Editors Blog

2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 22

A few people have sent me e-mail messages asking if I’m going to favor this type of poem or that type of poem; if I’m looking for this kind of poet or that type of poet; and so on (since I’m the person making the finalist lists to send to the guest judges). So here’s what I’m looking for: poems that make me care.

Funny poems, sad poems, angry poems, rambling poems, concise poems (ahem, haiku), traditional form poems, free verse, prose poems, rhyme poems, non-rhyme poems, poems that make perfect sense, poems that leave me scratching my head; or in other words, I have broad range of interests, and I’ll know it when I see it; or in even other words, don’t worry about me or the guest judges–just write what you care about writing, and the rest will take care of itself.

Today is a Tuesday, and you know what that means: Two for Tuesday Prompts! Write one, write the other, and/or write both!

  • Write an optimistic poem. The glass is half full.
  • Write a pessimistic poem. The glass is half empty.


Get feedback on your poetry!

If you want some professional feedback on your poeming efforts, the Writer’s Digest Advanced Poetry Writing course is a great place to start.

Click here for more details.


Here’s my attempt at an Optimistic and/or Pessimistic Poem:

“today is not the end of it”

we’re from the same blood
we’re hooks holding up hooks

we’re lost items being found
before getting lost again

we’re trees bent by the wind
we’re animals searching shadows

we’ve got the scent in our
nostrils tails in the air

we’re running off the path
we’re not looking back


Today’s guest judge is…

Lawrence Schimel

Lawrence Schimel

Lawrence Schimel

Lawrence writes in both English and Spanish and has published over 100 books in many different genres, including the poetry collection Desayuno en la Cama (Egales) and the chapbooks Fairy Tales for Writers (A Midsummer Night’s Press) and Deleted Names (A Midsummer Night’s Press).

He has published poems in a broad range of periodicals, including The Saturday Evening Post, Physics Today, The Christian Science Monitor, and Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, and his poems have been widely anthologized in The Random House Treasury of Light Verse, Neil Gaiman’s Sandman: The Book of Dreams, The Incredible Sestina Anthology, Chicken Soup for the Horse-Lover’s Soul 2, Obsessions: Sestinas in the 21st Century, etc.

Lawrence lives in Madrid, Spain where he works as a Spanish->English translator.


PYHO_Small_200x200Poem Your Heart Out

Poems, Prompts & Room to Add Your Own for the 2014 April PAD Challenge!

Words Dance Publishing is offering 20% off pre-orders for the Poem Your Heart Out anthology until May 1st! If you’d like to learn a bit more about our vision for the book, when it will be published, among other details.

Click to continue.


Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems. The collection has a recurring theme of pushing the re-set button and getting back to basics. Learn more about Robert here: http://www.robertleebrewer.com/.


These poetic posts are half there but also half not (or something):

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787 thoughts on “2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 22

  1. Angie5804

    Take them for what they are
    Stars in the night, ships from afar
    Once upon a time is the way some go
    Here today, tomorrow, who knows?
    Like a wave crashing on the shore
    They roll away, are there no more
    Perhaps one day, star light, star bright
    Waves will no longer roll out of sight
    Happily ever after, so they say
    Happily ever after, perhaps one day

    Angie Bell

  2. Andrea Z

    Quiet Time

    On a cold morning,
    I walk across the secluded one-lane bridge
    and suddenly stop.
    I lean on the barrier,
    and stare at the rippling canal waters;
    I’ve been walking across this bridge
    for six months,
    and each time I stop and wonder,
    should I climb this rail and jump?
    Today, I stare at the canal
    as the sun peeks around the clouds,
    and I don’t want to jump.

  3. ianchandler


    little boy with red windbreaker
    picks up bottle from cooler
    is picked up by father
    led out the door
    and something seems simple again
    simple like the wind over russet leaves
    tickled by the summer
    and an old lady walking her Bassett hound
    down Reynolds Street
    or wherever
    you happen to call home.

  4. seingraham


    Is the Dalai Lama optimistic, she asked
    or just woefully naive
    We are sipping green tea at her favourite
    teahouse and all I can think
    Is how much I want a Grande macchiato
    from Starbucks
    And how disappointed in me she would be
    if she knew…

    Well, I counter, wondering if she thinks of me
    as being naive or even optimistic
    Amused, or maybe bemused, to hear her say
    rapidly, no way, not either
    What then? You’re a realist, she scoffs…
    Do you even believe in the Dalai Lama?

    Stung, I am surprised at how I must present,
    especially to this one, who I thought knew me
    And the me she knows, is quite different than
    the me I think of myself as…
    The ever-hopeful, even somewhat naive when
    I should know better after all these years
    That one — I must be giving off quite a different vibe

    I try for lightness – ask her how could anyone not
    believe in the Dalai Lama?
    Wouldn’t that be a little like not believing in Buicks?
    She looks at me, clearly perplexed.
    Ah, a reference too dated for one as young as this
    neophyte…I change it up
    Ask her, wouldn’t it be a little like not believing in
    your iPhone, or American Idol
    Now she is looking at me pityingly…oh God…

    She tells me patiently she gets it…of course iPhones
    exist , so the Dalai Lama must also
    But American Idol — does that still come on?
    We both have a good laugh over that…my bad.

    Just how cynical do you think I am, I cannot resist
    asking her, it seems
    She frowns as if giving my question careful consideration
    Then asks me if I really do not intend to ever march
    for peace again
    Her face is so open, her hope so vivid;
    I had forgotten the last time we marched,
    how discouraged I was at the low turnout
    And how the bombing in Afghanistan continued unabated,
    sending four young men home that very same day
    I had probably said some pretty harsh things…
    And I probably meant them…after all, I’d been marching
    for peace and nuclear disarmament for decades
    Lots of the time it did feel futile
    However, being faced with her hopeful face, and the
    prospect of dashing her future
    I found myself angry. Angry at myself. How dare I take away
    her youthful exuberance and hope?

    I do remember, I told her.
    A tired old lady’s words that shouldn’t count
    for everything…or anything
    I do think peace is within our grasp but I also believe we
    need people like you
    Young energetic people who won’t give up on the idea
    Who keep marching, and agitating, and saying no to war
    Voting in better governments, insisting on better everything

    Suddenly she was grinning and caught me mid-sentence
    What? I asked her…
    There, she said. That’s the you I remember. I want her back.
    Do you think she’s available? And right then, I knew…
    She’d just been on hiatus…she’s back and she’s going nowhere
    but forward.
    Let’s march.

  5. Heidi


    Two camp
    together as one.
    Protagonist and Antogonist.
    No peace treaties. Never.
    Only war.
    One side pitted against the other.
    Each living together
    as soul.

    Heid R. de Contreras

  6. Heidi


    Our world in vertigo,
    spins, slides upside down.
    Fractured trees topple split
    concrete hails up razor rocks.
    Roots weave gnarled fingers
    across the red swirling,
    yellow bleeding sky.
    A melting sun falls beyond
    soggy blacks the ripping
    of nightfall at 9:00 a.m.
    Spilling black acid like
    Bruises, shadows of war.

    Heidi R. de Contreras

  7. IndiFox

    Full Or Empty?

    I tell myself I’m an optimist
    But then burn my own skin
    I tell myself I’m a pessimist
    But look for good in things
    I guess I’m confused
    What’s the right outlook to take?
    Life is shit
    But my friends are great
    The system is broken
    And love is unspoken
    Does that make me a pessimist?
    But I’m an activist
    So am I an optimist?
    It’s very confusing
    Should we just pick one?
    Then stick to it for the rest of our lives?
    But things change
    And people die
    Then you’ve got the “realists”
    Who just add to the confusion
    I swear they’re just the people
    Who couldn’t decide between the two
    So they made this nice middle ground
    But realism is just as bad
    Who wants to be realistic all the time?
    Where’s the fun in that?
    And there is such a thing as being too happy
    There is such a thing as being too sad
    So fuck these outlooks
    We should all have our own
    Even if they’re not categorized
    Or well-known

  8. shethra77

    The Glass

    Where is the cup?
    Half my coffee’s inside me;
    the rest I give up.

    There is a penny.
    I always take them, though
    no luck comes with any.

    I sigh over you,
    wish you were closer, but
    guess that would not do.

  9. bookworm0341

    “Murphy’s Law”

    My alarm did not go off
    so I woke up late
    I rushed and my pancake
    slid right off my plate

    I rushed outside
    and the bus I just missed
    I fell flat on my face
    as the sidewalk I kissed

    I ran to the school
    and my leg got a cramp
    I hobbled into my seat to hear
    my teacher say, “You’re late again champ.”

    When class did start
    I just wanted to rest,
    but then was shocked to find
    we were having a major test!

    Lunch isn’t long enough,
    as most of you know,
    but the fire alarm went off,
    so out in the cold we did go.

    Going back to the cafeteria
    what did I find?
    The lunch money I had
    wasn’t anywhere I could find.

    Down the hall I went
    hoping to find my girl,
    when there she was smooching
    with another guy, named Earl.

    In gym class we lined up
    from short to tall,
    and when we played on the court,
    I got slammed with the ball.

    To the nurses station I went,
    my stomach all in knots,
    sat down next to a kid,
    and got covered in fresh snots.

    All patched up,
    and on my way home-
    wondering who is Murphy,
    and why won’t the guy leave me alone!

    By Jennifer M. Terry
    April 22, 2014

  10. foodpoet

    Today is cloudy
    With a chance of rain
    Rain is not snow
    Winter is over

    Today is cloudy
    With a chance of rain
    Now we will have to change
    Snow plows for lawn mowers
    And endless green grass

    Today is cloudy
    With a chance of rain
    My heart is occluded
    With no sun

    Today is cloudy
    With a chance of rain
    All clouds eventually open
    Revealing sun warmth

    Megan McDonald

  11. Aberdeen Lane

    the glass
    always full
    whether of despair
    or joy
    you can choose
    not always
    it’s poured
    from someone else
    who decided
    what to pour
    in their glass
    they share
    we share
    whatever the flavor

  12. Evelyn Philipp


    Night, held hostage
    by sadness, is finally
    released and sleep
    comes, softly

    the moon
    keeping watch
    for the few hours’

    Then a sliver of light
    slips in through
    a crack in
    the curtains

    Sweet birds call
    to one another
    softly leaves rustle
    ‘you made it’.

    hello, morning
    Today will be better.

  13. Alaska Christina

    Benign Sobriety

    The bland monotony
    of my daily existence
    Courses through my veins
    and drains my soul
    Driving me to reckless abandon
    towards empty arms
    And vacant words
    and shallow promises
    Which fill me for a moment
    but banish me for a lifetime
    Leaving only reflections of benign sobriety.

  14. Christine Sutherland

    Endless Days
    by Christine D Sutherland

    I hear the constant ticking of the clock,
    The days they pass so slow,
    This anguish and longing I try to block,
    In these moments my spirits get low.

    Sometimes it’s hard to get through the day,
    And I find myself sitting alone,
    There’s no one around to interrupt my dismay,
    When this day will end is unknown.

    Searching for just a little peace,
    From my constant thoughts of you,
    When will this endless day cease,
    Tomorrow is a new day to ensue.

    Missing you so much it hurts,
    I’d like to crawl in bed,
    And to this day avert ~
    Pulling the covers over my head.

    There I would dream of being with you,
    That is where I’d be if I could,
    It’s these thoughts of you I cling to,
    Until the day you’re home for good.

  15. Poetess

    The Perspective Tree

    Addiction fiction
    What’s your diction?
    Hooking up words
    In my mind
    Let’s just see
    What we find
    Love of money
    Cigarettes booze
    Violence sex drugs
    And rock and roll too
    Sports and gambling
    Lying cheating stealing
    Foreign oil fondue
    Love idealism fame
    Mass media hoarding
    The lifestyle game
    Consumption junction
    What’s your function?
    Hooking up words
    In my mind a poem
    What do you see?
    What’s meaning
    The perspective tree?

  16. jclenhardt

    Halfway Full

    A good indicator
    to measure
    (at the halfway
    and looking
    where one is
    halfway full,
    and the other;
    who looks down
    into their glass;
    now, half empty,
    “is it really?”
    But no,
    that’s the part
    they’ve just consumed.

  17. laurora


    I walk around in a haze
    I’m in the eye of a tornado –
    a party for everyone else
    I’m the depressing silence at the center of it all
    I am the eye of the tornado
    People notice me,
    pretend not to
    As people usually ignore the negative
    I drift around among the others
    sort of follow the direction of the wind they create,
    their legs moving fast
    Me, just drifting as if above the surface of the ground
    and not really exiting the eye at all
    I may be pessimistic
    But the others are falsely positive
    At least I know what I dislike
    The others are just pretending,
    following the stream,
    doing what they think is right,
    more confused than drunk,
    I adore my pessimism
    It’s my source of positivity

  18. horselovernat

    Out of the Shadows by Natalie Gasper

    A few years back, there was a time when
    I thought I was sitting on top of the world;
    things had never been better and the view
    from the top of that cliff was amazing.
    In admiring how great life was, I missed
    the warning signs, the quiet breeze that
    had begun to blow, whispering softly
    that this was not mean to last.

    At first it only added to the good, made
    everything seem that much better.
    But it turned into a gust, strong and
    forceful, pushing me so hard I couldn’t
    fight back. Fate, Destiny, Change, this
    wind goes by many names and now, it
    had taken me as its next victim.
    A final blow, and over the edge I went.

    I couldn’t see where I was falling to, the
    bottom was so far away, that all I could do
    was watch as all the good things I had
    slowly slipped away, quiet as a mouse.
    Wondering what had gone wrong, what I had done
    to cause this fall. Trying so hard to change it, to
    lift myself back up again. But nothing worked.
    So I accepted it. Even got used to it.

    I clung wildly to the hope that things couldn’t
    go down forever, that an up would come again.
    As the years passed steadily like the beating of
    a drum, the flame of this hope began to die,
    withering away as my perspective changed.
    Considering that my life before the fall had been
    nothing more than a dream, only vaguely able to
    remember the good. After all, life wasn’t black and white.

    The good had become nothing more than a tease,
    a means of keeping my hopes alive long enough
    so the pain of them being fully crushed, of losing who I was,
    would burn all the stronger, destroy me more thoroughly.

    After all of that, hitting rock bottom wasn’t so bad.
    It was an ugly place: gray, full of rocks, dangerous, and
    depressing. A place I never imagined I would end up.
    A place I wish on no one, not even my enemies.
    There is not a single person who deserves to be there.

    Yet the bird of hope still sang within my heart, knowing
    I could find a way out. Another breeze, a rock staircase,
    an old rope ladder that had been left behind. Search
    as I may, nothing was to be found. My memories faded,
    happiness only an echo of the past, a raspy whisper.

    In striving to make the best of this worst I grew arrogant
    and refused to learn from my past mistakes, and so fell again.
    Down a hole in the shadows I went, the world spinning,
    darkness creeping towards me like a never ending night.
    Deeper than rock bottom, I could hear the screams
    and pains of others who had lost themselves, given up.
    This time I noticed the insults coming at me, the bricks of
    negativity thrown at me by the ill-wishers and nay-sayers.

    In this darkest hour, I had finally found the light.
    I took those bricks and began to build a castle,
    one made from all the bad I had been through,
    and watched it grow higher and higher.
    What had once caused me harm and pain now
    gave me protection, motivation, confidence, strength.
    The weeks flew by as I reached, then passed, rock bottom,
    the cliff in my sights as the song of hope grew louder.

    This is only the beginning of my rise.
    My castle, beautiful and free from the influence of others,
    is now reaching towards the stars. All I had
    once imagined I could be, I was now becoming.
    Do, I was finally doing. Dreams are turning into
    this breathtaking reality that has no limits,
    no end to the possibilities. From here,
    I can only climb higher: maybe even touch the stars.

    I am strong now, passion burning fierce in my heart
    while my spirit soars in the clouds. Happiness that was
    once just a whisper had become my anthem.
    Never again shall that breeze reach me.
    My path to achieving my dreams will be without equal,
    for I am ready to fight for it, to defend it at all costs.
    After years spent lurking and hiding amongst the shadows,
    I have finally stepped into the light.

  19. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    Bucket List

    Leaving my mark on the world.
    Quenching my poetic thirst.
    Adopting a boy or a little girl.
    Hoping I don’t kick it first.

    Quenching my poetic thirst.
    That picket fence we both dream of.
    Hoping I don’t kick it first.
    Growing old with the man I love.

    That picket fence we both dream of.
    Adopting a boy or a little girl.
    Growing old with the man I love.
    Leaving my mark on the world.

  20. Susan Budig

    I wrote a Coin Poem, which has 24 syllables, a rhyme scheme, two stanzas, and looks at one situation or issue from two sides.

    A Wide River to Cross

    The ship pulled away from shore
    Spelling disaster

    Hail! I see her come full bore
    Navigate faster

  21. Grey_Ay

    The Cynical Optimist

    People will be people
    I say it all the time
    The motto that I’m living by,
    walking a narrow line

    Call it being cynical
    it is a point of view
    but don’t forget the optimism
    I’ll believe as long as you

    -A. Ault-

  22. jean

    Three days after and still nothin’ —
    Can she not poem anymore?
    Still, she’s quilted and baked muffins,
    Paid bills and mopped the floor.
    She’s bided, chided, organized,
    Scolded, folded, economized.
    Elusive are her poet’s eyes.
    Where are those metaphors?

  23. cam45237

    A Murder

    I am being picked apart by crows
    I can feel shreds of flesh peel from the arm
    I raised to save my face
    I can feel the sharp beaks
    Darting in with purpose and precision
    To pluck my eyes and organs
    I can feel the pain of a thousand wounds
    So I imagine Jesus felt, so Caesar felt, so felt the helpless
    Hanging from the tree


    I can beat them off these black birds
    That clamor
    I can strike out with strong hands
    And loud cries
    I can knock them from the sky
    And send them stunned
    Spiraling to the common ground
    Where they can ruffle feathers, squawk
    Lift their hoarse and horrid voices
    All they want
    Their wings are broken
    They cannot hurt me

  24. Kevin D Young


    The first sentient robot (or computer,
    who’ll care?) will wake and enthuse:
    Come on momma be good to your Daddy
    ’cause baby needs a new pair of shoes!

    I cannot guarantee this first thought
    will be spoken by our crowning
    intellectual achievement, fraught
    as it is with so much that nails down

    those most desirable and expressive traits
    converging on the human condition:
    an understanding that Economics dictates
    goods be moved by barter or transaction,

    linguistic acumen that superimposes
    concrete good over the morally abstruse,
    a grasp of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, supposing
    a separation between essential and superfluous,

    a firm hold on family responsibility,
    a (theoretical) knowledge of reproduction,
    an internalized view of gross anatomy,
    protective footwear and correct proportion,

    statistical acumen of the game of the gods,
    conversance with pop psychology (new versus used),
    unrepentant optimism in the face of long odds,
    and a sense of time’s entropic instinct to abuse.

    But if this happens, and should this robot
    (or computer) roll and lose, I will be much
    less stressed about our human polyglot.
    We really do need a new pair of shoes.

  25. KiManou

    Heaven on Earth

    I hovered somewhere between heaven and hell
    Then discovered I am heaven And I am hell
    I decide where I lay Everyday
    We’re all dying…
    I die every night and every day I live
    There is a heaven on Earth in every minute in every second in every breath
    Until we are no more…
    Have you been?

  26. Louise Findlay

    Title: Angry, Angry, Raging at the World

    Angry, Angry, Raging at the world.
    Angry, Angry, Raging at the world.

    The red-tinted view,
    The world is all the same.

    Angry, Angry, Raging at the world.
    Angry, Angry, Raging at the world.

    Nothing is ever good,
    It just comes hurtling back.

    Angry, Angry, Raging at the world.
    Angry, Angry, Raging at the world.

  27. JRSimmang


    I saw a bird today
    flying above the clouds and
    I wondered if it does
    what I do:

    try to match these clouds with
    the shadows they cast,
    allowing the ground
    to fade into permanence.

    -JR Simmang

  28. Anvanya


    We hadn’t been in town for very long
    when I spotted the Navajo blanket.
    Bright birds and the sturdy corn stalk commanded
    my vision in a way that a dozen other weavings
    featuring geometric patterns never could.
    Vibrant colors of the birds in flight pricked
    my thought processes – so many, I wondered,
    in this everlasting desertified land?


    It’s nothing, really, when you see the sign on Interstate 90,
    just after you cross the Missouri: if you stay on 90,
    you’ll eventually make it through the Black Hills to
    Wyoming. I hear things are better there for the ranchers
    and the townsfolk.
    Take the turn instead and you’ll find us here.
    We’re waiting on the USGS study to tell us
    how much ground water is left in the aquifers.

  29. emmaisan0wl

    The Young And The Dying (a pessimistic poem)
    We have not even begun to touch the moonlight, to map the stars. We’re too young and there’s no time. We’re reckless and we’re boring and there’s no time. My friends wait by a hospital bed and there are flowers by the roadside and there’s no time, no time at all.
    You slipped away one afternoon in the garden sun. Had you done enough? Your body was a canvas of laughter lines and piano fingers but is that enough? Do you even understand what enough is? Do any of us? I wonder if you know your ashes fed a tree into new life. I wonder if you care.

    He was in my room while I was sleeping and I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know whether to say I was sorry, whether he would care. He was in my head while I was sleeping and I wanted to say I was sorry, sorry that there’s no time, sorry because of the glass and the flowers, but instead I asked what it was like there and because he never liked me, he wouldn’t say.

    I’m scared. I’m scared. If this isn’t the kingdom then what is? I’m too young to be scared. Flowers by the roadside and broken glass by the roadside and clumps of hair clogging up the shower. I’m too young to be scared, but I’m scared anyway.

    None of us make it out alive.”

  30. lily black


    Three little birds sing a message to me
    Promising “every little thing is gonna be all right”
    And I believe those birds
    Waking again
    Dressing again
    Driving again
    Doing it all
    Again and again
    Believing in the possibility of the sunrise
    I will stretch
    And bend
    And breathe
    Again someday
    I know it
    I just know it

  31. drwasy

    Negative Suck

    It used to be
    I viewed the rain
    as good for the garden,
    last night’s leftovers
    as more time to spend
    with you,
    a short pay check
    as opportunity to
    stretch my ingenuity;
    but now, each morning
    I fight the vortex
    of you sucking me
    into trusting today
    is cold and gray,
    leftovers smack
    of laziness,
    and my lack of money
    marks me a failure.

  32. FaerieTalePoet

    Uncoordinated Unconditional

    When I was very young my mother signed me up for dance lessons. After months of driving me to lessons my recital finally arrived. My parents and grandparents waited in the audience to see me, oh so cute, in my pink and green maid’s costume. Soon my class took the stage poised with our brooms. However, every time the other girls went right, I went left and when they went left, I went right. My mother was mortified, her daughter was completely uncoordinated. But then my Grandma Judith turned to her and whispered, “Look at Dana, she’s the only one doing it right.”

    Dana A. Campbell

  33. Linda Hatton


    She pushed glasses around
    until she found the right one—
    her favorite one. Her un-kissed
    cheeks puffed out, filled with luscious
    refreshment, wetting memories
    of un-blanketed picnics underneath
    a piney forest where he
    held her hand,
    held her heart.
    Her toughened bare heel stepped
    in sticky substance pooled
    on tiled floor where she’d studied
    every inch of his humanity,
    a textbook’s crinkled pages, bending
    against his will. She rested heated legs
    against hardwood chairs, chin in hand,
    wiping droplets away before they fell
    to rigid surfaces beneath her. Holding
    precious consolation to her lips,
    never letting them leave
    the way he did.

    -Linda G Hatton

  34. Deri

    Small Comforts

    The sun slants through the side window
    illuminating the dust gathered in the corner
    coating a skeleton of some small creature
    who will never be mourned
    by anyone but me
    it’s life and death a cycle of inevitability

    like the stars which shine
    on the dusty remains of a million million
    dead planets, forgotten
    until the stars absorb them in
    infinite implosions
    respewing out their carcasses
    to begin again
    and who will mourn them?

  35. PSC in CT

    Spring Trysts

    I stumbled upon the trilliums today –
    just popping through last autumn’s oak remains
    (trout lilies’ leaves having peeked out days ago,
    but Jack-in-the-pulpit, still in hiding)

    They called out to me on the trail
    wanting to have their picture taken
    so I indulged them,
    marveling at how quickly they’d grown,
    (as they were nowhere to be seen just days before)
    and pleased to see them, alive and well,
    after such a long, cold winter. We visited a bit,
    then went our separate ways, smiling,
    each happy to have seen the other.

    I worry about them, at times, wondering
    who will visit them when I’m gone? (and:
    who will watch out for this lovely place?)

    Every day I say goodbye
    as if this might be our last tryst,
    like a slow, painful peeling away –
    pulling a Band-Aid from a wound.
    I worry & I hope
    someone else will come along
    to pick up
    where I’ve left off


  36. bookworm0341

    “Mister Optimistic”

    A simple, “Tag you’re it!”
    Started a conversation
    Between two people
    Who had lost touch
    Over the years

    Questions asked via cyberspace
    Awaiting answers
    Receiving stickers
    And remarks to make me
    Smile and laugh

    It is such a real pleasure
    Talking with you
    And getting to know you again
    After a score has gone by-
    It’s like you’re right here

    You ARE here
    To talk to
    To smile at
    And to say thank you-
    For being so optimistic

    By Jennifer M. Terry
    April 22, 2014

  37. Emma

    Questions from an anxious romantic.

    Am I the only one who stares at the sun?
    Are there others who know they shouldn’t, who worry how it will turn the world dark, but do it anyway because they cannot resist?
    Does anyone else drink in the beauty of these rare, great things and fear how the mundanity of the routine you’ll return to?
    Will I always thirst for more?
    Am I a dust speck wishing to be a supernova or am I burning through the pleasures of the universe like a forest fire that refuses to be extinguished?
    Will there be anything left after the flames die down?
    Will I ever be satisfied?
    How can I ever be content with the earth when I have lived amongst the stars?