold them up, until she beds,
      she uses red suspenders

      and wears a negligee of blue
      with piping flashing white.
      Her customers are pleased to view
      this patriotic sight.

      She works the streets, as hookers do,
      but never call her smarmy;
      she serves a cast of well-to-do
      like generals from the Army,

      who pay good money for each date
      to kiss her ancient face
      and part the blue, and separate
      the metal from the lace.

    87. JRSimmang says:

      He went in
      near the morning,
      and having left his clothes behind,
      found the chill meet his skin.

      He looked down
      and noticed his stomach,
      tight, youthful.
      This thick thighs twitched with
      every step toward his pedestal.

      He’s admired his hands.
      When he was younger,
      his parents would look at his hands
      and tell him that they would
      be his great escape.
      He turned them over in the light,
      searching for the imperfections.
      That’s what he was trained to,
      to find the cracks and brittle

      His arms, bronzed and strong,
      splayed before him.

      He built his studio to allow the sunlight in
      whenever the sun was in the sky.
      Right now, just before the day,
      the light was golden,
      raining down in cascading vellum.
      He stood on the pedestal and let
      himself be bathed in it.

      He picked up his tooth chisel
      and began the delicate process
      of adding definition.
      He scooped from his belly,
      building up from a cast he created of his
      He rounded the corners of his eyes,
      learning from the cast he took from his
      He dug out deep rivulets into his feet and legs
      from the cast of his
      And finally, his hands he scraped and scratched
      and broke and tore
      from the cast of his grandmother.
      For she too was a sculptor.

    88. Rachel Blake says:

      thank you Linda

    89. Angler’s Meditation

      The water, barely warmed by the rising sun,
      moves in ripples and flows – over rocks
      covered in rich green moss so thick
      one could imagine a tiny universe existed
      within the lush borders – an island in the sea

      Like an actor waiting the call to stage
      the trout sits beneath the surface
      facing the current as it passes over
      the rainbow scales that catch the light
      announcing the treasure waiting below

      The angler stands knee-high – Colossus
      of the stream – patiently casting his line
      tempting the fish with hand-tied delights
      yet, content to simply “be” – here and now -
      a man fishing by a moss covered universe

    90. Rachel Blake says:

      The Casting Couch

      This couch
      so uncomfortable
      to sit on
      I don’t want the part
      the price way too high
      if it means that
      with you I must lie
      it is lumpy, unsubtle
      no finesse
      it is sexist
      a bully
      no soft cushioning
      can your meaning twist
      I work with my talent
      or not work at all
      do not get in touch,
      e mail or call.

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