Editors Blog

2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 24

Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day! My choice for a poem today is “The Problem Is With Semantics,” by Tammy Foster Brewer (yes, my wife!). If you want to learn more about Poem in Your Pocket Day, click here. If you want to read even more poems by my wife, check out her collection No Glass Allowed.

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Tell It to the (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles include: “Tell It to the Hand,” “Tell It to the Judge,” “Tell It to the Six-Foot Bunny Rabbit,” and so on.


Free up your poetry with constraints!

Learn how putting constraints on your poetry through poetic forms, blank verse, and other tricks can actually free up your poetry writing skills and enhance your creativity in Writer’s Digest’s first ever Poetry Boot Camp. It will include a one-hour tutorial, personalized Q&A on a secure “attendees-only” message board, feedback on three original poems, and more. Click to continue.


Here’s my attempt at a Tell It to the Blank poem:

“Tell It to the Search Engine”

Prepare for the blood moon
7 dead babies found in home
Bear drags woman from garage
Hundreds fall ill on cruise ship
Weird new trend in plastic surgery
Naked exercise scandal
What ’80s really looked like
Bus crash kills 36 in Mexico
Gun kills people in Kansas City
Iceberg loose
Kid killed playing video game
Politicians track poll numbers
4 ways to cheat on sestinas
9 creatures that shouldn’t exist
DIY fashion ideas
When the world will end
Poll: Nobody cares anymore


Today’s guest judge is…

Kristina Marie Darling

Kristina Marie Darling

Kristina Marie Darling

Kristina is the author of 17 books, which include Melancholia (An Essay) (Ravenna Press, 2012), Petrarchan (BlazeVOX Books, 2013), and a forthcoming hybrid genre collection called Fortress (Sundress Publications, 2014).

Check out her collaboration, Music For Another Life, with Max Avi Kaplan (BlazeVOX Books) by clicking here.

Her awards include fellowships from Yaddo, the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation, and the Hawthornden Castle International Retreat for Writers, as well as grants from the Kittredge Fund and the Elizabeth George Foundation. She is currently working toward a Ph.D. in Poetics at S.U.N.Y.-Buffalo.

Learn more here: http://kristinamariedarling.com/.


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. He spends way too much time on search engines and in databases. Learn more about Robert here: http://www.robertleebrewer.com/.


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763 thoughts on “2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 24

  1. Angie5804

    No time you say?
    Step away from the computer
    Hands in the air
    No time you say?
    Turn off that TV
    Find those shoes
    No time you say?
    Put down that phone
    Put down that game
    No time you say?
    Reach for your toes
    No time you say?
    Tell it to the undertaker

    Angie Bell

  2. stepstep


    Tell it to the Banker
    Make your wishes and desires known
    Let your requests be subject to scrutiny
    As they become full blown.

    How when you acquire loads of money
    You’ll know exactly what to do
    Like feel the hungry, clothe the naked
    Make your charities the glue

    To prove what’s worthwhile
    Cause by needed cause
    Explain to the Banker
    Each cause has a clause.

    Tell it to the Banker
    Money can used for bad or good
    But all your money causes
    Will be used as they should.


  3. seingraham


    “The vanity of being known to be trusted with a secret is generally
    one of the chief motives to disclose it.” Dr. Samuel Johnson

    You exclaim,
    saying, you could
    not bear it
    Not another day,
    not another second
    This knowledge
    that you possess
    Of all the
    “listening in”
    your government
    was doing;
    was capable
    of doing.

    Even though
    when you
    your position,
    it was to help
    effect this very
    This “listening in”
    as you call it now
    When you signed
    papers confirming
    your knowledge
    of the fact, and
    your sworn affidavit
    of confidentiality
    when you joined
    this department.

    Now, it seems,
    you are
    suddenly rife
    with pangs
    of conscience,
    worried that
    personal emails
    and other
    private data
    to the citizenry,
    are ripe
    for the picking…
    And your moral
    compass has sprung
    to the fore.

    You have slashed
    all links
    to everything
    Broken, not only the
    rules of employment…
    that would
    be bad enough.

    But – no, you
    have taken
    it more than
    one giant step
    further, and
    broken the law
    More than one law,
    in fact
    As you reveal
    what your agency
    is not only capable
    of doing
    But is actually

    Do you whisper
    this news
    into some
    reporter’s ear?
    No, you announce
    it publically
    in such a way
    that necessitates
    your fleeing
    the country
    of your birth
    and citizenship;
    and having to
    seek asylum
    in some
    other country
    A place
    from which
    you cannot
    be extradited.

    At what point,
    we cannot
    help wondering
    Did you say
    to yourself
    Perhaps I should
    just told this
    to my priest?

  4. ianchandler

    Tell It to the Eavesdropper

    Sometimes I go
    when I look bad

    I haven’t looked that bad in ten years
    one of those

    gobs of

    high pitch

    ten feet from the



    three times

    the little kid
    for some reason.

  5. IndiFox

    Night Visits

    Awaking from my nightmare
    I scream
    Then you rush in
    And comfort me
    Stroking my hair
    You tell me not to worry
    There’s no such thing as monsters
    You say
    Then you kiss my forehead
    Turn off the light
    And leave
    There’s no such thing as monsters
    I hear you murmur
    As you walk away
    But tell it to the rapist
    Who sleeps in your bed

  6. Benjamin Thomas


    Your honor,
    I plead insanity…
    for the prompt
    that strikes my muse.
    But let’s be clear,
    that I’m not confused.
    I’m alert and oriented.
    However, my lunacy
    is quite evident;
    in that
    I blew
    a fuse,

  7. bookworm0341

    “Tell it to MY FACE”

    If you have something negative to say to me,
    Tell it to my face.
    I don’t mind constructive criticism.

    Yet, you won’t tell me, but will tell others?
    What you are doing
    is Destructive criticism

    If you have a problem with me,
    Tell it to my face.
    Maybe it was just a misunderstanding.

    Yet, you won’t come to me, but will go to others?
    Saying things that aren’t true behind someone’s back-
    that is called gossip.

    Next time you have something to say,
    so nothing can get in the way of good communication,
    it will save us both the hurt and frustration,
    if you just tell it to my face.

    By Jennifer M. Terry
    April 24, 2014

  8. Aberdeen Lane


    tell it to the wind

    the wind comes
    with dragons
    dragging my identity
    into trees
    through the mud

    of course I’m dirty
    dear cranes
    please rebuild me

    you want to complain of my condition?!

    tell it to the wind

  9. Amirae Garcia

    Tell It To The Brokenhearted Girl – Amirae Garcia

    Tell it to the brokenhearted girl.
    Let your words spill out onto the pages
    of the letters you will never send to her.
    Turn your apologies into sonnets.
    Compose songs dedicated to her
    containing choruses of “I’m sorry” and
    “I love you” and “I’ll never leave again.”

    Crawl back to her on your knees.
    Beg her and shower her with pleas.
    Tell her how it wasn’t your fault.
    Tell her how it was the biggest mistake
    of your life, but it wasn’t your fault.
    Try to pick her up from the floor and
    stitch her back together with your lips.
    That’s right, make yourself believe you
    are the hero in her story.
    Build yourself up after you
    made her feel so small.

    Tell it to the brokenhearted girl,
    because I don’t believe a single word.

    I grew up and dusted myself off
    from your empty promises and lies.
    I crawled back to myself, all cuts
    and bruises, and held myself.
    Maybe I should thank you,
    but then again, you have no business
    with my thanks. Because when I fell apart,
    I put myself back together.

    Tell it to the brokenhearted girl
    before she becomes me, because
    I won’t have a single word.

  10. foodpoet

    Tell it to the boss

    I sit at the computer
    Key board shackled
    Waiting the clock to click
    I never used to be a
    Tell it by working to the bottom line
    And no more.
    No extra projects
    Tell it by shutting down on the dot
    No energy no pep
    Just telling it…

    Megan McDonald

  11. alana sherman

    Day 24 Tell it to the ____________

    (also a Napowrimo prompt a poem w/20??) I didn’t quite get 20 but…


    Is what the oracle tells me true?
    Have I always required an enemy? And, what mysterious
    meaning lies hidden behind those words?
    Who is my enemy? You, the reader?
    Is it my daughter who wants to live away from me?
    Her husband? Do I really believe he’s my adversary?

    And what does having targets
    for antagonism achieve? Can it change one thing?
    Does it move me any closer to a goal? Will it save the whales?
    Make happen in the world anything I’d like
    to see take place? Why should I prize
    being contrary? What does having grounds
    for erratic action satisfy in me? Does it make me special?
    Will it deflect criticism?
    I tell you Oracle be straightforward for once—
    Give me answers I can understand.


  12. horselovernat

    Tell it to the Northern Wind by Natalie Gasper

    Find an old abandoned lot
    sitting up above the city,
    a place where no one else goes
    and you can be all alone.

    Close your eyes and feel,
    feel everything you’ve been holding inside
    slowly come to the surface,
    raging like an active volcano.

    The pressure is building and building
    until you can’t hold it down anymore,
    so you scream at the top of your lungs
    and hit notes dogs can’t even hear.

    You scream about your overbearing boss,
    the irritating, OCD habits of your coworkers,
    about all the unrealistic expectations of your parents,
    and how you just can’t take it anymore!

    Tell it to the northern wind as loud as you can
    because he’s the only one who truly listens.
    Not a single soul you know really cares about
    or wants to know your troubles.

    When there is nothing left inside
    except the shadows of your stress,
    you fall to your knees and collapse,
    desperate to know how to carry on.

    As a breeze sweeps graciously towards the south
    it stops first to play a game with you hair,
    to let its cool touch send shivers down your spine
    and remind you that everything will be ok.

  13. KiManou


    Tell it to my face
    who your smile lied to
    in the light of day
    but stole away
    in the dark of night

    Tell it to my heart
    metaphysically shattered
    spilling broken promises
    under cardiac arrest
    It believed every word you pumped
    to be true
    I need a transfusion

    Tell it to my body
    She submitted to you
    received you
    assented under your hands
    disintegrated with every thrust
    agile trust…she followed you

    Tell it to my soul
    behind cavernous eyes
    still hunting for peace
    still shedding remnants of you

    Tell it to my future
    not in your hands
    not from your heart
    Blank Colorful Solid
    It is well
    without you


  14. PenConnor

    I lay in the dark,
    wish my wolf-heart wasn’t pierced,
    longing for your touch.
    I failed you, still love you, hate
    some of this and all of me.

    Tell it to the moon:
    howl your wish that we were whole.
    Howl your broken heart;
    Wish to turn back that damned clock.
    Or live with choices you’ve made.

  15. Evelyn Philipp

    Tell it to the principal
    How they were pushing and hitting
    you, making bruises
    and calling you “wuss”
    and worse things.
    Yanking your pants
    until they came down.
    Laughing, laughing.

    Will he hear?

    Tell it to their parents
    that their sweet
    children transform into
    hellish creatures bent on torture
    in the
    warp-space of a bus ride
    every day.
    Planning, plotting.

    Will they care?

    Tell it to the judge
    how you could not
    go back to school
    after they broke your arm.
    They snicker and boys will be
    boys is the lawyer’s theme.
    Horseplay or assault.

    Will justice be served?

    Perhaps, at last.

  16. d dyson

    Tell it to the stars
    they listen, brightly amused
    watching over us.

    Tell it to the sun,
    she injects a breath of life
    to land, sea and earth.

    Tell it to the moon,
    he waits to hear your worries
    and dissolve them all.

    Tell it to the sea,
    she carries secrets so well
    she can bury deep.

  17. mbramucci

    Tell it to the Other End of the Line
    By: Michelle Bramucci

    Tell it to the me who
    Waits for no one
    She took the bait
    Now bears the consequence of haste
    Your patience keeps
    Our line bound and taut
    Only to unravel
    When the hook slips
    And I drift along the wake
    Into your arms and the line slacks
    And the line tangles
    And the net holds us closely
    Deeper in love

  18. jclenhardt

    Tell It To The Minstrel

    Tell it to the Minstrel;
    the Mouse,
    who lives beneath
    the Chapel
    with his big
    and oversized
    ears, and though
    hard of hearing,
    he is a good listener,
    and for a small block
    of cheese will sing
    you a jig – off tune.

  19. julie e.

    TELL IT TO THE OTHER GUY: bird’s eye view.

    I’ve been hangin’ out in this nest lettin’ mom and dad keep me fed and warm and just observing my siblings’ forms as they vacate this humble abode here in the porch eaves and watchin’ ‘em lunge and plunge testing out their wings and one thing i can tell you for sure is i’m not leaving till i’m sure i won’t do like the last guy and fly straight into the side of the garage then turn and bounce off the window and end up stunned on the ground wondering why the sky’s so hard, so if you have some advice then tell it to the other guy cuz that’s just words, and i’m gonna keep watching till i know i can soar.

  20. BezBawni

    Fairy Tales

    tell that sweet story of a prince
    remember? when we were in Paris
    putting a lock on a bridge
    with our names on it?

    tell it, the story is so nice
    remember? I couldn’t stop crying
    you had to give me your tissue
    your mother’s present

    tell it, I love it dearly
    could you? there’s nothing better
    than when you get to the end
    and hum the tune

    do tell, you’re such a talented
    story-teller, tell it to that girl
    I saw you with when you called to tell me
    you had to work late
    by Lucretia Amstell

  21. Poetess

    Tell It To Her

    She said write
    A letter to myself
    Third eye
    I need some help

    Be kind to me
    I can see it
    Fleeting pain
    Only a minute

    The gift I have
    My outer form
    Beauty is mine
    My inner score

    Creative moments
    Find me clever
    Birthing words
    Secret endeavor

    I didn’t drive drunk
    I sat on the curb
    I didn’t go with a stranger
    Have you heard?

    I see the bright side
    Of my life
    And my brilliance
    Is truly rife

    Kindness and love
    Mustering for me
    I finally know it

    I am a syndrome
    And oxymoron
    Sharp and dull sides
    This coin is on

    Birth and death
    The sun the moon
    Polar opposites
    My familiar tune

    Eternally voicing
    Pages they render
    My loving acceptance
    My real surrender

    Masculine ways
    Healing the broken
    My feminine heart
    The silent notion

    A “complement “
    Perfect as I am
    Finding my words
    From the pen

    She said write
    A kind letter
    To the wounded girl
    Tell it to her

  22. Penny Henderson


    Winter does not care to leave.
    Snow insists on sifting down.
    Air recedes to frigid zones,
    low slung clouds glower and frown.

    Slowly, slyly, grass turns green.
    The gavel falls, shoots are froze.
    Robin stands to defy the verdict:
    “Try telling that to the primrose.”

  23. Azma


    Delirious over thinking
    Ridiculous magnifying
    of preposterous mole hills
    There’s not much ado here
    take a breather!

    -Azma Sheikh

  24. Brian Slusher


    Is it me or does everyone
    look like they’ve swallowed
    a TV? I go to the grocery
    and the aisles are clogged
    with people who seem
    to sport inflatable clothes,
    their pants and tees
    straining to make them
    perfect spheres. And though
    only 8.4% of our aged 2 to 5
    are obese, I can’t tell from
    the chunks being strolled
    through the mall by their
    sweating, breathless parents.
    Later at home, they’ll be
    parked before the tube
    to watch a pack of giant
    overfed babies cavort and coo,
    their colorful, swollen guts
    filled with a screen

  25. shethra77

    Tell It to the Great Big Sky-blue Elephant

    Tell it to the great big sky blue elephant—
    it runs in the fields just over there—
    See? How it poses on the ridge?
    Elephants are creatures always sure to care.

    As you know, the great big sky-blue elephant
    is wise, like all the gray of its kind.
    I’m sure it has an answer for you
    From dark, hidden depths in its elephant mind.

    Seek ye out the great big sky-blue elephant.
    It loves horizons, where it stands tall,
    practicing blending in with azure, so
    most people will not see the beast at all.

    Go! Trek to the great big sky-blue elephant!
    I tell you—there’s where your answer lies.
    Wisest pachyderms, of thought profound,
    Are the kind who blend best with the summer skies.

  26. Heidi


    That what it saw
    sounded like reed
    chimes knocking
    a song to the ear.
    And felt like thick
    silk moist with
    honey to the fingers
    kneading for the
    words that only
    the tongue can
    twist into articulate
    tasting sweet and
    bitter. An aroma
    the nose inhaled
    swelling the ribcage
    into a giddy swagger
    that the eye saw.

    Heidi R. de Contreras

  27. JayGee2711

    Tell It To the War Elephant

    Only dust
    will be
    left behind

    triumph over
    temblors, volcanoes sheared away,

    bark and shavings piled on the floor…

    boats built strong
    while steamy
    jungles wait

    and prowling rivers overflow

    their chains
    beyond the
    crumbling walls.

    The stones are small

    but carried on the backs
    of giants,

    cities bend,

    songs escape their snares

    and history

    Julie Germain

  28. Michael Wells

    Tell It To The Ear

    There is a certain age
    regardless of blood
    relation, when kids
    seem to thrive upon
    tattling on another.

    So it was in our
    household to wit
    their mother, tired
    of the tattling
    cut out an ear
    the size of a
    round bottom
    of a skillet, and
    taped it to the side
    of the refrigerator.

    When two or more
    of the children
    ran to their mother
    tattling over the
    “nu-uh” protest
    of another, she
    would simply
    instruct them,
    Go tell it to the ear
    and they would.

  29. LeighSpencer

    Tell it to the Empty Chair

    He doesn’t let me finish
    a sentence

    Assumes he must know
    what I mean
    simple as I am

    Doesn’t want to go out
    to a party
    full of people
    as simple as that

    My last memories
    are of his fingers
    and knees

    I spent so many years
    talking through
    the newspaper
    covering all else

    Delivering edicts
    from behind the paper walls

    I issue no comment

    I wonder if you notice
    I’m gone?

    I finally
    finished my sentence

    You are talking
    to an empty chair

  30. sbpoet


    I say goodbye, and goodbye again.
    The wind chimes sing,
    naked branches dance. I smell snow
    in the air, and you so cold,
    so distant, falling now through frigid
    sky like amnesia, goodbye
    to all that, to weather and precise
    locations, they all tumble
    together, tundra and meadow,
    mountain and lush green
    valley, a confusion, a collage
    of memory and longing,
    tamarisk, cedar, pine, spruce,
    and all the birds, crying, calling,
    migrating in choreographed clouds
    of wings, goodbye, goodbye.

    ~ sharon.brogan

  31. novacatmando

    Tell it to a Grown Man

    this will make him cry: if she’s a mean machine, slick in oil and kicks his tank, if he can’t start it up go watch ‘Saving Private Ryan’ or some ‘Shawshank Redemption.’ All noise, or laughs, to cover the awkward moment of a cry. A sound that can really drown if he’ll try a videogame, kill his girl, regrettably, or see her skinned alive. For a lighter tear, read these three poems by Hardy, or five by Auden, end with “I see a girl dragged by the wrists” by Philip Larkin.

    he may not cry: in fear of thoughts, over simple sounds like goodbye, when the prey is his love, or when bright days solely drag him down, the spring sky nailed like an egg to his brow.

  32. Daniel Paicopulos

    Tell It To The Marines

    The trick is to live a good life,
    without worrying about rewards,
    be it from others or your gods.
    If they judge you and are fair,
    they’ll admire your effort,
    even when you fail,
    and fail you will.
    If they are not fair and just,
    their opinions should not matter,
    and you should not have them as friends,
    you should not worship them.
    If there are no gods,
    the trick is still to live a good life.
    If you are steadfast in your goals,
    devout in your goodness,
    someone’s memory will hold you dear,
    long after you are gone.

  33. Yolee

    Tell It To the Silence

    That after the thaw, one branch
    on the avocado tree still
    and appears
    to have taken exception
    when a whisper
    broke loose that all was lost.

    That thankfully today
    the shape of hope
    is in little
    green leaves jeweled
    in dew seasoning.

    That the leaves fan the trunk
    that cannot resist
    but to faithfully hold them high
    the midst of
    your irresistible presence.

  34. Lindy™

    Tell it to the Sandman

    who occasionally skips a beat.
    It seems like he forgets
    we humans frail with time
    and time is cruel with lack of sleep.
    One night is all it takes
    to set you out of place,
    your mind and body start to falter
    at an evenly rapid pace.
    Your eyelids will be heavy,
    but closing them is repleat
    with half-unconscious visions
    and sounds that can’t be traced.
    You’ll be torn between caffiene,
    for tasks you must complete,
    and cataplexic rest stops
    that fail to meet your need.
    Upon return the next night,
    he’ll double up the dose.
    You’ll become like sleeping beauty,
    100 years comatose.
    You’ll wake up sore and cranky,
    who’ll ask if you’re still alive
    and even though unsure
    you’ll mutter, “yeah, I’m fine.”
    So whatever keeps you up,
    whatever isn’t right,
    Tell it to the sandman
    because he missed my house last night.

  35. Linda Hatton

    Tell It to the Silence

    Just when you think you’ve proven
    you exist, there is no you. A pack of wolves
    yips on hilly backyard topography, interrupting sleep-
    lessness, sirens show off their interest
    in emergencies, all these years later,
    the sound of your words continues speeding
    light years through each filament
    of my common sense, blood pulses
    in my temples like the squish
    of footsteps through the muck my sorrow
    has left behind. Only when I finally end
    my breathing to leave myself,
    will I find the silence I need
    to fill the noise.

    -Linda G Hatton

  36. jean

    Tell It to the Gravestone — a villanelle

    Tell it to the gravestone.
    I feel a wintry chill,
    Now that I am left alone.

    How I cry and weep and moan!
    Gone are you, my thrill!
    Tell it to the gravestone.

    Everything has crumbled. Gone!
    Losing strength and will
    Now that I am left alone.

    Your infidelity had grown.
    Though I could not see it still
    Tell it to the gravestone.

    I caught you! You were not alone!
    With guilt, my heart does fill,
    Now that I am left alone.

    Skills with poison I did hone.
    It was no feat to kill.
    Tell it to the gravestone.
    Now that I am left alone.

  37. cholder

    Tell It to the Elephant

    Where is the elephant?
    She asks politely
    Pretends she can’t see me
    Grabs another drink
    Directs the conversation to another topic
    Dances around the room with anyone who will join her
    Grabs another drink
    Denying anyone mentioned me at all
    I’ve been white, pink, wallpaper, but
    She will never notice me
    Even as she grabs

    Chi Holder

  38. jasonlmartin

    Tell It to the Rhyme

    A rhyme is quite benevolent,
    dressed in an attire you’d expect,
    or, slightly off-kilter, a bent or a slant.
    You tell a rhyme to take a sound, reflect
    its vowels, ask it kindly to sing a melody
    with meaning. And if you and your rhyme agree,
    you’ll echo it over your tongue with pride
    to acknowledge this partnership you’ve laid

    down on this paper, inscribing your mark against the rock,
    then balancing yourself on top, in one hand rhyme, the other, reason.
    Be thankful if your poem sticks to a sturdy place, defies the clock.

  39. MyPoeticHeart

    Tell it to the blog

    Being ‘sisters’ of the other kind
    I see at times missed communication
    Her part vs my part
    trying to get along

    One who is at best sensible
    one is who is at worst _______
    Is there such a word
    I am frustrated today

    Tell it to the blog…

  40. Pengame30

    “Tell it to the world”

    Rich people view you as peasants,
    Yet you spend your last dollar to don their flashy garments,
    sewn together by people who’s daily income amounts to pennies.
    The air we breathe contains the DNA of all that came before us,
    and you too, will one day be dust.
    The money you spend will outlive you,
    but it will never be worth more than life itself.
    We’re all one and the,
    all the way down to the lowly addict who shoves rocks in glass pipes.

    Written By: Sean Drew

    1. Pengame30

      “Tell it to the world”

      Rich people view you as peasants,
      Yet you spend your last dollar to don their flashy garments,
      sewn together by people who’s daily income amounts to pennies.
      The air we breathe contains the DNA of all that came before us,
      and you too, will one day be dust.
      The money you spend will outlive you,
      but it will never be worth more than life itself.
      We’re all one and the same,
      all the way down to the lowly addict who shoves rocks in glass pipes.

      Written By: Sean Drew

  41. Grey_Ay

    Tell it to the Wind

    Tell it to the wind
    your messenger it will be
    flying towards my address
    delivering, gently

    Tell it to the breeze
    be not offended if it laughs
    it is a youthful, joyous thing
    but your words it will pass

    Tell it to the gale
    with the force of unending storm
    your heart will send o’er earth
    and stop at nothing ’til it’s home

    Tell it to the silence
    it will listen, I will speak
    in the waves of quiet stillness
    our minds will fully meet.

    -A. Ault-

  42. Mustang Sal

    Tell it to the world –
    your story.

    Shout it off a bridge.
    Echo it in a canyon.
    Laugh it down a waterfall.
    Whisper it to a just-born fawn.

    Work it into the spring soil.

    Write it in indelible ink.
    Paint it on a city wall.
    Carve it in an old tree.
    Scribble it on a post-it note.

    Watch it grow and ripen.

    Dance it down the sidewalk.
    Hitch it to a passing train.
    Secret it on a cargo ship.
    Tie it round a seagull’s neck.

    Serve it for dinner.
    Someone will eat it up.

  43. Anvanya


    Item: one postcard from Hawaii – a three cent stamp.
    Four apologetic lines about how this was all you could
    Find on a four hour shore leave. Honolulu Harbor.

    Item: one one-page letter with your FPO address
    In the upper left-hand corner; text: we are in Guam.
    Enclosed photo of shirtless you leaning against the
    Forward ship rail.

    Item: one decorated metal candy box filled to the brim
    With oatmeal-coconut cookies, lovingly wrapped
    First with waxed paper, then in aluminium foil.
    SWAK included.

    Item: one page letter postmarked FPO,
    A thank you for the cookies, and how they
    Had to be hidden from hungry bunk mates.
    We’re here to build an airport; I’m on night duty.

    Item: one postcard, from Hollywood Station
    To FPO – a four cent stamp. A frame of Decorative
    hand-painted leaves. Cramped text regarding the latest
    cramming for English and Theology exams.
    Many XXs and OOs at the bottom.

    Item: two page letter, postmark South Gate,
    Contains a poem, “In Consolation For the Rain”
    – because it was monsoon season in Thailand.

    Item: one shoebox containing a small hand-
    Fabricated Missal for Christmas Mass; plus
    Incidental hard candies. Note reads:
    So sorry you are in hospital. Get well ASAP –
    I Love you. Come home soon.

    Item: One telegram – FPO:
    Arriving Tuesday or Wednesday in San Diego.

    Item: one girlfriend mowing front lawn;
    One taxi drops off one Sea Bee at the curb.
    One giant hug; accompanying kisses and sighs.

  44. jsmadge

    Clear Your Head

    If, after a night of worry
    You wonder why asterisks exist,
    And what radio waves think,
    And if, ever, the government sighs,
    Tell it to the morning,
    Once lightly, and be redeemed.

    Jo Steigerwald

  45. madeline40

    Tell it to anyone who will listen

    You gotta get it out
    You gotta shout it out
    Get up on your soapbox
    Ring your bell
    Honk your horn
    Bark it out your megaphone.
    And once you’ve got their attention
    Here’s the thing:
    The Ghostbusters are coming
    Yeah they’re coming back
    In their gray jumpsuits
    And special head lights
    And their backpacks loaded
    with oxygen tanks
    And their famous green slime
    Tell it to anyone who will listen,
    The mad scientists are back
    To bust out your ghosts.

    Tell it to anyone who will listen.

  46. lethejerome

    “Tell It to the Mountains”

    you already stand in their long shadow, go
    among them and shout what
    you want to hear yourself be heard declaiming;
    the weights your chest cannot bear, cry and holler and
    hollow out what remains to be seen, bare
    what is clothed and wait for
    it to bounce back at you.

    Jérôme Melançon

  47. David Walker

    Tell It to the Fanny Pack

    The wayward stepchild of guilty
    convenience. You twist is this way
    and that around your waist and yet

    can never find a position that makes
    you proud of your sexuality. Sure,
    it is the phrase ‘On Demand’

    personified – keys, sunglasses,
    loose change immediately there
    when you need it – but it also

    embodies ‘Snap Judgement,’ ‘Wuss,’
    and ‘Lives at Home with Mom.’ You
    want to reclaim your identity?

    Tell it to the fanny pack and see
    if it has any tips for you on that

  48. Kevin D Young


    On the first day God’s phone
    interrupted a particularly pleasant
    interlude, just between the music
    of the spheres and Act One.

    Now who could be calling
    at this hour, he thought, but this was before
    “leave a message” so he picked up. Is this
    God, the caller asked. Who

    wants to know, God answered.
    There’s a problem at the End of Time, said the voice,
    probably a glitch in the first femto-second.
    Could you please have a look.

    Paging through the script, God
    found the offending passage and erased a line.
    The phone went dead, as did the voice.
    Lo, it was very good.

  49. rreags

    Hence it’s every mister in the high-rise

    who’s wanting to become the Turtledove

    Automatons. Publicized at a time when

    the Punk Revolution finally turns orange,

    music critcs have baffled a diaper bag

    of historical friends on the pavement

    known as Burnt Entourage. Enveloping

    a cast-iron amnesia, Tsunami #247

    inspired graffiti that sang to tune of the

    River Thames and especially Big Ben.

    by Robin Reagler

  50. Snow Write


    Laces tied tight
    Legs all stretched out
    Time to run now
    Set a strong pace
    Feel the weather
    Make your own wind
    Move your body
    Build momentum
    You and pavement
    Carefree running
    Nothing matters
    Feel your heartbeat
    Push the pace up
    Set the next goal
    Keep legs moving
    Let it all out
    Sprint to the end
    Reach your final
    Slow your
    stride down
    Breathe in
    Breathe out

  51. Debbie


    It’s measured by many words
    in a world often absurd.
    In holding on to true belief
    avoiding any unwanted grief.

    It’s measured by a formidable gift
    to inspire, impact, and truly lift.
    Grasping whatever can be held
    Keeping us within our spell.

    I’m speaking of our power within
    to teach ourselves both loss and win.
    Don’t focus on what others should be.
    Tell it to you — tell it to me.

  52. Nancy Posey

    (Have I mentioned that I teach English and LIt? Thought so. it’s that time of the semester.)

    Because I am the teacher
    because I am the teacher
    because I am the teacher…

    I imagine myself writing over and over on the white board
    in the green Expo marker with the smell that sends me
    straight into hallucinations. (How long have I taught?
    Long enough to recognize board markers by visibility,
    ease of erasure, and scent.) Spring Fling precedes
    Easter Break, with three weeks left, long days
    that confirm that their commitment wanes
    as my stacks of not-yet-graded essays
    rises, towering on my rolling chair.
    I assign one single poem, with
    two days to read. No one
    has read. But me. Even
    with dictionary.com
    on their cell phones—
    and they all have
    cellphones, no
    one thought
    to look up
    a single
    Class dismissed. Expect a test on Monday.
    Over one poem: Robert Browning’s
    “My Last Duchess.” Read it.
    and then read it again.

  53. lidywilks

    Tell it to the Bogeyman

    He slouches down our street
    His thin shags of hair
    Swaying to and fro his
    Haggard face
    The street lights flickering
    In fear t his presence
    But they don’t hear him
    As he steps onto our yard
    The moon above shirks
    In fright behind the clouds
    As he adjust the sack on his back
    Waiting impatiently to bloat
    With squirming, naughty little things
    But they don’t hear him
    As he steps onto our porch
    My warnings to be good little boys
    Have so far been met with deaf ears
    And the house continues to quake
    With their war cries ringing through the air,
    The family room now their playground
    With carcasses of their toys, clothes
    And books rotting on the carpet.
    Dinner, laid waste on the table
    To serve as tomorrow’s breakfast
    And now they vow to blind themselves
    Standing before the TV, watching
    Their cartoon favorites instead of going to bed.
    By then it’s too late, because there’s
    knocking on the door.
    He has come to fetch his dinner,
    he’s come for my squirming, naughty little things.

    by Lidy Wilks

    1. lidywilks

      oops, this one is the true poem, but with slight differences

      Tell it to the Bogeyman

      He slouches down our street,
      his thin, shagging hair
      swaying to and fro his
      haggard face.
      The street lights flicker
      in fear before him as he pauses
      and sniffs the air, as he looks for
      squirming, naughty Little things.
      But they don’t hear him
      as his nose lead him to our yard.
      The moon above shirks
      behind the clouds as he adjusts
      the sack on his back, waiting impatiently
      to bloat with squirming, naughty little things
      but they don’t hear him
      as he makes his way to our porch.
      My prior warnings to be good little boys
      have been met with lopped ears
      and the house continues to quake
      with their war cries ringing through the air.
      The family room, now their playground,
      Is littered with carcasses of their toys,
      Clothes and books rotting on the carpet.
      Dinner had been laid to waste, waiting
      to be reserved as tomorrow’s breakfast.
      And now they’re vowing to blind themselves
      standing before the TV, watching
      their cartoon favorites instead of going to bed.
      But it’s already too late, because there’s someone
      knocking on the door.
      He has come to fetch his dinner.
      He’s come for my squirming, naughty little things.

      by Lidy Wilks

  54. MMC

    To Writers Everywhere

    Tell it to the page
    the blank one
    the one that waits
    to be told something
    the one that sits
    in a quiet stack
    next to your printer
    waiting to become
    waiting to be filled
    with the next ode
    or sonnet or even
    the next rant
    waiting for you
    to give the message
    only you can tell

  55. EbenAt

    Tell it to the mountain.
    Tell Sagarmatha
    you are sorry.

    The Shar Pa don’t call it Everest,
    don’t care about some
    long dead Sahib surveyor.
    This is
    holy land.

    Western climbers are
    barely tolerated guests;
    Miyolangsangma did not
    invite you
    to her palace.

    It is easy to think
    ‘We pay them so much,’
    but what good is that when
    deaths rob families of
    fathers and sons,
    brothers and husbands?

  56. cam45237

    Tell it to my face

    Ceaseless whispers slither from your lips
    Accumulated echoes overlap
    Your lies are loud, my friend
    Your liver, lily

    Poison darts and daggers fill your eyes
    Well-honed knives hide in your satin sleeves
    You’re wearing white, my friend
    Lest you look guilty

    I cannot seem to find it in my heart
    To do unto as you have done to me
    I must admit, my friend
    I’m disadvantaged

    Remove your cupped hand from your blood-stained mouth,
    Stand straight and tall. Unbend your crooked back,
    Look me in the eyes, my friend
    And do your damage

  57. Mokosh28

    Tell It to Dawn

    Tell it to dawn: night thought
    that kept you tossing. She will
    sear it with clarity. Tell it to
    dawn: that wink of an idea. She
    will polish its brilliance with her
    clear eye. Tell it to dawn: memory
    that made you weep and she will sit
    with you on a bench in the park
    arm around your shoulders, no
    guilt or blame, just the companionship
    of a little wind, some cloud color,
    and bird murmur. Tell her of the shape
    beneath the covers that could be
    the contour of a lover or just
    a hill you need to climb. She sends
    you home shadow-free, keeping sleep
    for herself, passage
    to the necessary side of the world.

    Joanne M. Clarkson

  58. CLRichardson

    Tell it to the pit in my stomach

    Your words float around me
    As if I am not here
    You feel your comforting a person
    Only I’m nothing but a hollow shell
    An empty shell of human
    With nothing left in life
    Your comfort is misguided
    You’re trying to reach my heart
    There’s nothing left inside
    As my heart is sealed in a box
    I’m an empty abyss of darkness
    As your words continue to float

    Christy Lynn Richardson

  59. novacatmando

    Tell it to a Grown Man

    this will make him cry:
    if she’s a mean machine and kicks the oil in his tank, if he can’t start it up go watch ‘Saving Private Ryan’ or some ‘Shawshank Redemption.’ All noise, or laughs, to cover the awkward moment of a cry. This sound can really drown if he’ll try a videogame, kill his girl, regrettably, or see her skinned alive. For a lighter tear, read these three poems by Hardy, or five by Auden, end with “I see a girl dragged by the wrists” by Philip Larkin.

    he may not cry:
    in fear of thoughts, over simple sounds like goodbye, when the prey is his love, or when a bright day solely drags him down, the spring sky nailed like an egg to his brow.

  60. Lori D. Laird

    Tell It To The Next One

    It’s been a week since
    I’ve heard one of your lies.
    It’s been longer than that
    since I’ve looked into your eyes.
    Overall I’m okay.
    Yes I’ve had ups and downs.
    Sometimes a smile.
    Often a tearful frown.

    I miss your laughter.
    And the devilish grin.
    That smirk is my undoing.
    I’d commit any sin.
    As long as I wasn’t tossed in jail.
    But you don’t want me.
    Walked away without a trace.
    Tarnished every memory.

    I’m realizing it was
    only a vicious game.
    One in which numbers
    replaced women’s names.
    I can’t believe
    I was such a naivé fool.
    I need to be locked in a room
    with someone recording my drool.

    I gave everything I could.
    It wasn’t enough.
    You want a public image
    instead of the privacy of love.
    It’s a lonely existence.
    I get it. I really do.
    But it’s your loss.
    For it’s a real man that I’m due.

    So take your cowardly lion ass
    and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.
    Because you’ve made the biggest mistake
    when you refused to be mine.
    Enjoy your “perfect” show.
    It’s just what you deserve.
    Because you never understood
    the way you made my heart glow.

  61. PSC in CT

    Tell it to the Turtles

    If you’ve got a secret
    that would make a sailor blush
    and you really want to share it
    (but it must be kept hush-hush)
    be careful who you tell it to,
    be wary what you say:

    You can’t trust frogs and crickets
    ‘cause they gossip night and day!
    And don’t believe that birds are safe
    ‘cause everybody knows
    about the squawking prattle
    of the blue jays and the crows.

    Most chipmunks and some squirrels
    will chatter, every chance they get
    and if you wish to tell the fish, my friend,
    well, you’re all wet!

    No, if you need to tell someone
    (whose silence is your goal)
    tell it to the turtles.
    They won’t tell a soul.


  62. mrs.mjbauer

    Tell It to My Face

    Tell it to my face
    I can handle your truth
    In the guise
    Of a prayer request
    Isn’t about prayer

    Tell it to my face
    If you are concerned
    About my life choices
    Tell me
    Not my family
    Not my friends
    Not social media

    Tell it to my face
    Not a text
    Not an email
    Not a Facebook status
    Or even private message

    Tell it to my face
    Or don’t tell it at all

    Mary Bauer

  63. ASperryConnors

    Tell it to the broken door …

    That somehow I have failed
    It is the crack in my heart
    When I hear you crying
    It is the abyss between
    our hearts that broken door
    And every time you are
    asked to pay for its repair
    The crack grows deeper
    Like a scar that has roots
    Like a crack in the night sky
    Of your soul it spreads
    With every blink of the blind eye
    With every snag in the ribbon road
    Broken doors are metaphors
    For failing to make transitions
    Marking stumbles upon the grain
    Where skinned knuckles bleed

  64. antoniabryanblue

    Tell it to the stupid girl online

    Stupid girl

    She builds a new face
    To steal a new trace
    Of hands that glide
    To break her wide

    She fades away
    In a drink tray
    Used to numb
    Her tongue and thumb

    Naked on the screen
    She wants to be Queen
    To someone’s King
    Yet no prince likes the cling

    Of her fingers craving
    To dig inside and bring
    Fairy tales to life
    Her need is a knife

    Covering up broken smiles
    She thinks excites
    He closes the door
    Doesn’t want the bore

    Of seeing another schoolgirl
    Dancing like a playgirl
    Inside a woman’s body
    Begging to be somebody

    That doesn’t waste away
    To cry another day
    Over a blackening heart
    That cannot depart

    So she keep on trying
    Builds another face in Spring
    To bore another prince
    Looking for a brand new face

  65. Jezzie


    After a bad day at work
    I go home my dog to greet.
    My troubles soon disappear
    as we walk along the street.

    But I’m due to retire soon
    and my dog is old and tired.
    I’ll be needing a close friend
    to talk to when I am bored.

    But my friends are all busy,
    having been retired some time,
    they have joined in lots of clubs
    and rarely are they at home.

    I always talk to my dog,
    but although she cannot hear
    she gives me her attention
    even though her time is near.

    But when my dog takes her walk
    off over the Rainbow Bridge,
    who will I have to talk to,
    who will help my life enrich?

    I’ll be talking to my plants
    and to birds and bees, I’ll bet,
    and to the check out girls in
    our local supermarket.

    I’ll be posting messages,
    mostly in gobbledygook,
    trying to see if there’s life
    on Twitter or on Facebook.

  66. FaerieTalePoet

    Tell it to the Tarot Reader

    How you just want to find the one…
    Is it her?
    Is it him?
    How you can’t decide which job to take…
    This one pays really well…
    But that one is what I really want to do…
    I just feel lost.
    Can you tell me what to choose?
    What should I do with my life?
    Who should I date?
    Is my boyfriend my soul mate?
    Am I on the right path?
    Which direction am I supposed to go in?
    Will he call me?
    Will she ever come back?
    What should I major in?
    Should I quit my job?
    Should I go back to school?
    Just tell me what to do.
    Give me all the answers.
    You should know, you’re psychic after all.

    So many querents do not realize the cards are merely a tool that can be used to read the energy patterns that are most likely to occur, given the path they are on at this point in time. The future is mutable and any little decision can change your path. The cards can show you what is going on around you or what may occur should you continue in the direction you are heading. But, they do not give set answers and ultimately you have to decide what to do with your life.

  67. Tracy Davidson

    Tell it to the moon…

    how grateful we are
    for her reflection
    on the cold water

    how her light stretches
    to the horizon
    showing us the way

    how we huddle up
    for warmth and comfort
    in refugee boats

  68. lionmother

    Tell It To The News

    Tell it to the man who
    blows hot air filled with
    nonsense all over my
    TV screen and to the
    power hungry leaders
    who must attack their
    own people to feel good

    Tell it to the endless stream
    of breaking news that
    floats underneath in waves
    as we try to digest ten
    things at once

    Tell it to the useless rolls
    of looped action played
    over and over again until
    you have memorized the
    actions even if they are
    violent or ridiculous

    Tell it to the accident victims
    who only wanted to have
    a good time, but instead
    they are now front and center
    battered and bruised featured
    as a story while they are
    carted off to the ER

    Tell it to the abused people
    whose lives are not
    showcased for all to see
    but instead must live with
    the chaos of war in a place
    where news has deserted it

    Tell it to my overflowing
    brain inured to explosions
    and gun fire from seeing them
    all too many times in living
    color on the screen and
    wondering why when all
    prefer no guns we have
    a place in our country
    where guns rule

    Tell it to the horror of loss
    we have seen too many
    times on the faces of
    parents whose children
    were caught in the
    nonsense of gun fire
    and whose melting faces
    will be immortalized on
    the screen

  69. muse60

    Tell It

    Tell it to the wounded
    Why they managed to live
    While others died
    Why they felt the agony
    But were dealt no relief

    Tell it to weak
    The voiceless
    The uninsured
    The victims
    Of a society that concerns itself only with the fortunate

    Tell it to the deaf
    The illiterate
    The uninformed
    The incoherent
    Those that could conceive of no injustice

    Tell it to the tyrants
    To their faulted souls
    Their spoiled children
    Their Kevlar skin
    Their righteousness in dividends

    Tell it
    Scream it
    Howl it
    Preach it
    Foul it

    Paste it onto the sky
    Fly it in giant streamers
    Scratch it into the skulls of the missing
    Carve it into the faces of cliffs
    Reveal it

    Tell it to all kings
    All men
    All countries
    All cultures
    Tell it all and breathe your last breath

  70. dawnssong4u

    Go Tell it to The..

    Tattered page..
    of Gods, of battles, of wars that still rage..
    Go Tell it to the bathroom wall;
    “For a good time give so-and-so a call!”
    Go tell it to the projects brick
    Graffiti-Art governs these here Crypts..
    And territory marked by these here Bloods are thick!
    Go tell it to the acronyms of text;
    Smh.. Hru? NSA! MWM seeks same
    but opposite ..? For safe sex..
    Go tell it to the timeline
    of your bff’s page on Facebook!
    Then go tell the retweet on Twitter
    So they too can “Like” it when they go look.
    Go tell it to the email
    but watch out for the “spam!”
    Go tell it to the new “older” users…
    how “it’s” NOT the same stuff that you buy in a can…
    Go tell it to the masses
    with a stroke of a key!
    Then go tell yourself to remember not to believe…
    Everything that you post, hear and or read…

    dawn bigelow

    dawn bigelow aka dawnssong4u

  71. Jaywig

    Tell It To The Ones You Left Behind

    The day you left, all other birds
    became nervous. Many fled.
    I walk in my private bushland
    now excited by one honeyeater
    landing on a sheltered branch.

    I hope you enjoyed your snack
    snatched from my land. No doubt
    you have no interest in eating
    as I do the produce with leaves
    stalks, fruit. For you, pleasure

    is a mouthful of feathers
    a still-warm ovoid of meat
    outraged cries from bereft
    parents. Your eyes soon
    seeking the next prize.

    The garden is silent, though
    dappled and serene, high
    branches of slim gum trees
    lifting in a breeze like wings.
    No take-offs, no landings.

    A white butterfly breaks
    the illusion of stillness, of
    waiting. And of course
    the bees never took notice.
    They go about their business.

    My heart fluttered, glimpsing
    your casual taloned grip
    on a small carcase. I felt
    caught in a mighty moment.
    Now I am disturbed, watchful.

    This eerie silence seems
    more than personal, as if
    the universe has retracted
    promises I took for reality.
    Every single visitor a victory.

  72. Cin5456

    I Tell It to the Page

    I tell it to the page, for
    putting my rage in perspective
    with the pace of my day,
    I perceive alternate emotions
    available for engaging with you.
    I need not emit when emoting.
    Minding my Ps and Qs costs
    nada damn thing. This ring
    of truth is my own shackle.
    I need not chain you to
    this persistent fear. True lies
    may rule, yet not us.
    Breathe. Wave arms at myself
    in a mirror, and rage at the page.
    If I must demote anyone,
    let it be the one who holds
    me back, not the one
    who holds my hand.

    Cynthia Page

  73. Scott Jacobson


    Talking to you is like comuning
    with a dead actor about
    taking the role in a career
    ending film. No matter
    what I say you will still make
    the same wrong decisions.
    Otherwise, you would be
    the future, making
    all the right moves,
    telling the girl you want
    you love her a thousand
    times, instead I am here
    talking to your grave.
    I know you weren’t
    aware that you would
    affect me, the present,
    but there was a time
    when you were in my
    position looking down
    at where you came
    from and so confused
    about where you
    were going to end up.

  74. gmagrady

    TELL IT TO MY TAILLIGHTS (a country song)

    Yeah, cruisin’ with the girls that night,
    the night I made you mine,
    so young and so naive I was
    bein’ taken with your lines.

    You said you’d take me anywhere
    as long as I would drive,
    so we headed to the river
    leavin’ all my friends behind.

    They warned me through that cloud of dust,
    just tellin’ it to my taillights,
    that I’d be sorry for choosin’ you
    when I looked back in hindsight.

    Mom and Pop didn’t like you much,
    we argued every time
    I left to pick you up somewhere
    returning after sunrise.

    But you said you’d take me anywhere
    as long as I would drive,
    so we headed to the courthouse
    leavin’ family behind.

    They warned me through that cloud of dust,
    just tellin’ it to my taillights,
    that I’d be sorry for choosin’ you
    when I looked back in hindsight.

    We tied the knot without a soul
    but you, to see my gown.
    We spent a drunken wedding night
    in the fancy part of town.

    Within a year you’d fooled around
    with more than one or two.
    You drove me crazy every day,
    there was nothing left to do.

    I packed my bags and slammed the door.
    I grabbed the keys to drive.
    I headed alone to the river
    leavin’ your lyin’ lines behind.

    You warned me through that cloud of dust,
    just tellin’ it to my taillights,
    that I’d be sorry for leaving you,
    but I know I’ll be all right.

    Yeah, I know I’ll be all right
    ‘cause it’s clear to me in hindsight.
    So tell it to my taillights,
    keep tellin’ it to my taillights.

  75. encrerouge

    Tell it to the time shot between doors

    — If a thought could discourage the mountain from moving,
    racers would put on head gear and rescue the mission
    from absurdity beyond boundaries of chronometers

    If the lake was a puddle in the eye of an ant,
    planet earth would be the selected illusion
    parachute belief of seventy percent water

    if some choruses became silent in a quiet tongue
    emotions would be more of a friction matter
    between muffled mouths and mental arrhythmia —

    I am locking the portals from the outside.
    The inside killing, made of distant particles,
    A key chain fool filled of open tracks and closed movement.

  76. acele


    Talk to the hand
    What does it have to say?

    does it run along the page
    with sweeping silent spoken word?

    does it clamor and fuss?
    does it clap in praise?
    does it work hard and bear blisters
    as evidence of its doing?
    does it heal? does it rest on my hip?
    does it grasp my neck and knead tired muscles?
    does it rest lovingly on your shoulder?
    does it attempt to tease sweet sound from a wooden box?

    Talk to the hand.
    What does it have to say?

    ©A. Cele

  77. SuziBwritin



    When I was four I went to a wedding
    Mom let me carry the pictures around
    of the beautiful bride and groom
    and all the guests dressed up
    like Easter Sunday
    I had to tell everyone all about it

    When I was seven I made my communion
    in a beautiful white dress and veil
    just like the bride in the wedding
    but before I could receive the Host
    I had to tell the priest all my sins
    (and I had to make some up)

  78. Shell

    Tell It To The Wind
    By Shell Ochsner

    Drifting about this lonely place,

    solidarity suited not.

    So much on tip of tongue,

    with no way out.

    Words obstructed,

    for too many flow at once.

    Try as I might,

    those escaped will fall upon the deaf.

    For no one cares not.

  79. mshall

    Tell it please on twitter
    Said the father to his daughter
    My life’s a frenzy and in a ditter
    I’m far too busy to bother

    Post it please on Facebook
    Said the mother to her son
    I’d like to have a look
    But today I’m on the run

    Send it please on google docs
    Said the teacher to her student
    The tick tock of the clocks
    With time we must be prudent

    Tell it to the air
    Said the wise man to himself
    Old as time the wind only the wind can care
    And she’ll keep your secrets on a shelf

  80. carolecole66

    Who Can I Tell It To?

    In February I cleaned the gutters,
    clearing them before the March leaf fall
    when oaks let loose a storm of leaves,
    clog the drains, create a deep rich mulch
    two stories up and, no small thing,
    a congenial home for roaches.
    By April a tree had seeded, sprouted,
    flourished overhead, wrens already checking
    for its nest potential.

    I wanted to tell it to my mother, she
    of the manicured yard. I wanted to ask her
    how she beat back weeds and volunteers
    and fallen limbs. How she kept the edges
    of the lawn trimmed neat along the walk
    and the bougainvillea tied to its trellis.
    How did she tame such wildness?

    So it was. She can’t tell me, can’t name
    the plants in her too-long-ago gardens, can’t even
    name herself. Now the weeds are left to grow,
    the flowers to bloom wherever they desire.
    I’m out there all alone with tiny shears and clippers,
    hacking at potato vines. Behind my back,
    a strangler fig swallows a palm tree whole.

    If I could tell her now, she’d no doubt laugh:
    “You loved the wilderness when you were young.
    And now you’re reaping what you sowed.”


  81. Janet Rice Carnahan


    Apple tree I see
    Your fruit and juice touches me
    I rest in your shade

    Waterfall and breeze
    Your sounds gently comfort me
    I flow peacefully

    Wafting aromas
    In rows of blooming roses
    Your scent heals my soul

    Bright green tall mountains
    How you inspire my dreams
    Heights I reach with you

    Night fall and sun rise
    I love your cycles of light
    Your yin and yang counts

  82. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    Tell it to the muse

    Tell her to stop hiding.
    Tell her I must keep on writing to the prompt I am given.
    Tell her I am driven. Tell her I’ve forgiven her for the dry spell.
    Oh, you fleeing gazelle.
    In the desert of my mind, I see you running at great speed.
    Why do you feel the need
    to run away
    from me?

  83. Clark Buffington

    Tell it to the dogs

    There are five of them these hounds of ill repute
    Sugar the ancient mini schnauzer of the piercing mind numbing yaps
    Blue the chow mix with the bottom canine that sticks out and scares people
    Rudy the border collie and a squirrel’s worst nightmare if it’s afraid of barking
    LuLu the mastiff whose tail cleans off table tops and injures people
    Sissy the mutt that can tiptoe and climb cupboards to get people’s dinner
    The stories are as numerous as the baths needed to clean up
    There have been times that regrets were voiced about dog ownership
    One thing has always remained constant and true to this day
    Tell it to the dogs because they will never spill your secrets

  84. Emily Cooper

    Tell it to Someone

    if you do not
    or can not
    believe it yourself

    that life will go on
    after your lifetime
    is through.

    Which is not to say
    everything will be all right
    in the end

    and it is not to say
    everything will be terrible
    in the end either

    because the concept
    of “the end”

    implies that one current
    minute division of time
    is the world’s final hurdle

    which feels terrible
    but also a relief

    as in an end to suffering
    for all.

    The realization
    that the smallness of our “blip”

    is still bigger than what humans
    can know

    feels a relief
    but also a burden

    because existence means work.

  85. Linda Lee Sand

    Tell it to the Night

    Tell it to the night the day is spent
    The moon in calm repose does lend an ear
    For in its starry firmament
    It whispers listen, see I am still here.
    All the words that ever have been said
    Every silent swelling anguished call
    Every tear that’s been in secret shed
    The moon has been a mother to it all.
    And still for all its heeding, all its weight
    It plays the heavens nightly, lithe above
    In ever graceful arcs beyond the fate
    Of those it hears, and still it ever loves.
    Oh moon, you onlooker, you listener, too
    I will tell my secret, star-crossed tales to you.

  86. Janet Rice Carnahan


    Whisper it
    Give it a chance

    Tell a joke,
    Make it laugh
    Offer riddles
    Hum a tune
    Just do it soon

    Toast it
    Boast to it
    Read a story
    Pat it on the back
    Give it a book, a whole stack

    Stay humble
    Tell it everything
    Gesture with your hands
    Everything it understands

    Be bold
    Stand tall
    Do sign language
    Go shy
    Ask why

    No reason to yell
    Or stomp about
    Just don’t doubt
    Or shout
    Swearing, definitely out

    On second thought
    Just offering love ought
    To say all that’s needed
    And with even more love given . . .

    That’s how you’ll be greeted!

  87. Janet Rice Carnahan


    Just go for it
    Don’t be afraid to show it
    You know each word
    Wants to be heard
    You’re good . . .

    And you know it!

  88. Janet Rice Carnahan


    Butter up

    You batter come out right
    Perfection in my sight

    Otherwise waffle
    It will be awful

    Don’t fail me for heaven’s sake
    I’ll turn you into a pancake

    And you better hurry up . . .
    If you expect hot sticky syrup!

  89. Nancy Posey

    Tell It to the Children

    You may think the story’s yours alone,
    some little scrap you half remembered
    in the quiet minutes before you gave in
    to sleep. Even now you can’t remember
    what brought it back, maybe the scent
    of the blossoms through the window,
    the thread of a song summoned them,
    those tiny details that make you laugh,
    make you recall just how good you felt
    to be young and free, unfinished.
    Everything was swollen with possibility
    them, and you were itching to go,
    to run ahead and catch your future
    before someone else got to it first.
    Your story is theirs, why they’re here.
    Tell them how you found me, leaning
    against the wall at a dance your mama
    had said you could not, should not go.
    But you didn’t find the devil’s fiddle
    tunes enticing you to sin that night.
    You found a bright-eyed girl, willing
    to grow up, grow old with you, listening
    to your long-winded stories in which
    I always played the starring role.

  90. GirlGriot

    Couldn’t resist changing up the prompt just a little.

    Tell it to My Heart

    feeling –
    hidden, dense.
    All my secrets
    exposed. This time I’m
    than last time,
    than any time
    you’ve been at my side.
    stronger, hard –
    the one thing I’ve
    avoided knowing.


    Tried something weird tonight: using lines from yesterday’s poem, leaving them in the same place they fell yesterday, but seeing how a different prompt might give them a different tone, different meaning. It’s interesting to me that I was able to use so much of last night’s poem.

  91. Clark Buffington

    tell it to the wind

    guilt and shame are horrible emotions
    earned through horrific actions
    caused through callousness or intent
    pain to others comes with a price
    sorry is not enough every time
    might as well tell it the wind

  92. Margie Fuston

    Tell It to the Living

    Speak your secrets to sunflowers:
    they’ll hide them under pristine petals.
    Reveal your regrets to the roots of oaks:
    they’ve heard them all before.
    Sing your sorrows to songbirds:
    they’ll carry your tune south forever.

    Just stop pestering me,
    trying to rest here,
    six feet under.

  93. tunesmiff

    G. Smith
    Tell it to the highway,
    Rolling underneath your wheels,
    Why you think you couldn’t stay.

    Why you had to leave today,
    Why you had to kick your heels.
    Tell it to the highway

    Why you think that it’s okay,
    To find out what the road reveals;
    Why you think you couldn’t stay.

    At night, before you bow to pray,
    IA traveler who stops and kneels),
    Tell it to the highway

    What makes you think you
    Your heart conceals
    Why you think you couldn’t stay.

    Let me guess what you will say:
    “He’ll find out how lonesome feels.”
    Tell it to the highway,
    Why you think you couldn’t stay.

  94. Patricia A. Hawkenson

    Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Day 24 Tell it to the Blank poem

    Tell it to the House Plant

    It came home
    with potential
    and placed
    in the sun,
    but it takes in
    what we argue out.

    As it turns
    towards the window
    longing to spread
    its roots
    in the nurturing rain,
    it shrivels
    in the dry promises
    of our best intentions,
    and all our tears
    are wasted.

  95. P.A. Beyer

    Tell it to the mountain, the river’s done crying

    Tell it to the mountain, the river’s done crying
    over global warming and tectonic shifts. Mother Nature
    finally crashed through the glass ceiling and
    she never looked back. Count your blessings,
    the pesticides on the apples in the Garden of Eden
    finally killed off that damn snake. Drink up the moon
    shining over the Mojave Desert, while it lasts.
    Zeus announced his retirement and nobody bothered
    to think of succession planning (but the going away
    party was kick ass!) We shoot every word, action, and
    thought across this birthday gift we call Earth
    so often that the ones and zeros equal
    infinity times futility. So tell it to the mountain,
    the river’s done crying.

    1. Kevin D Young

      What a great set of pictures. The title and opening line are nicely riveting, and the effect of the “pesticides … in the Garden of Eden” is just a “killer” app.

  96. dawnssong4u

    Go Tell it to…

    The first fool…
    The second guesser…
    The third in three to know
    of their successor…
    The fourth heart broken
    and the final straw…
    The fifth, who has the fifth to plea,
    to avoid facing the fifth degree…
    The sixth someone we’ll never know…
    The seventh “oh..?” an unscratched itch that year?..
    The eight and ninth who’ll say “I told you so…”
    And the tenth …a lost commandment we could scream so loud…
    No one would hear…

    …go tell “it” too..

    dawn bigelow

    dawn bigelow aka dawnssong4u

  97. cbwentworth

    Tell It To The Inner Critic

    You do not own me
    or tell me what to think
    That screaming voice,
    once so deafening
    Is now just a whisper,
    I choose to ignore
    The words, “I can’t”
    have lost all meaning
    No longer held back,
    nothing is in my way
    Those far away dreams,
    so beautiful up close

    – – –

    C.B. Wentworth

  98. SestinaNia

    Tell it to Me Straight

    I am growing accustomed
    to how the wind shimmies
    down the chimney
    and rattles the glass doors—
    and in the darkling hours,
    as I sit in my own company,
    I wonder if there is some
    message for me
    in those crackling notes.

    Because that is easier
    to accept than how
    you no longer linger
    your gaze upon the curve
    of my neck, nor draw your fingertips
    through the river of my hair, nor nestle
    your soul deep within my longing.

    So, tell it to me straight,
    have you finally
    given up the ghost of me?

  99. Sara McNulty

    Tell it to the Religious Fanatics

    Do not presume to proselytize,
    prod, poke, or push pamphlets
    in my face assuring my swift
    descent into hell, if I do not
    possess your beliefs. Accosting
    people in the street, or ringing
    doorbells where clearly a No Soliciting
    sign is prominent in my window,
    will neither endear me to you,
    nor encourage my welcome.
    Do not say, Oh he is a good man,
    a Christian. Thousands of
    beliefs exist in this world. What
    does that make them? Setting
    yourself up as a savior,
    simply increases the belief
    that, ‘it is your way or the highway.’
    Many of us are comfortable
    traveling the highway without
    help, salvation, or damnation.

  100. kldsanders

    Tell It to the Thunder

    You don’t fool me.
    no matter how loud
    you roar.
    I know the truth.

    You’re nothing but
    a shadow.
    An echo.
    A reflection.

    I am lightning.
    I am beauty.
    I am death.
    I am the truth.

    You’ve got nothing on me.

    -Karen Sanders

  101. tunesmiff

    G. Smith
    Tell it to the highway
    Rolling underneath your wheels
    Why it is you couldn’t stay.
    Tell it to the highway;
    Let me guess what you will say:
    He’ll find out how lonesome feels.
    Tell it to the highway,
    Rolling underneath your wheels.

  102. lionetravail

    “Tell It To The Glorious Dead”
    by David M. Hoenig

    We are ennobled by those
    who have gone before,
    who have sacrificed on the altar of freedom.

    We stand on the shoulders of mighty heroes,
    those who bled to prevent tyranny of the soul,
    who fought for liberty and justice.

    We are enriched by the brave
    and selfless, who dare and risk
    to serve something greater than themselves.

    We owe them much, more than we can
    possibly say with lip-service,
    or careless monuments.

    We should be embarrassed, and ashamed
    of how trite our lives and concerns
    have become in the light of all they’ve given!

    They did not serve, take wounds, and die for a
    better smart phone, more MPGs, or faster food:
    rather, for the ideals which make all that possible.

  103. tunesmiff

    G. Smith
    Tell it to the dogwood,
    The azalea and the pear,
    They’ll listen, as you know I should.
    Tell it to the dogwood
    You know that you’ll be understood,
    (The difference is I’ll care.)
    Tell it to the dogwood
    The azalea and the pear.

  104. Zeenie

    Tell It To The Tube Coral

    But be careful.

    Do not mistake suction bowls for ears.
    It cannot help its open structure;
    sometimes it will not want to listen,
    but won’t know how to tell you.

    Sometimes, it will need your help.
    Mind the folds and cracks
    as you help it stretch,
    as you coax it into gentle currents.

    Turn the lights off.
    See it shine.

    shoutout to my friend, Kelsey, for giving me the word “tube”

  105. Ravyne

    Tell It to the Moon

    Every night once the house looms
    heavy with sleep
    Harold takes a beer from the fridge
    and settles into a lounge chair out back
    As he drinks the beer, he allows the day
    to slide off his shoulders — No more
    arguments with Jenn, no more cranky kids
    no nagging boss, no more swollen traffic
    And then he lifts his face toward the sky
    gazes upon the moon and begins to talk

    He tells the moon what he would tell no other
    about how pretty his wife is when angered
    how he wishes he could still cuddle his kids
    how tired he is of his job of thirty years
    and how he wishes he could visit the moon

    He has talked to the moon every night
    since he was eighteen
    when he came upon his father bearing all
    Harold cried that night, hearing his father speak
    he never thought he was loved until then
    So each night as Harold speaks
    a tiny microphone records his talks with the moon
    And in a box in the shed, hundreds of cassettes tell all

    Copyright 2014
    Lori Carlson

  106. TuLife

    “Tell it to the Supreme Being”
    By: Tuere Allwood

    Dearest God, how are you?
    We never ask you that in our prayers, do
    we? We humans are always begging you
    to help us feel better, do
    better, but we never ask how are you?

    Global betrayal, watching
    your faithful ones suffer, the
    hurt of human defiance must
    bring sorrow, even to the most
    Sovereign of the entire universe.

    I’m so sorry, Jah, for my part
    in that. I know you are patient
    and understand my weaknesses,
    but I’m so very sorry for abusing
    your blessings to fail you.

    Please forgive me for forgetting
    you – although I don’t think
    I’ve ever forgotten you entirely,
    which probably makes my
    waywardness even worse.

    What I want to tell you
    is thank you
    and that I love you

  107. Sharon Ann

    Tell It To Them Straight

    Praise them when they do right.
    Respect them with your words.
    See them for who they really are.
    Guide them along the right path.
    Show them your depth of feeling.
    Share the way that you think.
    Lead them with your courageousness.
    Tell it to them straight.

  108. dandelionwine

    Tell It to the Realtor

    When you invite her back
    for a market analysis
    on the home she recently
    sold you, say life is still
    in motion, that every day
    counts, that you’re in no
    rush. Explain your hopes
    to see listings like this–
    ones that lightly surround
    with limitless extension.
    Tell her you treasure
    your home as you hold
    the present, and the next
    dear moment as it arrives,
    and the one after that,
    and the one
    after that.

    Sara Ramsdell


    Tell it to the garden

    You’re all set up,
    fresh soil and seeds,
    soon you’ll be beautiful,
    but here come the weeds.
    Continuously weeding,
    as the days pass by,
    then comes a seedling,
    your beauty begins to shine.
    The flowers begin to bloom,
    Excitement fills my mind,
    Hard work paid off,
    You look devine.

  110. tunesmiff

    G. Smith
    Haiku? Fine, thank you.
    Tanka? You’re more than welcome.
    Sestina? Yes, she does.

    As to Poem in MY Pocket Day – that’s pretty much every day, as that’s how I work – scraps and scribbles and drafts on folded (and yeah, sometimes crumpled), paper in my pocket – letter head, receipts from the dump, envelopes, Post-Its…
    Maybe not quite the same thing, but…
    : )

  111. jclass527


    If you ever needed a shadow I was there,
    weaving in and out of the room behind you
    just so you can know that light isn’t just a version of

    of blackness, but something more. You could’ve spilled unto me
    your lies, your woes your secrets your mischiefs and
    mishaps and let the mess brew, ferment flow-y froth

    unto the fingerspaces between us and I would’ve just
    lapped it up in quiet servility, wanting only this feeling,
    this chance of closeness between us to stay. I would’ve, I

    will, still, accept you, in your entirety, simple lines
    and paradigms all the same, everything. But you won’t allow yourself to tell
    it to me, and so you lived in your black, whole, content with the thought of

    a less dark darkness instead of light.

    – Jessenia Class

  112. BDP

    “Tell It to Kid Caterpillar”

    Its height’s approximately three feet tall.
    The sections show off stripes and polka dots,
    with colors bright and favored by Lands’ End.
    Despite the sun, they’ve mittens, scarves, these tots.
    A rope with knots, a hand behind each one.
    It’s plodding toward us, it’s Kid Caterpillar!

    We’re gardening a plot, Kid Caterpillar
    halts to stare, at least the front child brakes, and all
    the other booted feet jam toward that one.
    Two preschool teachers, vests of polka dots
    (they match the fashion of these marching tots)
    try urging them along, but in the end,

    give in. Why not let go and watch us, end
    the stroll right here? We note Kid Caterpillar
    has by now de-roped. “Hello!” squeaks out a tot—
    we go with smiles and waves. “See, I’m this tall!”
    another offers, palm at jacket dots,
    forgets her head. They greet us one by one

    (well, most of them), soon sway toward lawn, this one
    with flapping arms, some toddle to an end
    with bumps, a flop of stripes, a heap of dots.
    The game they’re best at is Kid Caterpillar.
    That’s when they somehow manage not to fall,
    when blades of grass don’t trip them, teeter-tots,

    as boy named Nathan bounces blue-pants tot
    to ground and both begin to howl as one.
    A girl plops down and holds her arm: “John Paul,
    your teeth are for your food. This has to end,
    Jill’s not a meal.” Truth is, Kid Caterpillar
    parceled out and not a line of stripes and dots

    is mystery: we question if a dot
    or stripe hears caution. Ever. Single tots
    are headstrong, but the bug, Kid Caterpillar,
    once more strung together, swings round, as one,
    to pruners, weeding, plants, the snoopy end
    of gardening. And we feel ten feet tall.

    They wind off, all for one, the tots sing out of tune,
    without them tulips seem flat dots, and warmth will end.
    We shout and tell Kid Caterpillar that we’ll miss them.

    –Barb Peters

    1. TomNeal

      They wind off, all for one, the tots sing out of tune,
      without them tulips seem flat dots, and warmth will end.
      We shout and tell Kid Caterpillar that we’ll miss them.


  113. bxpoetlover

    Tell It To The Little Voice

    that lives inside my head. The one
    who still says “I love you” and wants
    nothing in return.

    She is the only one
    that cares that a bunch of kids pushed me
    into the subway car and the woman
    behind me is leaning on my backside
    and I want to punch her in the face.

    I tell that little voice in my head
    that it is going to be very hard to
    teach until retirement age
    because I hate being assessed
    by standardized tests taken by
    students who hate standardized tests
    and no one seems to care.

    I tell that little voice in my head
    that yet another man who couldn’t wait
    to see me, especially naked, now can’t seem
    to call. So glad I kept my legs closed

    my mouth doesn’t stay shut because I found
    another man to talk to. I thought I told my
    hairdresser that I was giving up on love.

  114. flood

    Tell It To The Curve In The Road

    what passes
    for prayer
    out the window
    as you round the lake,
    let it tumble,
    let it gather
    its bearings and
    watch it
    north is not
    straight up.
    Let free
    the words
    as they trip past
    your swollen
    Tell it
    to the curve
    in the road
    and thank the

  115. pcm

    Tell no one

    Tell no one
    when you’re crushed inside
    Baffled by life’s mysteries
    Missing the histories
    Shared with people who no longer exist
    While you make your list
    Of things to do
    To bide your time
    Until into the grave
    It’s time to climb
    On in
    Just hunker down with the worms
    gnawing on your toes
    Sidle up to the moles
    burrowing to and fro
    You’re in for an eternity
    Of darkness everlasting
    Just read the news
    And sing the blues
    Because there are no how to’s for dyin’.

    And when I go
    What will my life show?
    Can I live through my children?
    Hell no.
    Get my resurrection by election?
    One of the happy few
    That Moses, Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed or the Beatles knew?
    If movin’ on and movin’ up
    Is a contest of popularity
    Why is it that what I crave most is sincerity?

    Sincerity is for sinners—
    That’s my domain
    All y’all without sin
    Don’t need me –
    You have everything to gain
    On the other side.
    Just follow the rules
    Of your denomination
    And in your afterlife you will find
    no abomination.

    It’ll be Easy Street
    Pure and Clean
    Whitewashed and spit shined
    You know what I mean?
    No riff-raff to challenge your daydreams eternal
    No worries about unpleasant pain infernal.

    But sincerity is my theology
    With all its mess
    and lack of luster
    It seems to cause a lot of fluster
    When folks are tryin’ to keep their cool
    No one wants to be a fool
    About death.
    So we package it
    Like a Valentine
    And pretend it doesn’t
    hurt after a time.
    We say
    We’re glad the suffering is over
    that the ones who died are
    enjoying their stay under the clover.
    If we mourn the ones we lack
    Doctors prescribe pills to watch our back.
    We’ve stopped admitting
    The reality of feelings
    And how we need
    each other
    for healing.

  116. LCaramanna

    Tell it to the Rain

    Naomi laid her head on her pillow,
    gazed at the darkening sky,
    storm clouds scuttled and thunder rumbled
    as Mom hummed a lullaby.

    Naomi cuddled snug in her bed,
    comforted by the rhythm of rain,
    little drops pittered and big drops pattered
    along with Mom as she sang.

    “I want my moon,” Naomi cried,
    “to kiss my cheek goodnight.”
    But thunder rumbled and storm clouds scuttled
    while the moon hid out of sight.

    Naomi whispered, “Rain, please go away,
    I want the moon to light my dreams.”
    Then rain clouds parted and Naomi slumbered,
    with her cheek kissed by white moonbeams.
    Lorraine Caramanna

  117. sharon4

    Tell it to the Moon

    Sharon Fagan McDermott

    which is thin and beautiful this morning and almost mowing down Venus
    with its silver scythe, 5:30 AM, the puppy sniffing the telephone pole
    up and down, reading its transcript slowly, savoring
    the connotations, denotations, the biographies of local dogs,
    while I shiver in he April morning mist.

    Tell it to the moon that Keats has died, Yeats has died, Clifton’s died,
    Ginsberg’s stopped beating his drum. And that all poets eventually give up
    their writing, their wrestle with syllables, their iambic aspirations
    and titular turns, the sonnets lying ink-smudged and static in the pages of a folio.

    Yet, tell the moon that we don’t always have to love inevitable change
    nor spend each waking hour aware, but that sometimes we can revel
    in impossibility, entertain the thoughts that words will carry all matter,
    all power along with them, a restive, vibrant troupe who knows just when
    to pull their fiddles from the morning air and play until we remember
    how to dance again.

  118. fahey

    Tell it to the one you’d tell it to

    if it were someone else you knew;
    if only you felt Could a little more –
    got yourself to do the things
    you know you could do, if you knew –
    right now –
    the You who did them;
    if only you could give yourself
    the Know that you’ll do it
    anyways, and you can—

    you just have to tell yourself first.

  119. pamelaraw

    Tell It to the Mind

    But don’t think she’ll keep
    your secret. She’ll torture
    your hypothalamus all night
    to run your mouth dry, make you drip
    from every orafice, throw circadian
    rhythms off-balance. You’ll wake
    up sopping wet, sobbing,
    and spent, be so tired the next
    day you’ll trip over your untied
    shoe in front of that cutie
    who smiles when you walk by.
    You used to strut by his table
    all cucumber cool and now
    he’ll always remember how
    you landed flat-faced
    on the floor, begging your amygdala
    to help you flee. And yes,
    7th grade was long ago, but that psyche
    of yours has got the hippocampus
    in her hip pocket, prods it to replay
    the scene like the nightly highlight
    reel in super slo-mo—
    Girl sees Boy
    Boy smiles at Girl
    Girl smiles back, then falls—another
    lesson your mind refuses
    to let you learn. You’d blame
    the thalamus, but you know
    who’s in control.

  120. tunesmiff

    G. Smith
    Tell it to the crescent moon,
    Tell it to the stars;
    Maybe they’ll believe you
    And how sorry that you are.

    Tell it to the mountains,
    Tell it to the sea;
    Tell it to someone who cares;
    That someone isn’t me.

  121. beale.alexis

    “Tell it to The Nights”

    where I stayed up until 2am
    only to find myself
    clutching my cell phone the next morning.
    or to that one day last summer
    when I waited an hour and
    a half on my couch for you
    to come over. tell it to the worried glances
    at the clock at five minute intervals
    or to my mother asking
    me for the fourth time
    where you were and if you were still coming.
    tell it to the guy that came after you.
    the one who had to deal with the hopeless
    tragedy you turned me into. the one
    that stayed regardless of how
    paranoid or anxious I got
    when things didn’t go my way –
    because you were always
    so secretive and to this day
    I really don’t know what were the lies.
    tell it to the tissues I wasted
    wiping away tears the day I saw you
    holding hands with her
    right after
    you said you wanted to work things out.
    I probably should have realized
    that every word out of your mouth
    was bullshit
    after the time you told me
    you would never get back together with your ex,
    and then dumped me three days later.
    or when you apologized
    that night we were both drunk out of our minds
    and you said we should try to be friends,
    but then you ignored me
    for the next three months.
    So I guess what I’m really
    trying to say is:
    tell it to anyone else
    but me.

  122. Bruce Niedt

    NaPoWriMo’s prompt today was to write a poem about walls, bricks, arches, or something masonry-related. So what other title could I pick but this one for my villanelle? (The message seems a little callous, but it’s more of a persona than the real me.)

    Tell It to the Wall

    My friend, why don’t you tell it to the wall?
    Just vent your wrath, anxieties and fears
    against a silent partner, hard and tall.

    Berlin, Great China, Hadrian’s and all,
    The Wailing, and so many through the years
    have journeyed just to tell it to the wall.

    One Humpty Dumpty, he of the great fall,
    as he lay broken, mumbled through his tears
    up to his silent partner, hard and tall.

    Pink Floyd, bombastic in the music hall,
    performed a tale about a man who veers
    to madness, and then tells it through The Wall.

    Go buy some spray paint for graffiti-scrawl.
    No matter where the barrier appears,
    make it your writing partner, hard and tall.

    A jail, a padded cell, a bathroom stall –
    I don’t care where, just save my bleeding ears,
    my friend. Why don’t you tell it to the wall,
    your cold and silent partner, hard and tall?

  123. AleathiaD

    Tell It to the Golden Swallow

    I fell asleep to the sounds
    of Mandarin and the preciseness
    of dual short blades cutting the air.

    My dreams were dubbed
    in a conversation
    I couldn’t understand
    but felt my body knew.

    When the film was over
    he woke me up,
    crooked on the couch,
    neck slumped to one side.

    I asked him what happened
    to the Golden Swallow,
    she lived was all he said
    knowing I wouldn’t remember
    much more than that.

    I went to bed dreaming
    of martial arts and the golden swallow
    until somewhere in the morning,
    sun rising on the wall in the bedroom,
    my mother appeared.

    We were sitting
    at the kitchen table
    and she spoke to me
    of nothing special.

    All I could think of is
    she lived,
    my mother is the golden swallow.

    The alarm jarred me awake.
    There were salt trails on my face,
    residue in my ear from crying in my sleep.

    I saw her face
    and it changes

    Aleathia Drehmer 2014
    April 24 Tell it to the….

  124. cobanionsmith

    Tell It to the Dog

    the best confessor
    she won’t tell a soul
    her absolute love
    she’ll never judge or
    think the worst of you
    just think about all
    she knows already

    (c) Courtney O’Banion Smith

  125. MaryAnn1067

    Tell it to the Mirror

    Oh, tell it to the mirror–
    all those smug, besotted syllables of
    imagined superiority, clueless, thick
    with self-satisfaction, brain
    believing you are all
    cream risen to the
    top of your carefully restricted
    enclave, paragons of
    virtue (with neatly planted
    yard signs to prove it), white sheets
    a-flapping on the line, your
    neatly displayed accolades,
    your careless disregard
    for the lives of others

  126. RebekahJ


    Due to a printer’s preacher’s teacher’s error
    The young woman womyn cis zie hir per
    In yesterday’s caption capstone capture
    Was misidentified dendriform dengueform
    She was not the bride breast bridge branch
    Only a guest guessed test tossed torn
    We regret regrieve reprieve
    To leave in time

    Kimberly Gladman Jackson

  127. De Jackson

    Tell it to the Moon

    She’s got a darker side,
    perhaps a good place to hide
    these words you’d rather

    Spill it to the sea,
    she’ll wave it to the breeze
    or tuck it deep into a sandy

    Sigh it to the sky,
    these clouds and I
    have no place we’d rather

    Sing it to the stars,
    these truths of ours
    will find their way home, just wait and


  128. Julieann

    Tell It To The Fridge

    I’ve tried all the diet programs
    Some with semi-decent results
    Most with nothing lost but my
    Sense of humor and self-respect
    So I am trying this one last idea
    And it is “Tell it to the fridge”
    I am going to tell that ol’ fridge
    Exactly what I am going to eat
    And how much and then I’m
    Going to leave it up to the fridge
    To stop me anytime I want something
    More than what I am allowed
    To eat – nothing else works
    Successfully over the long haul
    Therefore, I’m putting the full responsibility
    And the entire burden of blame
    On the fridge!

  129. Alpha1


    Looking at those pictures
    From years ago
    Makes me want
    My girl back
    With me the
    Way it used to be
    When days were easy
    And love was brand new
    When you
    My heart was
    In one place
    When my mind was
    At peace
    With the world
    And this time
    I promise not
    To love so hard

  130. laurie kolp

    Tell it to the Cell with your Windows Rolled Up

    Gossip surfs on wind through my window.
    I try not to listen even though the dude
    is parked right beside me breaking waves
    with an influential name, drowning her
    in salacious undercurrents not meant
    for a lonely beachcomber like me.

  131. LizMac

    Tell it to Twitter

    We’re accustomed to celebrities and world leaders
    Twittering their twaddle to as big an audience
    as they can muster, in any way they can
    (Now they add selfies to the mix
    As if that will make them look better).

    Today, though, celebrity’s democratization,
    Causes us to rush to write our own headlines,
    Manage our own PR campaigns and representations,
    Reaching out to our fans and followers, and
    Those people we met last Tuesday,
    Letting them know what we are about to eat for dinner,
    Or the central importance of the family cat.

    Some, less self-focusing, drive personal missions,
    Religious and political persuasions,
    Hoping to convert through daily doses of electronic epiphanies,
    Measured moralities wrapped up in a bow made by clever graphics,
    Yet somehow still failing to show us the light,
    While leaving all angry and sputtering,
    Still somehow just as alone and misunderstood.

    Family photo albums,
    Brimming with infinite infant progressions
    And desperate attempts to preserve lost vacations,
    Once primly resided on shelves
    – Old maids locked between demure covers
    That opened up rarely to the blessed few;
    Now these same upload themselves with wild abandon
    To a world wide web welcome and casual scorn.

    As information piles up
    And gets mistaken for communication,
    Births, marriages, dissolutions, and death
    -The whole drama of humanity
    Files past, compressed into visualbites
    That elicit a smile, then a tear that is washed away
    In an instant as we scroll down insatiably,
    To the next item.

    And in all this, we may miss the anxious glance
    That flashes out for just one second, from a friend’s face,
    So carefully painted – photoshopped and scripted
    Presented with the skill of a PR pro.

    Is this, then, (as the poet feared),
    The way the world will end –
    Not with a bang, but a twitter?

    1. Julieann

      What a graphic summation – WOW!! I especially love “Measured moralities wrapped up in a bow made by clever graphics,” the the best commentary of them all, “As information piles up And gets mistaken for communication.” Again I say, WOW!

  132. Pat Walsh

    PAD poem 24: my “Tell it to the ____” poem:

    Tell It to the Iguana
    by Patrick J. Walsh

    Tell it to the iguana
    if you’ve cut me off in traffic
    because you’re having a bad day
    and you’d like to yell some cuss word
    that you’re much too dignified to say
    tell it to the iguana

    Tell it to the iguana
    if you don’t like the tie I’m wearing
    the one with the dancing bears
    ’cause you think yours looks so much cooler
    please give him your opinion and your stares
    tell it to the iguana

    Tell it to the iguana
    if you’ve got your forehead arched
    and you’re looking down your nose
    and you’ve decided you don’t like me
    or my poetry or my prose
    tell it to the iguana

    Tell it to the iguana
    if you’ve got all these little problems
    and you’ve worked yourself into a fit
    you can bypass me and tell my pet iguana
    he doesn’t mind a bit
    tell it to the iguana

  133. intheshadowofthesoul

    Tell It to the One You Cheated On Me With
    Lydia Flores

    Your apologies drip from your lip
    I leave you there like an open cut
    keep bleeding because I’ll forgive
    you but I’m not handing you any gauze.
    Your heart can’t beat for two and think
    the rhythm isn’t gonna’ change. Even
    secretly underneath the snare, the tempo
    will slow its pace and find you out so
    quit your elegy song because I’m not
    shedding any tears tonight for love.
    My notes cradled your grand staff
    with honesty and I guess my treble clef
    wasn’t enough of an orchestra for you.
    Because you left me A flat major for
    a C minor but called me your best symphony.
    The show is over and I will leave without a bow
    your mistakes hanging in the echo of our auditorium
    no applause will carry you out into the world.
    I hope she has enough band-aids for you
    and her antibiotic kissed can clean you out
    because I’ll be the infection in your gash
    haunting your thoughts until time makes a scar.
    I’ll always be the scar on your heart holding your regret.

  134. bethwk

    Tell it to the Wind
    by Elizabeth Weaver-Kreider

    Tell it to the fierce and rowdy wind, my sisters.
    Tell your story to the little skipping breezes.
    Tell it to the leaves as they scuttle down the mountain
    to eddy in the shadows of the hollow.

    Tell it to the mockingbird,my brothers.
    Tell your trouble to the crow, the wren, the gull.
    Tell it to the wild geese, whose message
    will reach my ears as they fly above my valley.

    I will whisper them to the willows.
    I will reveal them to the prayerful gathering
    of ferns unfurling by the stone wall.
    I will wrap them in scraps of blue silk.

    I will hang them from the branches
    of my guardians, the dogwood trees,
    and etch them on the leaves of the sycamore.
    I will place them in bowls of glowing stones.

    Tell it to the soft enfolding darkness
    as the sun settles below your horizon.
    I will watch for your stories by sunrise,
    as the dawn washes over the hills.

  135. matthew

    Tell It To The Coffee Pot

    That it has been a long week
    that my feet are tired and ache
    it is time for a vacation
    Friday rhymes with caffeine
    there is no place to go but up
    that battery acid could save the day
    there is no “I” in “Grande Cup”
    that aside from giving up there
    is this “Joe” and nothing else

    That there is too much politics
    not enough pick me up
    there are grounds for dis-missile
    grounds for brewing
    and grounds for giraffe to walk
    that the grounds for brewing
    are the most aromatic of all

    “qahwa al-bon” is wine of the bean
    Root no, leaf nay, nut never,
    Fruit (berry) aye,
    bean yup, brew yawrp, hot cup yup!
    Go Pot!

    That half and half is good enough
    for aristocrats and good enough
    for me
    There is religion in your hot
    spirit in the steam piping up
    intelligence in your design
    and evolution in your roast
    I raise a mug and toast
    your alert help

  136. Bartholomew Barker

    Tell It To Your Mother

    Playground bullies with bad haircuts
    Secure in the Schoolyard Code
    Of boys will be boys
    Harass the meek with impunity

    Adult bullies in expensive suits
    Secure in American jurisprudence
    Through superior cash flow
    Keep the meek from justice

    And when bullies are through with her
    The meek will inherit the earth
    Broken gutted barren febrile
    The prize of our compliance

    Enduring more than we can bear
    Knowing only death is fair

  137. susanjer

    What Marilyn Monroe Tells Her Dressmaker
    While Fitting Her “Mr. President” Gown

    It should fit me like the new skin
    of a snake. Does a snake wear
    underwear? No. Neither do I.

    I want it to fit me like the skin
    of a peach, the scales of a fish,
    the glove of a surgeon, like whiskey

    in a silver flask, the pop of flashbulbs,
    or smoke on a magician’s mirror,
    like fog hugging San Francisco Bay.

    I want this dress slinky as a Freudian slip.
    I want every curve in the road
    of my body to signal danger.

    I don’t care if I have to pant
    to sing Happy Birthday Mr. President.
    I want Joe DiMaggio to pant. I want
    Arthur Miller’s tongue to hang out.

    Ditto Arthur Schlesinger. Pull
    those stitches a bit tighter. I want
    every man in Madison Square Garden

  138. Amaria

    “Tell it to the people in the valley”

    From your golden pedestal sitting high
    you tell us the world is just fine and good.
    The riches of the earth are for us all.
    Tell it to the people in the valley
    who are still searching for the mountaintop.

  139. poetrycurator

    Here is my Tell It to the Blank Poem for day 24

    Tell it to the Poet

    Dear Poet, I am
    Swimming in a sea of words
    Fishing for poems

    By Denise Fletcher Copyright © 2014

  140. barton smock

    -tell it to my brother-

    a widow
    with three hands
    has ten

    god’s tacklebox is too light
    to carry.

    think of it as your ascent into feminine indifference.

    think of your son as the incurable

    on the factory floor
    of my son’s

    a male mime
    bites into
    a bar of soap…

    is a bruise
    in a blizzard

  141. Amaria

    “Tell it to the heart”

    It would please my ears
    if you whispered clearly
    that you would never leave –
    we’ll always have Belize.
    I can always find you
    and our love will be true.
    I will always have your hand
    to steady me when I’m sad.
    That I will be your only –
    never will I’ll be lonely.
    For in the uncertain mind
    your promises may be lies.

  142. wallrose34

    April PAD DAY 24

    By: Chelsey Richardson

    “Tell it to Beyonce’ ”

    If he didn’t put a ring on it;
    tell him to move his ass
    to the left.

    Go on a vegan diet.

    Commit yourself to work
    you love. Become a traveling
    poet like you’ve always wanted to.
    Learn to sail a boat and swim
    across a ruthless ocean, wearing
    a cape that dawns your new name:
    Queen (Fill in the blank).

    Write an anthem dedicated
    to all the single ladies and
    all the women who’ve ever
    inspired you. Make it your

    Find three backup dancers
    to travel with you just to break
    out in dance everytime your
    phone rings.

    Sing that anthem like your
    boots were made for
    walking, and when you
    hit that final note make
    those boots your

    Make the sky your runway.
    Take those boots, and that
    all black leotard and strut
    like the rainbow just asked
    to taste you, and you
    politely told it, “no thank
    you, honey.”

    Be naked.

    Be curvy.

    Be a diva.

    Be strong.

    Tell it to the magazines.
    Tell them not to photo shop you.

    Cry in public.

    Solemnly, swear
    to name your
    first child after
    a roman numeral.

    Tell it to all the
    drag queens
    who worship
    your name.

    Dress like the red carpet
    is waiting to take pictures
    with you, and when you
    see him, smile for the camera
    wave and…….

    Tell him to tell it to Beyonce’.

  143. Hannah

    Tell it to the Wind

    Speak it into the squall it won’t hold it against you
    it will pull words free from your lips just as soon as they’ve slipped,
    tumble-bumble them back into the air
    gust will hustle them from whence they’ve come
    return thoughts to sun and moon – to the stars.
    Breeze will beckon vocal tones to the height of mountains
    and draw them deep into the depths of sea,
    dispersed evenly current calls all truth to the surface;
    so go ahead and confess – release all of it, even messy
    unformed sounds found in the pit of epitome
    that mysterious place that’s home to emotions.
    Please, spill it to the wind – it won’t hold it against you.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014

  144. Rosemary Nissen-Wade

    Tell It to the Wind

    “Tell it to the wind,” said Ramtha*
    “And I will hear you, I’ll be there.”

    I used to do that sometimes
    when I lived out under a big sky —
    that wide swirling-space for the wind,
    and the vast expanse of stars
    far away from the blinding
    lights of cities.

    I felt his presence in response.

    That was a long time ago,
    though it seems so fresh.
    Even in this little rural town
    the street lights are shining,
    and the sky between the mountains
    is often overcast, windless.

    Somewhere along the way
    I almost forgot Ramtha.

    I don’t remember why
    I spoke to him in the wind —
    what I wanted to say,
    what I thought he might reply —
    but I was lonely then,
    at the silent end of my second marriage.

    Widowed after my long and happy third,
    I do miss someone to talk things over with….

    *Ramtha. A channelled being who came to prominence in the eighties.

    1. Hannah

      Wow! Huh…look at us?!! That’s funny!

      I love your poem and I enjoy seeing some of the similarities that we touched upon in ours too. Sounds so peaceful…I can nearly hear the wind. :)

  145. DanielR

    My years are rich with memories
    of joyful experiences
    and far too many painful regrets
    I have lost more than I ever had
    but gained insight in the process
    discovering a complex man who
    can hardly be honest with himself
    if I could shout across the span of time
    I would tell the boy I used to be
    that good friends are a rare treasure
    laughter is the most beautiful sound
    love is a compelling proposition
    forgiveness is a miracle
    fear is a chain that binds the heart
    self-doubt is a noose that strangles
    and innocence cannot be regained
    so hold it close and spend it wisely

    Daniel Roessler

  146. Karen H. Phillips

    Day 24

    Write a poem entitled, “Tell It to the ___.”

    Tell It to the Grieving

    The parents of the six-year-old who unexpectedly stooped
    to pick up his video game and was hit by the bus.

    The friends of the teen taken in a car accident,
    remembered with inscribed stones in a creek.

    The daughter and her father whose mother and whose wife,
    her youngest children, his youngest grandchildren,
    drowned when their ATV flipped into a pond.

    What do you tell them?
    What words can soothe or resurrect?
    How do you console for such a hole torn in their lives?

    “I am the Resurrection and the Life.
    Though they were dead, yet shall they live.”
    One day: “Death, where’s your sting, grave, your victory?”

  147. shellcook

    Prompt 24
    Tell it to the …

    Tell it to anyone who will listen,
    but don’t tell it with your words.
    They’ve heard so many things before,
    they very rarely hear
    the truth, as some might sell it,
    is seldom really, true.

    So tell them with your eyes,
    your heart,or
    the warmth of gentle skin.
    Let your voice within be heard
    for nothing worth the telling
    is very often heard.

    Screaming words belay our days,
    they numb our minds and stay our grace,
    til we never listen anyway.
    When we hear with true heart open
    to sound or silence, pure and simple,
    unspoken words wrap round our minds
    To ease the pain,
    To cease the ride,
    To stop the train
    And ease our minds.

    And echoes blend, both old and new,
    to feel a truth in marrow born
    and start with peace on each new morn,
    This day.

    Listen to the warm.

  148. Emma Hine

    Tell It To The Ones Left Behind

    Just one more.
    Don’t be a bore,
    It’s only just gone two.

    He’s had a meal
    What’s the deal,
    He’s only had a few.

    No taxi, please
    Hand him his keys,
    He can handle more than you.

    Oh! What was that?
    Looked like a cat,
    Just came out of the blue.

    Slammed his brakes on,
    Car carried on,
    He’s sorry, what could he do?

    Cat got away
    What can he say?
    “I’m so sorry; honest it’s true.

    Why were you there?
    This isn’t fair.
    I never meant to hit you.”

    Words just escape.
    Cross police tape.
    Feelings he never knew.

    Sobered up quick
    Locked in the nick.
    Forever this day, he’ll rue.

    No driving cars,
    Life behind bars
    For a man he never knew.

    1. SestinaNia

      Tell it to Me Straight

      I am growing accustomed
      to how the wind shimmies
      down the chimney
      and rattles the glass doors—
      and in the darkling hours,
      as I sit in my own company,
      I wonder if there is some
      message for me
      in those crackling notes.

      Because that is easier
      to accept than how
      you no longer linger
      your gaze upon the curve
      of my neck, nor draw your fingertips
      through the river of my hair, nor nestle
      your soul deep within my longing.

      So, tell it to me straight,
      have you finally
      given up the ghost of me?

      — Sara Doyle

  149. Linda Voit

    Tell it to the air

    Forget that. Yell it.
    Yell it to the air
    they no longer breathe.
    Yell it like you want God
    to hear it. Yell it primal.
    There are no words
    that can hold this.
    Yell it to the air
    in your car on the side
    of the same country road
    that took their lives.
    Yell it like the hell
    it is. Just yell
    ‘til your throat hurts.
    Yell as if you can
    push it out
    with your own lungs.
    Spill it out. Force it out
    so you don’t drown in it
    choke on it
    get buried alive.
    Yell it. Then stop.
    Turn the wheels
    on the gravel shoulder
    and go back

    Linda Voit

  150. CathyBlogs

    You’re talkin’ to the hand, and the hand holds a pen. And the hand belongs to us.

    Tell it to the poets

    Your broken-hearted love story?
    Your epic, uncharted journey?
    Your dire dirge of death?

    Tell it to the poets.

    Your need for immortality?
    Your narcissistic nihilism?
    Your minimalist metaphors?

    Tell it to the poets.

    Your insightful observations?
    Your alliterative rhyme schemes?
    Your life in seventeen syllables?

    Tell it to the poets.

    Your unaccented emphasis?
    You un-enjambed enjambment?
    Your synergistic stanzas?

    Tell it to the poets.

    Find these in a poem,
    gift them to a writer,
    read a life in metered lines —

    Make love with your mysterious muse,
    see it all in her rare eyes, then

    tell it to a poet.

    by Cathy Dee writing at http://www.CathyBlogs.com

  151. diedre Knight

    Tell it to the…Wind

    Tell it to the wind that blows
    the flowers from their stems.
    Admonish those who thumb their nose
    if you’re not just like them.
    Say it to a child, who cries,
    the homeless on the street.
    Express it when a loved one dies
    Call out thieves and cheats.
    Voice it when you disagree,
    Caution careless fools.
    Sing it from the highest tree,
    Don’t let silence rule!

    diedre Knight

  152. LeeAnne Ellyett

    “Tell it to the….Future

    Alexander Graham Bell,
    tell him “everyone has a cell”
    Wright Brothers who fly
    tell them “747’s in the sky”

    President JFK,
    tell him “the world stopped dead”
    Dr. Martin Luther King,
    tell him “Pres Obama has a ring”

    Woodstock, music, peace,
    tell them ” Brittany, Beiber, Twerkin’
    Gay, Pride, Parade,
    tell them “we can marry today”

    Tell it to the Past,
    Tell it to the Future.

  153. Gwyvian

    Tell it to the void

    So many reasons spinning out of control,
    and I am so cold standing behind
    someone else’s eyes, feeling someone
    else’s heart squeeze with impending loss,
    and the reasons keep coming—
    but all the soothing is swallowed by the void,
    and no consolation is ever enough to fill it;
    my mind enters crevices to hide, shying away
    from the thoughts of control slipping, around me
    the last scent of night fading, and
    all those reasons collapse like a house of cards
    from a gust of a half-hearted wind—
    what does the void care that it is justified,
    does it care that there is sense in what you say?
    I feel cold, my heartbreak slipping
    into the vanishing point to join a hollow place,
    where I let you eviscerate things of beauty,
    in the name of what is better for me…
    you say there is so many new things waiting,
    fulfilling collectables to replace what’s missing,
    and you simply refuse to understand that
    what I had was enough – now, you can give
    your sage advice to the void, tell it
    that it can go whenever it pleases – tell it, the
    impressions of all that’s gone will stop pressing,
    and that forgetting is a part of grieving:
    tell it, and convince me that I am wrong
    to have loved and for not wanting it gone…

    April 24, 2014

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

  154. James Rodgers

    Tell It To The Moon

    after midnight,
    when the moon is full
    and I cannot sleep,
    I go out
    on my back deck
    and I talk towards the sky.
    Sometimes it’s easier
    to tell it to the moon.
    No judgment.
    No eye contact.
    No opinions.
    No advice.
    Just a soft, warm glow
    of acceptance,
    my words floating up
    and then away.
    Sometimes it’s easier
    to tell it to the moon
    as I just need
    to work it out myself,
    want to solve it myself.
    I don’t really want
    anyone else to hear,
    listen or know
    besides my
    nighttime quiet confidante.
    Sometimes it’s easier
    to tell it to the moon
    because I’ve found
    the sun is a bastard
    and doesn’t seem to care.

  155. robinamelia

    Tell it to your diary,
    then add that to the stack:
    the growing burden you schlep
    to each new home,
    poisoning each new start.

    Tell it to the blank pages:
    let heaps of infinity
    churn your words

    let the vermin crawl
    from your cracked lips
    slime trails leading

    back into the silence
    you should never
    have dared to break

    Robin Amelia Morris

  156. Delaina Miller

    Tell It to the Lips

    Say it in love’s voice.
    Say it in a kiss, the shooting star
    with a feather’s touch
    tickling inside flesh.
    The alchemy of lovers’ rituals.
    A gentle breath, a union
    of this moment
    with yesterdays and tomorrows.
    Speak your love
    tell it to the lips
    so my whole body knows.

  157. Connie Peters

    Tell it to the Lord
    Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. I Peter 5:7

    In this age, we’re busy, with little time
    for our friends and family. It’s a crime.
    You may feel alone, out of sorts and blue.
    Cast your cares on Him, for He cares for you.

    Give them all to Him: your concerns and fears,
    your dilemmas, hopes, your distress and tears,
    what’s beyond your reach, that’s too hard to do.
    Cast your cares on Him, for He cares for you.

    You may think that God lives too high to care
    about food you eat and the clothes you wear.
    From the bills to pay, to the rent that’s due,
    cast your cares on Him, for He cares for you.

    He is big enough to attend it all,
    from the universe to the molecule.
    He provides for birds and the flowers, too.
    Cast your cares on Him, for he cares for you.

  158. Patricia A. Hawkenson

    Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Day 24 Tell it to the Blank poem

    Tell it to the Ceiling

    Like Marvin,
    the Paranoid Android,
    it must be those hours
    of lying on your back
    staring at the ceiling
    the universe,
    and everything,
    that force you
    to roll your eyes
    at the ceiling
    whenever you
    reply, “Whatever.”

    “Forget it.”
    There is no salvation
    for any parent.

    Even Slartibartfast discovers
    he’s too late
    to save a teenager
    caught in
    the gripe
    of time.

  159. DanielAri

    “Tell it to the clock”

    We think we hear gunshots.
    We definitely hear
    rumors, police reports,
    and freight trains rolling near
    transporting midnight’s dreams

    from afar to afar
    on rhythm-track clatter
    and hurt saxophone horn.
    They wake up our daughter.
    She wakes up her parents

    with her one-track patter
    to our bedside. “Mommy?”
    “What?” “I’m scared.” “Get the mat.”
    Her self-sufficiency
    cozies her on the floor

    and we all roll back deep
    into the dark noisy.


  160. nmbell

    Tell It To The Horse

    No, I don’t have any more treats in my pocket
    There isn’t a big scary bear in the shadows
    The line on the road is NOT a high bar you must leap over

    Yes, you are the most beautiful creature in the universe
    Miss Diva Princess Mare
    The bling on your browband is brighter than my engagement ring

    No, I don’t think it’s fair I spend more money on your shoes
    Than on mine. And you have more pairs than I do
    It is not considered good form to bite the farrier’s butt

    Yes, I know it’s a very nice butt, but …
    Green slobber on my pink shirt is NOT funny
    Neither is you rolling in mud before I am ready to ride

    No, you can’t go see that hot stallion over by the rail
    We have work to do here in the ring
    He’ll still be interested in you after we’re done

    Yes, he will. I promise. You don’t need to pee on him
    Really? Do you want him to think you’re desperate?
    Remind me again why I love you
    Oh, Diva Princess Mare

    Nancy Bell 2014

  161. DanielAri

    “Tell it to the dancefloor”

    Astride bountiful chaos
    dance every feeling—gimme
    hamstrings in jump, knees loose. My
    nature open. Pliantly
    quixotic responses sluice,

    tumbled up viscosities,
    weather-beaten xi yipping,
    zipped abecedarian
    babbles (content, discontent),
    elementary falling goose—

    hence, improvisation. Jam
    kinetic Lissajous maps,
    not one pertinent question
    rotating symbiosis.
    Transcendent undulating

    vapors, waterfalls, xeric
    YOLO zendo animus.


  162. miaokuancha

    April 24, 2014

    Prompt: Tell it to the

    Tell it to the small heart
    The quiet voice
    The broken nail
    Push away the seal stones
    And face the truth
    You lie in.

    ~ miaokuancha

  163. James Von Hendy

    Tell it to One Who Listens

    My father listens more deeply than words
    Allow. He cocoons them, our precious chrysalis
    Of words, and waits. The silence of expectation
    Deepens like the shadows of late afternoon.

    He waits with a gentle intensity that unnerves
    Even the most certain among us. With what
    Question will he unravel us, we who
    Wriggle in the heat of his wonder? We yearn

    Toward his insight even when it stings
    With its rightness. His is a reverence
    For what is, the mystery of ourselves
    Unfolding in sunlight a wing at a time.

    1. Linda Goin

      His is a reverence / For what is, the mystery of ourselves… (YES!!!) Oh, to strive to be a person like your father, filled with questions that can unravel “even the most certain among us.”

    2. k_weber

      “With what
      Question will he unravel us, we who
      Wriggle in the heat of his wonder?”

      A very stand-out moment. The unraveling and wriggling echoes the unnerving sense referenced elsewhere in the stanza. Some carefully written lines here. Cheers!

    3. elledoubleyoo

      such lovely sounds in here, the v’s and w’s and y’s make it sound low and soft to the ear. The last sentence is such an amazing metaphor (and I see we are of like minds today with ‘reverence,’ if totally different topics.

  164. Kendall A. Bell

    Tell it to the kids

    in Philly. The teenaged fuckers who
    attacked two Temple students with
    bricks. Those five girls who left
    another girl, someone they did not
    know, with broken teeth. Tell them
    that bricks give you no power. Bricks
    build the homes they live in for free.
    Bricks make foundations. They also can
    take away your IPhones, your freedom.
    Tell them that words are more powerful.
    Tell them that a girl with no teeth
    can still speak well enough to put you
    in jail. Tell them that compassion is
    a more powerful weapon against boredom.

  165. mzanemcclellan

    Tell it to the Wasteland

    Don’t listen to the reactionaries
    all touting that, “sky is falling”, forecast.
    The weather patterns are always shifting,
    this season is no more severe than last.
    Hurricanes have not become more common,
    droughts have not withered the planting fields.
    Everything’s fine you can see for yourself,
    just look at AgroCorp’s common shares yield.
    It’s nothing to do with thinning ozone
    the billions of new cars on the world’s roads
    Nor the plant-choking carbon dioxide
    rising to engulf the entire globe.
    No connection to these phenomena,
    or billions spent exploring off terran.
    As plants and animals become extinct,
    there’ll be no one left to tell the wasteland.

    ~ M. Zane McClellan

  166. Patricia A. Hawkenson

    Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Day 24 Tell it to the Blank poem

    Tell it to the Clock

    Apparently, I don’t
    have all the time
    in the world
    as my clock
    mocks me
    with an insistent
    as it takes
    all the time
    in the world
    leaving me
    with only

  167. Ashley Marie Egan

    I wrote two today.

    Tell It to the Reaper
    by Ashley Marie Egan

    Lurking in the hollows
    waiting for your hand,
    because everyone follows
    Death into an unknown land.

    Don’t rush into death,
    Reapers love to hear our stories.
    They hang on our every breathe,
    so tell them about your former glories.

    For the secrets you sigh,
    will be your last goodbye.

    Tell It to the Ashes
    by Ashley Marie Egan

    Tell it to the ashes,
    that you left behind.
    Tell it to the seasons,
    as they grow and die.
    Tell it to my heart,
    as it bleeds dry.
    Tell it to our love,
    or I’ll leave it behind.

  168. GarrinJost

    Tell It to the Mountain

    You heard,
    you know,
    now tell it.

    To that thing you hold in the palm of your hand
    and look at (when no one else looks)
    it’s pushing its chitinous legs
    against your skin
    and you can clearly see
    its pins-head eyes
    hopeful in the slots of light
    that eep and moan through your fingers-
    fly away.

    Cut out the cancer
    and pray for the clot
    go out into the square
    and the man will meet you
    and you him-
    he will tell you what comes next.

    Move the stars all a little
    to the left
    or right
    (mover’s choice)
    so that no one notices
    but everyone thinks
    “what has changed?”
    and “is it I?”
    only you and I will know
    the truth.

    But don’t tell me-
    don’t tell yourself.
    We’ve already heard enough
    and our ears are pouring
    and our necks are wet.

    Go tell it to the shifting stars
    your palmed little locust,
    to the cancer that’s dying now too-
    to every other space
    that pleads to you-
    that drinks.

    Why not
    go tell it to the mountain,
    maybe it will ignore you,
    but maybe not.

    Go tell it to the mountain,
    fly away.

  169. Louise Findlay

    Title: Tell It to the Monster

    There’s mortals, looking at me,
    But I’m busy, fighting a monster.

    They look at me strangely,
    But I’m fighting a monster.

    They think I’m mad,
    But I’m fighting a monster.

    They tell me to stop,
    Tell that to a monster.

  170. Taylor Emily Copeland

    Tell it to the space in your bed

    where my small frame took refuge
    from the batterings of life. Tell
    it that the blankets that kept it
    company will only rest with you now.
    Tell it that it will have to find
    new curves to embrace at night,
    smoother and younger shapes that
    will not have nightmares, will not
    wet its pillowy companion with streams
    of tears at 3am. Tell it that I loved
    the way it kept me safe. Tell it that
    I wished you’d done the same.

  171. Gabrielle Freeman

    Tell it to the Wall
    by Gabrielle Freeman

    The weather is always a surprise after office hours.
    I have no windows, only poems, notes, drawings
    crayoned or penciled, each one with its own super powers.

    We wrote the poem together. Its college-ruled window devours
    my urge to quit with lines like “sleep’s specter comes, teeth-bearing.”
    The weather is an abrupt wake up after office hours,

    like coming out from a movie. Fluorescent lighting scours
    my brain of the memory of weather. A student’s note sings
    penned on a post-it, infuses me with its super powers,

    tiny yellow square of a window lets me view the flowers
    in my field of students, thousands now. A constant spring
    though the weather might bite, whip wind, after office hours.

    My children’s drawings, taped to the wall. Their windows tower,
    acres of glass through which I see their faces concentrating.
    My son, crayon in gripped fist, frantic circles, super powers

    for a red-breasted Corn Pop Iron Man. My daughter showers
    her paper in hearts run through with rooftop antennae, love’s sting.
    Let the weather surprise my tired eyes after office hours.
    Tell it to my wall of paper windows, proof of super powers.

  172. ToniBee3

    “tell it to the protectors”

    he did…
    when he called 911 but the mom snatched
    the phone away and hung it up, but not before
    dispatch heard the explosive and hateful threats

    he did…
    when the police arrived and saw him near the
    television in a corner timid and shaken while
    the mom blamed the racket on the neighbors

    he did…
    when he went to school in bruises and cuts
    and told the teacher that he was being hit but
    there was no arrest or intervention to remove him

    he did…
    when child “protective” services were made aware
    of the history of abuse – multiple claims with a few
    of them verified… still no intervention to remove him

    he did…
    when he pleaded for his mom to stop kicking
    him over and over again in his stomach leaving
    him to die from internal bleeding and a swollen brain

    he did…
    but why didn’t you step up and step in to save this
    helpless and suffering child who had the courage
    to “tell” someone who he thought would protect him?

    you can now tell it all to God
    rest in peace beloved

  173. k_weber

    “people only recognize the smile
    since they can´t recognize my usual pantomimes”

    this is really great phrasing here. i think so many people who read this poem will relate to these lines but might have thought of the idea of pantomiming to describe it. i usually think of “going through the motions” and here you’ve given us that idea but you have put it into new words.

  174. De Jackson

    Tell it to the Person On Your Left
    (Gossip 101)

    Tell it to the person on your left
    and perhaps she
    (oh, have you heard?)
    will use that sharp and glee
    -ful tongue to spread it like
    manure, pure and stinky, fresh
    and hot off the press.

    She’ll tell Jess and Gert and Glad
    and Gay, and they’ll all
    (each) tell three;
    and wheeeeee it goes on down
    the street like dirty laundry
    blowing in the breeze.

    Glad’s blabbed plenty, and
    she’s actually got twenty
    friends on speed dial for
    occasions just.like.this.

    Ignorance, bliss?
    Nah! Knowledge is divine
    and let me tell you this:
    there’s fruit on this grapevine.

    It’ll spread like wildfire,
    just you wait and see.

    you could whisper it quietly
    to the person
    on your right.
    In that case,
    your secret’s safe with me.


  175. Gwyvian

    Tell it to the smiling eyes

    My mind is warping like hair through fingers, a ripple
    squeezed of breath till I shiver, those
    fingers touches of melancholy running down my spine;
    we like hiding behind scenic dreams on distant coastlines,
    and we bleed white, the puffs across a clear sky, and those
    dreams seem to steam with the sore spots we conceal
    behind cloaks and words we do not feel – and that
    glassy sea is the oozing salt from our smiling eyes…

    I feel the ripple, I feel the world swelter with the heat
    of unfinished thoughts ripped from the weaving, then dipped
    into a bucket of red to paint a brilliant sunset; we have no head
    for heights, but we are not human without our secret delights, so
    we strive through rippling minds, and reach out to the stars
    to find new dominance: the promise of the shivers in our spines,
    the seed of truth behind my glassy eyes, in our wonderlands—
    at first: tick, tock, and suddenly, without warning: goodbye.

    This place made sense once, and so did I—
    there wasn’t a taste of madness to everything I ever said, but now
    that might as well be a pretty to toss aside, now that the real
    droplets of weight and sobriety have punctured the heartfelt bubble
    of lies, now that time is warping, and my mind comes apart
    at the seams: I step outside, and notice that it’s just a false ceiling—
    behind eyes that just keep smiling.

    April 24, 2014

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

  176. drwasy

    Tell it to my son

    And tell it so he will hear,
    really hear:
    the sadness
    sucking him down
    the rabbit hole
    will pass.
    It. Will. Pass.
    Tell him sadness takes time—
    and faith—to get through;
    and though he thinks
    he has neither,
    tell him to fake his faith,
    count the time:
    it might buy him a minute,
    an hour, a day.

  177. Amy

    Tell It to the Back of My Head

    Let it hang there, in the woolen dawn;
    it couldn’t be as heavy as the words
    I’m wearing now.
    There won’t ever be seconds fusing
    together like our hands had been,
    café au lait.
    I’m rooted to the door frame
    like a sapling, I can be persuaded
    with your warmth.
    The picture frames are listening
    to our little swan song, the mountain
    we’ve made
    of so many microscopic things.
    The light is changing through the window
    blushing the walls
    and my cheeks, beneath tears that run,
    always running. I can’t bring myself to turn,
    but say it, anyway.

  178. Eibhlin

    Tell it to those who read this blog in search of poetry:

    I am a fraud.
    No poet I.
    Yet I too have my proud place here,
    and no one, nothing,
    can ever take from me
    any experience that is mine.

  179. De Jackson

    (a Fib)
    Tell it to the Truth

    brother: Time.
    Maybe they have room
    for your long loose tongue.
    I am weary of marbled words
    and unstrung meandering meaning, but I can see
    that you have nowhere else to be.
    Shall we talk of proof?
    Wait and see.
    Just don’t

    1. BDP

      Time as Truth’s long haired brother–nice, and got me to thinking that Truth is (should be) short and sweet. You make this form work well with the message.

  180. candy


    Tell your secrets to the Man in the Moon
    He is a solitary gentleman who
    knows how to keep his own council
    But never tell the stars
    They party all night, intoxicated by the sparkling
    brightness and prone to gossip

  181. barbara_y

    Tell it to the Focus Group

    There are complaints:
    This spring came late.
    And there have been complaints:
    In my own spring,
    the seasons came on time.
    There will, always, be complaining.
    This season isn’t easy:
    it is not a robin,
    or a city sparrow.
    This season isn’t small:
    it is not a chickadee,
    or a scolding wren.

    Spring requires attention, human.
    It requires your focus, undivided.
    Spring is difficult, a hawk,
    and, always, there will be complaints:
    This Spring was not the color I had ordered;
    This Spring was nothing similar to last.
    This season spins and leaps, ecstatically,
    A dervish with a sword.
    This season is a missive
    from the god of war.
    When there have been complaints
    –the cold, the heat,
    too late, too soon– the wild has been forgotten
    When there all complaints,
    human, take example
    from the silent moon.

  182. CristinaMRNorcross

    Tell It to My Feet

    Tell it to the soft spot
    just under the arch –
    that tender cave wall
    that never touches the ground.

    Tell it to the scuffed, padded bottom
    that takes the full force of gravity
    with each step.

    Tell it to the contours that
    hum and vibrate,
    after a long day of walking –
    each foot having its own heart beat –
    a swelling pulse
    from pounding pavement
    and treading on beaten grass paths.

    Tell it to my feet.
    They say,
    “I’ll take you there
    and back again.”

    Cristina M. R. Norcross
    Copyright 2014

  183. georgiana

    In Support of the Big Bang

    Tell it to the mountain
    That’s what the song told us
    But the mountain already knows

    Tell it to the ocean
    See if it listens
    When you try to explain

    Tell it to the sky
    The stars while you are at it
    See if it believes you

    Just tell the world
    It was created in seven days
    I hope it doesn’t laugh.

  184. Monique

    Tell It To My Beloved

    There are times
    That I hate being lonely
    Even though I cherish being alone.

    I love to talk and hate the silence;
    But right now, I need to feel you with me.
    Just be with me.

    So many people with plans and secrets
    That have nothing to do with me.
    Help me remember that you are part of my life.

    Even though I am not physically with you,
    I know you are with me.
    Remind me that you are more than enough.

    When I go to the city,
    I know there will be times that I am just by myself
    Even when I’m in a crowded room.

    Everyone else has secrets and plans
    That don’t include me
    Don’t let me feel hurt by their neglect.

    In times like this, I remember
    That all these things fade.
    You’re always there, with love eternal and strong.

    There will come a time when I strike out on my own
    Which scares me more than I can say
    Be with me, beloved, when that time comes.

    Even though I am weak, falling down to the pit of loneliness,
    you help me up whenever I fall and remind me to keep going
    The night is long, beloved, so be with me now.

  185. utsabfly

    Tell It To The Heart

    Tell it to the heart,
    Which loves with compassion,
    Striving to retain composure,
    When the world around it’s crashing.

    Tell it to the heart,
    Struggling with each beat,
    To stay strong
    When it wants to retreat.

    Tell it to the heart,
    Alone in a prison of solitude,
    In chains well polished
    Each day like new.

    Tell it the heart,
    That won’t give up,
    Until the flow of life
    Gives way to death’s clutch.

    ©E.D. Allee
    April, 2014

  186. Walt Wojtanik

    Taking a MAJOR chance here… A concrete poem (if it works)


    My Dearest Edgar:
    It has been hard to reach you. I beseech you to hear
    me out, you imp of the perverse! The power of words is in your
    court. Do I need to resort to retorts and provocations?
    Is your station such that you no longer
    care much for the world as it has
    become? Remember that night we had
    that fight after polishing off that
    cask of Amontillado? The vintage was
    weak, I must say, yet the musty
    bouquet had a kick like opium!
    I had seen Annabel Lee, and she
    had no nice things to say of the way
    your pipe dictated your muse. I refuse
    to believe your descent into the
    maelstrom of clear thought was
    wrought with whatever high
    your pipe would provide. You
    can’t hide forever! That
    fall at the House of Usher
    should have weaned you from such addiction,
    but your dereliction was surely remorse filled. Of course
    your sad- ness over Lenore was understandable. It was the premature
    burial they gave her that trou bles me to this day. We could have
    saved her. The oval portr ait that hangs n your study is ruddy
    red from whatever substance you rendered. But your love for her was
    well known; your heart was
    tell-tale – you ne ver fai led to wail and lament
    that what had sent her to the grave. I read the narrative
    of Arthur Gordon Pym. It was him who should have cast
    the proper ver- dict. The good
    doctor and pro- fessor would
    surely have been tarred and
    feathered. It was that purloined
    letter that con- vinced me. Since
    we hardly speak now, how do I reach you?
    Again, I beseech you. Is the city in the seas
    the place where your hau- nted palace spreads?
    Or do you consider me dead to you as well? Do tell.
    Stop living this dream within a dream.
    You seem lost to those who wish you
    none but well! That is truly a predicament. I’ve
    sent three score letters, all returned unopened.
    I suspect the same fate from this hand. I remember
    what you had said in the years when our youth
    plagued us. “Trust your
    heart. Never bet the devil your
    head. The oblong box will wait for your fill!” Your words
    are still in demand.
    Thou art the man!
    These streets are in an upheaval,
    although I long for a tamer lane
    than what exists now! You remain an
    enigma, Edgar! I’ve been ravin’
    of your wile for a while.
    But left unanswered, I will
    write nevermore! Sincerely yours,
    M. Valdemar Red Death Mask
    Company Baltimore, Maryland

          1. PKP

            YES! Paula – GO TO SITE AND LOOK AT THIS POEM!!!
            DO NOT MISS THIS ONE!
            Fantastic in scope and sentiment – love this!

  187. DanielR

    Amongst a field of grass and clover
    stands her chiseled monument of stone
    it marks the spot where life meets death
    and I come here frequently to mourn

    The years show only thirty-four
    mine have now been many more
    but I have so much to say
    and so I visit on this day

    I tell her that Jan is doing fine
    after her miscarriage in June
    Peter’s on schedule to graduate
    from college in December

    It’s funny how time can fly
    me, I am still just getting by
    At times when I feel alone
    I tell it to her headstone.

    Daniel Roessler

  188. jakkels

    Tell it to the world
    Would you shriek your thoughts to the Sun
    While it scorches the desert sands
    Would you shout your thoughts to the storm
    While it tears down branches in the forrest
    Would you speak your thoughts to the rain
    While it pushes down flowers in the garden
    Would you whisper your thoughts to the Moon
    While it paints the beach with dream light
    While the soft lit stage makes magic possible
    While the past seems to walk hand in hand with the future
    Would you let faries paint me
    back Into your life.

  189. beachanny

    Tell It To The Shadows

    Tell it to the shadows
    as they dance and wave
    stick-men on the windows
    rumbas swaying on the panes.

    In silhouettes of flowers
    pointing out the routes of bees
    and many other insects as they
    trail between the trees.

    Listen to the shadows
    whispering songs of play
    actors in the sun’s tableau
    in colors dark as clay.

    Live among the shadows
    watch as light gives way
    sprightly as they undergo
    that sharpness at the end of day.

    Lie within the shadows
    as the moon forms its gateway
    to the night, its crescendos
    allowing all to float away.

    Gay Reiser Cannon

  190. rachelgrace

    tell it to the night

    Seeing darkness overcome her she fell to the ground
    Breathing hard she pushed the questions from her mind.
    Breaking her silence
    She said into the fathom I will stand alone against you
    Closing her eyes to the weight she breathed warmth in through her nostrils
    No, she sobbed defiantly
    You will not have forgotten me
    Pools formed around her as she felt a force leaving her body
    Reaching with her last strength she crumbled
    She whispered I will not be forgotten

  191. k_weber

    Tell It to the Breaker of Hearts

    You should let up
    on the letdown. This rattle
    shakes and exacerbates frustration.

    Why are you fumbling
    my buttons with one hand while
    making an incision with the other?

    There is no anesthetic before
    or during or after all the pulsating
    yet cartoonish yearning I’ve had for two.

    I am the hand-drawn wolf with cracked red
    eyeballs and a tongue rolled out, wet
    and pink, across the world for you.

    You unfasten my favorite dress
    with one hand while letting me
    go with the other.

    – k weber

    1. TomNeal

      The fumbling and frustration so artfully linked; and then the mirror image created by the first and last stanzas bring all together in a temporary/superficial unity- even if unconsciously achieved. Even your apparently simple work is complex.

    2. Linda Goin

      If you’re just coming out of a “writing desert,” then I can’t wait to see what you do when you’re on a roll. Love, love the contrasts, the push/pull,. and THAT wolf analogy. Pure agony in the last stanza. I lapped it up!

  192. Michelle Hed

    Tell it to the World (Extrovert vs Introvert)

    Shout it to the world!
    Everyone should know!
    (by mail)
    A few seconds of glory.
    (anonymous is fine)
    Look at me!
    (Oh no, please don’t.)
    Excited to be the center of attention.
    (I’m going to be sick.)
    Dancing in the streets!
    (There’s an alley.)

    Love you!
    I’m so excited to share you!
    (Alone time would be nice.)
    Please say your “happy”?
    (Of course.)
    See! I knew you would love the attention.
    (No, this is my ‘grin and bear it’ look.)

    (Did you see the secret message?) 

    1. k_weber

      Very nice! Extrovert exclamations and the introvert’s shy parenthetical responses play off of each other in a comical and relate-able manner! I enjoyed the secret message a lot. I like that it wasn’t obvious that you included a secret message. It’s possible readers may not notice for days, months, years… forever!

  193. DanielR

    Posting YouTube videos you search for fame
    You want everyone to know your name
    It’s not about talent, it’s all about image
    It’s just one video, no permanent damage
    you find success with your 10 millionth hit
    you smile to yourself, thinking you finally made it
    Living the dream and your only seventeen
    you’ll find out quick this world’s cruel and mean
    the media built you up and all wanted interviews
    but when they found no drama they created it for you
    didn’t really matter if any of it was true
    cause in the end you gotta pay the devil his due
    where are your parents while you’re partying ‘til dawn
    oh that’s right, they’re there too, getting high on
    whatever it is the drug of the day
    until the police come and hall you away
    now ET is reporting that you are done
    all burnt out before twenty one
    another Lohan, Bieber, or such
    it really has all become too much
    stop pimping our kids, it makes me see red
    wake up before they all end up dead

    Daniel Roessler

  194. Jane Shlensky

    Tell It to My Back

    My face is weary of your lies,
    your ill-wrought stories, alibis;
    your whine, excuse, petty abuse
    I’d overlook, but what’s the use?
    You can’t remember explanations
    used in past infuriations.
    There is no logic, reason, form—
    no humor here to keep me warm.

    I’m not averse to falsity
    told with originality.
    Give me a fiction that is true
    to humankind, if not to you.
    Your lies are boring, no cachet.
    What choice have I but walk away?
    Your tales come from a hopeless hack
    at love. Just tell them to my back.

  195. DanielR

    He fumbles with the buttons on his flannel shirt
    his trembling hands refusing his instructions
    through watery eyes the mirror’s reflection
    in front of him reveals a simple truth
    that decades have accumulated like hours
    the end much nearer now than the start
    his voice has decayed to a throaty whisper
    and he mutters out “Damn” at the weathered
    face of the old man he sees watching him
    he slides his feet across the floor to the living room
    out of breath he sits down in a brown leather recliner
    seventy years of hoarded treasures clutter his home
    stored up like the collected memories that fill his mind
    the mantle clock chimes out seven strokes to the morning
    and he turns on the TV to have some company.

    Daniel Roessler

  196. Jane Shlensky

    Tell it to Migratory Birds

    Wax your wings,
    prepare. Summon strength
    and friendly winds. The ocean is rising,
    the Atlantic seaboard packed and moving West,
    habitats you once loved encroach upon Holiday Inns,
    squat in parking lots demanding room. Feeding grounds are
    frozen lakes and snow-locked fields. I know, I know. You have a pressing
    need to go, a homing conviction once the car is packed and vacation a memory.
    I know the road is long even as the crow flies. Don’t go it alone.
    Befriend the fowls in flight, lay aside bickering for now
    and share the way, goose to hummingbird,
    like foes now army buddies.
    Save time: chat up
    the ladies
    in flight.
    While you must
    feed and flock, be mindful
    that April braves chills and fevers, coughs pollen,
    and exhales frost. Think destination, destination, destination.
    Become one with lift and glide. Fair warning: nesting trees are down in woods
    tormented by winter’s weight hanging on too long. There’s work to do,
    but full feeders await you, albeit they are menaced by hordes
    of marauding squirrels, beady-eyed miscreants.
    Hone your beaks and claws en route;
    come at them like flying monkeys
    furious about global warming.
    Make them feel the MiG
    in migration.

  197. Rolf Erickson

    Tell It To the Moon

    Don’t expect a
    straight answer.

    It all depends on
    when and where
    you happen to be
    when you ask.

    If you think that
    this world intends
    to toe the line
    just to match your
    great expectations
    that’s not how it works.

    Not that there’s
    any harm in trying
    other than your own
    coming to a moment
    of truth that breaks
    open a new chapter of
    a life wanting to be lived.

    That’s when out of
    exasperation or
    frustration or just
    twisted inspiration
    we open the door and
    walk out into the night
    looking up at the sky.

    That’s when that same
    everchanging moon
    either smiles or hides
    or beams or opens it’s
    mouth in surprise
    as we share it all.


    And the moon has
    heard it all before.

    From you from me
    from so many
    seeking souls who
    eventually discover
    themselves alone
    with their own self
    and wonder who.

    And unable to
    do otherwise.

    Tell it to the moon.

  198. Deri

    Tell It to the Empty Side of My Bed

    They mean well
    trying to boost
    my blackened ego
    with saccharine and sentiment
    so I can swallow the bitterness

    You have the loveliest eyes
    The right one is out there
    I wish I could meet someone just like you
    You won’t be alone very long
    He did you a favor…

    If I had a dollar
    for each clichéd refrain
    it would pay for a lifetime supply
    of these little pills I have to take
    just to sleep at night

  199. DanielR

    Her straw colored hair is especially disheveled
    it appears sleep has escaped her grasp for days
    or that she is on the verge of her grand eternal rest
    I can never quite decide which is the truth
    her wide black eyes dart frantically about
    as she stutters out a conversation with herself
    walking to her dented car past all the empty bottles
    of Chardonnay, Malbec, and Cabernet
    cringing at the prospects when I hear her gun the engine
    I shout don’t drink and drive from my second story window
    but she can’t hear my voice over the thunderous crash
    as she runs into her garage door once again.

    Daniel Roessler

  200. mzanemcclellan

    The Listener
    Talk to the listener
    wasted words are seeds unsown
    plant in fertile ground

    ~ M. Zane McClellan

    Copyright 2014
    M. Zane McClellan
    All rights reserved

    1. mzanemcclellan

      Tell It To The Listener
      Talk to the listener
      wasted words are seeds unsown
      plant in fertile ground

      ~ M. Zane McClellan

      Copyright 2014
      M. Zane McClellan
      All rights reserved

  201. Jacqueline Casey

    “Tell it To My Heart”

    Though Heaven acts as
    anchor for my soul,
    a lofty tether is
    your earthly kiss.

    Since Heaven’s orb shines
    brightest in your eyes,
    I’ll choose that crown
    of gold: your blissful sigh.

    Day 24 April PAD Challenge, Writer’s Digest, Prompt: use “tell it to____”

  202. Snowqueen

    Tell It To The Loved Ones
    (Inspiration from listening to Chandler Gerber on the Today Show)

    How many times do we need to hear
    the same thing only different
    It won’t happen to me

    How many times do we need to feel
    this pain because you think you are
    Just so good

    How many times do lives have
    To be abruptly altered or stopped completely
    Because the message had to be sent
    the game had to be played, the call had to be made

    He’s a “no texting, calling, gaming
    While driving” advocate now but his unfortunate
    Story is that while he was texting
    “I love you”
    In those split seconds
    A body suddenly fly’s over his van
    He thinks oh no what have I done
    And three children are dead

    Now the children will never grow up
    Parents and loved ones lives, are altered forever
    The driver’s life will never be the same
    He carries heavy, haunting pain and guilt

    What will you tell the loved ones
    I am sorry, I didn’t think it would happen
    I’m sorry, I’ve never…I’m usually not…..
    I’m sorry
    It doesn’t make them feel better and it
    Won’t make you feel better
    It can happen to you
    You’re not that good
    The message, game and call
    Can be dealt with when you
    Are not driving

    Please make it stop
    It is 100% possible

    Karen D.

  203. DanielR

    In the company of darkness
    loneliness slithers in
    a suffocating boa constrictor
    wrapping itself around me
    and I thrash about
    on white cotton sheets
    desperate to break free
    from the seclusion
    I have brought on myself
    until the weight of solitude
    crushes me beneath it
    leading to my anguished cry
    as I tell it to the moon.

    Daniel Roessler

  204. priyajane

    Tell it to him anyway? — Should I?

    There is nothing left to say
    and yet—— a mumbling spray!
    The scabs have dried and sprouted blooms
    of ageless heart and timeless tunes
    There’s nothing left to say
    and yet— the fragrance lingers on-

    This fairy tale was never clear
    the one which noone cared to hear
    without a ship or place at hand
    some castles buried in the sand
    Imaginary, was that land—

    I smell their glisten in salty pearls
    and hear their flutter in snowflake twirls
    They give my day a special lift
    a lingering , fragrant gift
    with nothing left to say- —
    and yet– the fragrance lingers on

    So should I –tell it-all, to him?
    This ‘nothing’ that is ’cause of him ?

  205. De Jackson

    Tell it to the Poem in My Pocket

    Tell it to come on little cat feet
    but not to eat the plums
           (or the nom de plumes);
    I’m saving them.

    Tell it not to stop by any woods,
    it still has miles to go.

    Tell it there are no balloons
    filled with pretty people. The moon
    is just the moon.

    Tell it Grecian urns
    are ugly.

    Tell it the port is near and there
    is no other sky,
    and to not go gentle
    without a flashlight.

    Tell it some caged birds like to
    and that

    so much depends


    Tell it
    be not proud,
    nor gray
    brillig, nor slithy
    until you get to know ’im.

    Tell it to be pithy,
    my pockets are small.

    Oops. Wait, I haven’t any pockets at all.

                                     Brother, can you spare a poem?


  206. modscribery

    Day 24: Tell-it-to-the-Blank

    “Tell it to the Clouds”

    Tell it to the clouds
    under the bright sun,
    as you lay
    on a hill,
    away from life’s hum.

    Tell them they look like giants and dragons,
    like castles and a princess trapped in the highest tower.

    Tell them they are your magic carpet
    as you drift away on a westward wind.

    Tell them as you lay with them late into the night,
    and bright stars beginning to poke throughwith sharp fingers.

    Tell them as they drift over the moon,
    bundling up just below her chin like a warm woolen afghan.

    Tell it to the clouds
    as you drift on the ninth one
    in the night sky
    and fall

  207. Michele Brenton

    Tell it to the dogs.

    If a dog or worse a pack of dogs
    chases your car,
    the way to stop them
    is to give them a word.

    It takes one word to satisfy
    their desperate need to know,
    just tell them the name
    of the place you intend to go.

    Michele Brenton 24th April 2014

  208. Walt Wojtanik

    A lyric by Walter J Wojtanik

    I haven’t seen you girl, in all these years.
    I had to fight the longing,
    fight the tears.
    You left with so much left to say
    but you truly felt the only way
    was to leave me here.
    Say the words I need to hear,
    Tell it to my heart.

    It seems the love we shared could not compare
    with love you’ve read in stories
    telling of the glory,
    My heart was torn and tattered there,
    but you just left, you didn’t care
    I was bleeding too,
    I was needing you as such,
    Say the words I want so much,
    Tell it to my heart.

           Tell it to my heart
           before you go,
           Tell it to my heart
           so it will know,
           Love is not a part-time thing,
           it should not bring you down,
           let it hear the sound.
           Tell it to my heart.

    Long ago and far away, I gave my heart,
    I thought it was the way to go,
    thought it was the place to start.
    But your pillow feels so cold,
    since you left here, I feel old.
    Listen Darlin’, hear my plea,
    say the words so I can see.
    So tell me, tell it to my heart.

           Tell it to my heart
           before I die,
           Tell it to my heart
           just tell me why
           love is now a throw away,
           I’ll live to love another day,
           there’s still no relief, I can’t believe it,
           Tell it to my heart.

           It’s listening now,
           Tell it to my heart!

  209. Joseph Harker

    Tell it to Me Slant (or, The Foundling)
    (after Emily Dickinson)

    The Lightning with its After-glow
    uplifts — a purple Flower —
    Which presses Petals on the Eye
    of things Unknown before —

    How suddenly the waking Heart
    begins to — Understand! —
    Why does your Mother hesitate? —
    What Winter stays her Hand? —

    The Nests are multiple — the Eggs
    of differing Provenance.
    How Stranger seems the loving Face
    by new and faithless Lens —

    how like the Fall — Empty Space —
    a separate Blood presents –

  210. Geoffrey

    Tell your woes to the birds in the air,
    tell the ravens, tell the sparrows.
    The birds will fly to the corners of the Earth,
    and carry away your sorrows.

    Tell your tale to a stranger on the street;
    ask to hear his saga;
    share your heart, and share your bread,
    your parts in the never-ending drama.

    Listen to the wisdom of the flowers of the field,
    the blowing of the wind;
    the buzzing of the bees and the ripple of the brook,
    the knowledge that the world has an end.

    Go tell your sorrows to the graveyard on the hill,
    to the folk sleeping there;
    in the silence of the peaceful grassy meadows,
    they listen without care.

    Shout your love into the blowing of the storm,
    the rain and sea and sky;
    the wind will listen, the wind will hear,
    the wind will give you your reply.

  211. Mr. Take The Lead

    Tell it to the Mathematician
    Daniel R. Simmons
    My emotions dripping on white paper
    Painting the image of my soul
    With the colors of tear drops and blood of my passion
    I aim to display the sounds of my muffled heart
    Sword in one hand
    As a drink from a glass of inspiration in another
    I start my way at what some called a magical masterpiece
    Others a symphony of beautiful music
    As for me I simply call it writing
    And no I don’t need a silly equation
    Because my passion cannot be calculated
    Or measured by numbers
    My displays of words are infinite
    They cannot be solved
    Only appreciated

  212. taylor graham


    That crisp new $5 bill
    I placed on top of the new books
    I hoped to sell at my reading –
    $5 for parking – the books placed neatly
    by the front door, ready to go –
    it was you, Blink, who shredded Mr. Lincoln
    down the side of his careworn face.
    Don’t just wrap yourself purring around
    my ankles. You’re not even listening,
    are you, Blink? Why did I ever fall for that
    midnight purr, that kink in your pertly
    ink-tipped tail? As if a cat were a muse!
    You just toy with my poem as if it were a mouse.
    My dog follows the proper syntax
    of a household, he was born with a sense
    of measure. Not this feline flippity –
    now where are my car keys …. Stop
    chasing them around as if they were a lizard.
    Look, you’ve knocked them into the air-
    duct! I’ll never get them back. Cat!
    Why do I even keep you?
    Because of your mystery-profile, there, posed
    at the window as if you could catch
    a bird on the fly, or a mythical daytime bat.
    Because a poem should speak
    to the thing itself, and in the grand order
    of things, you are not a dog.
    You’re a cat.

  213. creilley


    “Yesterday,” the Beatles crooned,
    “All my troubles seemed so far away.”
    And tho’ well-sung and better tuned
    I’d no idea what they meant to say.

    I was callow youth, barest green
    And they were brains to the Stones balls.
    I’d not yet seen what they had seen
    I had barely lived, not lived at all.

    My life was all tomorrows
    And what would happen next.
    I had no time for sorrows,
    And finances had me forever vexed.

    “Love was such an easy game to play,”
    Was the only part that stuck in my head
    Looking back now I’ve got to say
    I was not thinking with my head.

    Why she had to go, she wouldn’t say
    But it is real, not a catchy pop song
    Now I need a place to hide away
    Until I can figure out where it went wrong.

    The Beatles sang, they sang to you and me
    They sang and they had something to say
    There is a shadow hanging over me
    And I believe ….. in yesterday.

  214. Domino

    I Love You

    Tell it to the moon
    rising over the hill
    Tell it to the stars
    glittering up above

    Tell it to the flower
    its petals quake and thrill
    Tell it to the tree
    whose boughs are filled with love

    Tell it to the person
    sitting right beside you
    Look into their eyes
    and say it most sincere

    Tell it to your children
    your days with them are few
    Hold them to you close
    say it while they’re near

    Tell it to your mother
    the one who gave you life
    Tell it to your father
    who is forever there

    Tell it to your friends
    their days with trouble rife
    Tell it to the world
    and say it with a prayer

    Diana Terrill Clark

  215. De Jackson

    Tell it to the Blank Stare

    I know you don’t know me anymore, Mama,
    but I miss you. That little girl you keep tell

    -ing me about, the one with my name? Those
    stories are actually your granddaughter’s. She

    has your eyes. I hope somewhere deep, per
    -haps buried but still strong, you hold those

    memories for real, because you have been an
    incredible grammy, just as you were an amaz

    -ing mom. I know I am a stranger to you now,
    hard to find. But please, hold me in your heart,

                                                   if not your mind.


  216. ambermarie

    Tell It to the Unknown Soldier

    I see the breeze drop the rain
    But the dust burns your vacant eyes
    I long for your ancient smile
    How does it feel to be alone over there
    Breaking rules we never made
    You hurt yourself and I hold it in
    Both exploding

    A wounded stranger I once knew
    Forgot when the battle ended
    To come home again
    Do you blame me at all that you’re gone now
    Having crossed into the woods with those zombies
    The lost souls that pulled you in
    When pride overrode your basic instinct
    To live and let live

    Shame binds you like a prisoner of war
    So now you dwell in hell
    I see the fire when you look at me
    A familiar blaze I bear inside
    Nothing left to burn
    Just ashes of your former self remain
    Ignorant of forgiveness and innocence long forgotten
    Integrity shattered, a broken bottle beneath a brick wall
    Captain, please help me find the will that was given away
    Surrendered on the battlefield of the unconscious

    Deaf and blind, you can’t know me again
    Things will never be the same
    Don’t despair little brother
    Each breath is another chance, every sunrise a new hope
    Of awakening to the presence within
    Which absolves all darkness –
    Washing their blood with your tears.

  217. geetakshi

    Tell it to the void

    Abstractions don’t wait,
    suspended as they are in
    shocking liminalities of flux;
    Gorging on sensibilities
    deemed too ‘complex':
    The green grass,
    as fresh as it may be,
    becomes an optical illusion,
    a nervous sensibility of sorts;
    Love is a combination of hormones,
    nothing more, nothing else;
    And the void,
    an empty space like an attic,
    filled with hidden treasures,
    promising magic and adventure,
    ruthless and divisive;
    Does the void know
    how the rain and sun feel?
    Or, mechanized,
    Does it only knows how to wait
    eternally trapped within itself?

    ©Geetakshi Arora
    April 24, 2014

  218. De Jackson

    Tell it to the Blankety-Blank in the Corner with the Blue Tie

    because I
    don’t need it.

    I don’t need your platitudes
    or your gratitude
    or your attitude.

    I won’t be your placemat
    or your floormat
    or your doormat.

    I don’t need your pleadings
    or your misleadings,
    or your blank and silent stare.

    So maybe just go
    tell it to that guy
              over there.


  219. dixonlm2

    Tell it to the Gatekeeper Angel

    When you arrive at heaven’s gate,
    Can you present a decent slate?

    Can you show all you did to just help?
    Or will you cry out loud and yelp?

    When asked to present your personal case,
    Will it be adorned with beauty and lace?

    Or will you hang your head in defeated shame?
    And look around to find others to blame?

    Be ready for that great inevitable day,
    Make sure you have a many positive things to say.

    Lynn M. Dixon

  220. Walt Wojtanik


    My Dearest Edgar:

    It has been hard to reach you.
    I beseech you to hear me out,
    you imp of the perverse!
    The power of words is in your court.

    Do I need to resort to retorts
    and provocations? Is your station such
    that you no longer care much
    for the world as it has become?

    Remember that night we had that fight
    after polishing off that cask of Amontillado?
    The vintage was weak, I must say,
    yet the musty bouquet had a kick like opium!

    I had seen Annabel Lee, and she
    had no nice things to say of the way
    your pipe dictated your muse. I refuse
    to believe your descent into the maelstrom

    of clear thought was wrought with whatever high
    your pipe would provide. You can’t hide forever!
    That fall at the House of Usher should have
    weaned you from such addition, but your dereliction

    was surely remorse filled. Of course
    your sadness over Lenore was understandable.
    It was the premature burial they gave her
    that troubles me to this day. We could have saved her.

    The oval portrait that hangs in your study
    is ruddy red from whatever substance
    you rendered. But your love for her was well known;
    your heart was tell-tale – you never failed to wail

    and lament that what had sent her to the grave.
    I read the narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym.
    It was him who should have cast
    the proper verdict. The good doctor and professor

    would surely have been tarred and feathered.
    It was that purloined letter that convinced me.
    Since we hardly speak now, how do I reach you?
    Again, I beseech you. Is the city in the seas

    the place where your haunted palace spreads?
    Or do you consider me dead to you as well?
    Do tell. Stop living this dream within a dream.
    You seem lost to those who wish you none but well!

    That is truly a predicament. I’ve sent
    three score letters, all returned unopened.
    I suspect the same fate from this hand.
    I remember what you had said in the years

    when our youth plagued us. “Trust your heart.
    Never bet the devil your head. The oblong box
    will wait for your fill!” Your words are still
    in demand. Thou art the man!

    These streets are in an upheaval, although I long
    for a tamer lane than what exists now!
    You remain an enigma, Edgar! I’ve been ravin’ of your wile
    for a while. But left unanswered, I will write nevermore!

    Sincerely yours,

    M. Valdemar
    Red Death Mask Company
    Baltimore, Maryland

  221. pomodoro

    Tell it to the Diptera on the Wall

    Esculent word by esculent word,
    (paraprosdokian ~ nodus ~ scurf)
    I feast on them in poems, conversations, emails, tweets;
    (eleemosynary ~ frowsty ~ sockdolager)
    wolf down the avalanchine tumble of jottings, I
    (corybantic ~ ripsniptious ~ subitize )
    pig out on on the pop-bang-boom of a bottle-rocket word,
    (foofaraw ~ bumf ~ schmegeggy)
    nibble and nosh on the little squirt of surprise
    that scuttles by like a crab in a lab coat.

  222. CLShaffer

    Tell It To The Guitar by C. Lynn Shaffer

    My husband closes his eyes to the jerks
    of his universe, opens a case in the suburbs,
    teasing the air to hold its breath.
    Suddenly mysterious as a voodoo priest
    and hip as New Orleans
    he brings out the swamp ash body, its heft
    the realest part of his day.
    He feels the electric sting in his fingers
    and his lips part. He extracts
    the notes, each one lingering
    as he starts the next.
    So much of his life is subtraction
    but here the end is unmet, the fretwork
    adding up the facts that can’t be checked.
    When he plays, I lurk,
    watch him replenish
    what daily is obscured. This love is grim
    and sweet, the fervent calling of a phantom limb.

  223. Joseph Hesch

    Tell It to the Robot Operator Guy

    Yes, hello, I’m….
    “Welcome to…”

    I’ve been down this road before, buddy.
    You’re the Robo-Operator Guy who bears
    a more than passing aural resemblence
    to that Voice of Old Testament God listing
    His shalt-nots at the airport.
    Yes. Yes. No. Claims.
    No you can’t have the last four digits
    of my Social Security number!

    I used to just press “0” and jump
    to a human to share my insurance,
    health, or credit card problem with.
    But nowadays, I’m a button-pushing,
    Yes/No enunciating spelunker scrambling
    deeper into your echoing cavern to a call center
    in Atlanta, Omaha, Jersey City or Bangalore.

    What was that click? Hello? Hello!!

    I wish I spoke Spanish. That lady
    who asks me to press “numero dos”
    sounds so much more accommodating.
    I’ll bet she wouldn’t…
    “Welcome to …” Yes, Yes, No…

  224. De Jackson

    Tell it to the Blank

    Got your title? Every
    jot and tittle
    must be just so.

    Don’t name it Gertrude
    or Gesundheit. No, that
    won’t do at all.

    The first four foot soldiers,
    word place holders,
    must fall into rank.

    If you’ve got one
    of your own, then
    yell it to the _________.


  225. dextrousdigits

    Tell it to the Wind

    If you insides are churning
    your brain staggers off a merry-go-round to
    jump on a roller coaster
    your brain cells scuttle around
    a pinball machine looking
    for an out to the problems
    your jaws clenching,
    shoulders drawn up, dangling earring’s
    from ears buzzing to
    self dialogue about what to do
    you find your self pacing

    Walk outside
    look at the sky,
    a plant, a tree, a flower
    instead or your chatter listen to a bird
    take a deep breath
    breath your troubles out into the air
    whisper the racing inside words and thoughts
    to the wind
    let it carry them away
    and in turn bring back to you
    a lung full of clean air.
    Inhale deeply letting it circulate
    to your shoulders, jaw and brain.
    Breathe in, listen to,
    Talk with the wind.

  226. whatevertheyaint


    Tell it to the crazy in me, but I love you
    all the ups and valleys and turns of this ride
    The idiosyncrasies, the idiotic things you do—
    tell it to the crazy in me, I love you
    Our give and take is off-kilter, true;
    Or is it you know I’ll stay by your side?
    Tell it to the crazy in me but I love you,
    all the ups and valleys and turns of this ride

  227. elledoubleyoo

    Tell It to Your Daughter

    How I’d love to hear the speech you’ll give
    one day when she’s old enough to mourn

    a boy’s attention, the way I grieved for yours;
    when she seems like she’ll melt

    away into a puddle of brine, longing,
    like Echo, to hear his voice murmur

    her name with more reverence
    than she’s ever heard anyone say grace.

    I wonder if you’ll know your own reflection
    and if you’ll hear the smallest echo,

    in her sob-choked words, of me.

    1. Lori DeSanti

      I love this, the title and the line, “one day when she’s old enough to mourn/ a boy’s attention” is a beautiful enjambment. All of the enjambed lines here are beautifully calculated.

  228. Shennon

    Go Tell It To Your Mother

    Go tell it to your mother
    She’s heard that line before
    Go complain about your sister
    Whom you currently deplore.

    Go tell it to your uncle
    I’m sure he’ll understand
    He’s got a heart of pure gold
    But hates to reprimand.

    Go tell it to your grandma
    She likes to keep things fair
    She very well may spank you both
    Go tell her if you dare.

    Go tell it to your brother
    He used to quote that line
    Maybe he’ll take pity
    When he sees you snivel and whine.

    Go tell it to the cat
    You’ll get a firm rebuff
    Whiskers has ways to let you know
    When she thinks enough’s enough.

    Go tell it to the puppy
    He’ll lend a gracious ear
    Doubtlessly he’ll take your side
    He’ll lick away your tears.

    DON’T, however, come to me
    My interest lies elsewhere today
    This chat room group needs my advice
    I’ve got on-line games to play.


  229. DCR1986

    Tell It to the Broadcast Crew

    Please switch the lights!
    Off to the American standard of beauty.

    Please angle your camera!
    To reveal realistic reality.

    Please show action!
    Beyond explicit and absurd behavior.

    —Danielle C. Robinson

  230. Connie Peters

    Tell it to the Doctor

    I care about you, yes, but about your back pain,
    blood sugar, blood pressure, headaches, eye strain,
    ear wax, ear ringing, nose hairs, tooth ache, goiter,
    gout, hernias, hemorrhoids, diarrhea, dizziness,
    hyperactive bladder, irritable bowels, creaky knees,
    weak ankles, arthritis, restless legs, constipation,
    ingrown toenails, tummy aches, ulcers, not so much.

  231. Lori DeSanti

    Tell it To the Hydrologist

    You tell me our souls are made
    of water; moving in and out of each
    other freely like an ocean current,

    two oceans crossing paths like cells
    during osmosis— I am the crest, you
    are the undertow, both of us always

    underwhelming, overbearing, whole.

  232. Erynn

    “Tell it to the Shadows”

    Shadows creeping, void of light
    Surround us in a silent night
    Feeling as a soft caress
    While our minds they possess
    They know all our deepest fears
    They know about our fallen tears
    Pulling secrets from our heart
    Taking our very souls apart
    We find a sickly sweet release
    As they devour every piece
    Numbness begins to coat the pain
    And our energy begins to drain
    The shadows begin their final blow
    When soft light begins to glow
    Dawn arrives bringing light
    The shadow quickly take their flight
    We find relief in the waxing sun
    But know our torture is not done
    For the night follows the day
    And shadows never go away

  233. Liliuokalani

    Tell it to the Ziplock Bags of Sawdust

    I’m piled beside maple sideboards of our bed,
    my arms floating by our down pillows –
    the ones with the cartoon tulips –
    my fingers pinch then slide,
    playing a Bach cello suite in air,
    sealing sandwich baggies
    full of the rest of me,
    that is usually steaming –
    but not today.

  234. PatsC

    Tell It To The Grave

    Too much kept silent,
    Likewise many thoughts,
    Given words,
    Ego over love.

    The endless yearning,
    To be held,
    It will be all right,
    Wisdom gained through touch.

    Constant love,
    Through the struggle,
    Of me becoming me,
    Faith in the process.

    The saddest sentences,
    Start out the same,
    I wish I’d told your more often,
    Spirit removed and love remains.

  235. PKP

    Tell it to the short boy in the eighth grade

    the girls who looked down on you
    who giggle behind soft taloned hands
    who run past you at your locker and in the ball-field stands
    the girls who huff, and wiggle and slide their eyes over you and by
    will be guffawed at by high-school boys who will send them to their rooms to cry….

  236. shellaysm

    Tell it to the Mask
    (Unasked Whys)

    Did you get bad news today
    that caused you to look at me that way?

    Your face seemed to hint
    there was more to your squint.

    Did the doctor say, “It’s back?”
    Has new love vowed to put you on track?

    Have you grown to dread being near me,
    cuffed by obligation not to flee?

    Have we lost our last dime,
    the house to be taken any time?

    Or is it a question of your own, perhaps,
    some crazy fear you can no longer trap?

    “Has a clue somehow reached her;
    Does she know I’ve beseeched her?

    Is the love between us lost
    despite our attempts at all cost?

    Can I maintain a mere sliver,
    enough to daily deliver?”

    These lies which we silently share
    show, I suppose, that at least we care.

    But the stifling doubts paralyze and choke,
    scar an already hot wound like fire poke.

    Did you ever just not ask,
    scared of the answer behind the mask

    for the response you so fear
    may be one you don’t want to hear?

    Are there truths better not knowing
    to keep the grand facade going?

    Or is the masked life really the worst of all lies?
    So much time is wasted asking unasked whys.

    Michele K. Smith

  237. PKP

    Tell it to the child sitting alone

    tell the child it does not matter
    though right now it feels so far from small
    the teasers, tattlers and torturers shall become
    the steel forged for more important battles – the child
    so armoured will fight them someday all

    1. dhaivid3

      Work like this, surely, will cost good money:

      “the teasers, tattlers and torturers shall become
      the steel forged for more important battles – the child
      so armoured will fight them someday all”

      Bravo, PKP.

  238. Lori DeSanti

    Don’t Tell It To the Next Girl

    Don’t tell her that some fool
    loved you, your sweet smile
    with teeth like butter cream,

    sweet and unforgiving. Don’t
    tell her how easily I crumbled
    when your lips grazed my ear.

    Don’t mention the persuasion
    of your hands; their tug until
    we tumbled into your bed and

    stayed there for days, lusting
    after warm, red wine and the
    rouge of each other’s tongue. I

    hope the next girl wears the salt
    of her skin like armor; don’t ruin
    her in all the ways you ruined me.

  239. Linda Goin

    Tell it to Robert Michels,

    a wealthy German who studied under Weber
    and who wrote On the Sociology
    of political parties in modern democracy:
    a study on oligarchic tendencies
    in political aggregations.

    Michels believed that any system
    eventually evolves into an oligarchy.

    It is three in the morning, and someone
    is screaming at me from across the country,
    something large about a corporate party.
    I gather wine bottles, pick flowers.

    It is three thirty in the morning,
    and my arm is throbbing, as if I had lobbed
    twenty wine bottles filled with flowers
    at guards gathered in theater lobbies.

    It is four in the morning, and I recognize
    how gasoline creates gutter rainbows.

    An unarmed army swarms my garden,
    and we all look up, stretching
    throats to feel that taut line
    that links our voices to our guts.
    We realize how we hunger
    for a piece, just a leaf,
    or a stem.

    1. PKP

      Oooooh boy — no this m’dear is the kind of piece that has me wishing that there was a delete option so I could erase all the drivel I’ve written thus far ! Bravo!

      1. Linda Goin

        hahaha — I hear you on the delete button. I cringe at all the grammatical errors I’ve published this month. But, drivel? From you? Hardly. Thank you, Pearl. <3

  240. PKP

    Go Tell It To The Sea

    it will not much matter
    if you sob and wail and cry
    a torrent of your falling tears
    will inform the aquamarine seas
    as they roll and roil in shimmer under
    the spreading cerulean sky

    so drop your tears in
    buckets or stingily one
    by one by one
    tis what forms
    the sea from
    the beginning
    shall continue
    far past when
    you are gone
    and done

    1. k_weber

      I really appreciate your use “roll and roil”… the two words look the same and “roil” is such an unusual word to pronounce although it sounds like “royal”. saying those words out loud conjures up imagery of waves and the music here is just so comforting.

      i like the idea of a sea originating from a single tear and then over time swelling into a vast body of water. i needed to read a poem like this today. thank you!

  241. elishevasmom

    Tell it to the Soldiers

    Tell them it was a war
    We had no business fighting,

    Even though we seemed to
    Have such good reasons at the time.

    That even with the media embedded
    We become so inured to the dramas,

    The pictures, the poignancies, the pathos,
    That it still becomes another case of

    out of sight, out of mind. It is just that the
    memories are so damned inconvenient.

    Once you let one in, they start popping
    up all over the place.

    Once they are no longer in uniform it is
    so easy to step over them on the way by.

    Even so.

    When you see a hat marked with the
    name “USS…whatever”, or with

    “Proud Vietnam Veteran” or with
    “Veteran Korean War”, be sure to tell them

    “Thank you” for their service.
    Watch their countenance change,

    The lines on their faces soften. If you look closely
    you can even see their hearts open.

    Ellen Evans

  242. candy

    Tell it to The Maples

    Goodbye dear friends
    You’ve stood for over seventy years
    Sheltering birds and squirrels and me
    Subtle flowers in the spring give way to jagged
    leaves and helicopter seeds
    A giant awning to shade us from the sun
    Breathing out oxygen to clean the air
    And now invaded by aliens your life must end
    They say the first cut is the deepest
    It hurts me more than you

  243. JanetRuth

    Tell it to Time’s Fellow-creatures

    Come, come, the morn has broken
    Through shadow-chains, deep blue
    It splays love’s faithful token
    Across earth’s avenue
    The hour like a flower
    Unfolds from bud to bloom
    Before its petals shower
    An hour’s ether tomb

    Come, come and do not tarry
    For lo, upon the breeze
    I sense the phantom hurry
    Of ‘almost memories’
    Tomorrow is a thought, love
    And yesterday a ghost
    But come, the morning offers
    To us life’s uttermost

    Come, come, the jars of sorrow
    Will brim with love’s lament
    But we can never borrow
    A moment that is spent
    And joy in equal portions
    Is waiting to bestow
    Hope’s moment-mimed allotment
    As by God’s grace we go

    Come, come, for soon dusk-shadows
    Will draw to Naught’s embrace
    The after math of scattered
    Expenditures of grace
    And we, Time’s fellow-creatures
    Cannot afford to miss
    The fullness of a morning
    That soon no longer is…

    © Janet Martin

    Off to its graces! Happy Thursday (.returning later to read:)

  244. cindikenn

    Tell it to the Thesaurus
    (Novice Quatern)

    Lovely words percolate my brain.
    Like pettifog, garrulous, hush,
    persnickety, finical, lush.
    To waken imagination

    I tell it to the Thesaurus:
    Lovely words percolate my brain.
    As two we’re a tassled rumpus
    sharing perky sounds among us:

    picayune, tomfoolery, gonk.
    She’s profundity, I’m pen – since
    Lovely words percolate my brain.
    Cover missing, dirty spine bent,

    mottled, torn, tattered, pages spent.
    As if something someone hated.
    I think she’s pulchritudinous.
    Lovely words percolate my brain.

  245. Reynard

    Tell it to the dog
    Late at night
    She always understands
    I bury my hands
    Deep in her fur
    And she looks at me
    Deep brown eyes
    Ever so wise
    Why can’t I see
    I have her
    It’s all okay
    She has little to say
    But she knows so much
    Tell it to the dog
    Late at night

  246. lily black

    Even Though?

    Tell it to the mountain
    Tell it to the trees
    Tell it from the darkest rivers
    Tell it at the market
    Tell it in the streets
    Tell it if you must
    Even though I asked you
    Not to.
    You told it from the mountains
    You told it to the trees
    You told it from the rivers
    You told it at the store
    You know you just had to
    Even though I asked you
    not to.
    Now I turn from the mountains
    I don’t look up at trees
    I’m never going swimming
    Or shopping up the street
    Eyes are always whispering
    Behind old spotted hands
    Everybody knows
    You let my secret out
    Even though I asked you
    Not to.

  247. aphotic soul

    Tell Me The Truth
    by Paul Andrew Ryan

    Tell me the truth, in some distorted way,
    Leave out the proof, I’ll listen to what you say,
    Whisper sweet lies that seduce, tell ya what I’ll even pay,
    After all that’s what religions produce, After all that’s the Christian way!
    We cycle through our lies and contradictions, we cherry pick our holy book,
    While ignoring certain restrictions, but hey, if you’re gay you’re a crook!
    When it comes to inconvenient constrictions, well… that part isn’t right, don’t look,
    Is there too much accuracy in this depiction? Maybe you just mislooked,

    In this life we live, we take and trust too much,
    And oh how little we give, when it doesn’t have to be as such,
    We can travel a different way,
    It doesn’t cost extra money,
    It doesn’t tax our pay,
    And yet I find it funny,
    Those words would be something a politician would say,

    We sell the land we stand on,
    We corrupt the air we breath,
    Like some self selling con,
    We’ll sell anything we can conceive,

    After all, an afterlife is only $19.99 away,
    No refunds nor returns,
    But trust me, it’s the only way!
    Don’t listen to any doubts or pesky concerns,
    By this time tomorrow you can be sleeping with the worms!

    In this poem of sightly rehearsals,
    I dance around with irreverent reversals,
    To portray the thoughts of those who don’t question,
    And to give some satire with my suggestion,
    For we play the fools of a society gone bad,
    Nothing more than tools, left without the craftsmen we once had,
    So open your eyes and remove the blind fold,
    Take off your guise and take grasp of what you’re afraid to hold.

    But in the end I’m left questioning,
    If any of this was really worth suggesting…
    For deaf ears fall on blind eyes,
    As silent as a mute when he muffles his cries.

  248. PKP

    Aw heck – tell it to the judge

    No sense in foolin
    with it – shuffling up,
    down, sideways and around
    tell it to the wispy shimmered robe
    who will set you in the waiting gaping opened ground

  249. pmwanken

    Tell It To The Blank Page

    Write it out
    when no one listens
    to your words.
    Write it out
    when you have no one who cares
    to hear your heart beat.

    Write it out
    to hear your own voice.
    Fill the page
    with the words
    that silently beat against
    the walls of your heart.

    Write it out.
    Fill the blank pages
    with your words
    and maybe
    someday your heart will be heard
    through the words you write.

    P. Wanken

  250. PKP

    Tell it to the mountain and all that jazz

    You might as well
    tell it to the towering
    mountain – over the
    hills – singing all that
    some have proclaimed
    far greater announcements
    resonating across the land
    go tell it to the mountain
    climb the peak and stand
    in a harbored crag – as
    wildflowers fill the cracks
    in your soul
    and solid stone

  251. Mark Danowsky

    Tell it to Fitzgerald

    or Melville
    who never knew
    their texts would thrive
    after they were gone. Why
    is this so frequent? Why do we
    let this continue? Same goes for artists
    of the visual persuasion. They will tell you
    we live in a cruel Bizarro world where value increases after
    The Creator is no longer around to appreciate what has become of her.

    1. PKP

      whether intentional or not the poem expands into something much larger than an artist -with the caps on Creator it moves into major philosophical territory … terrific :)

  252. spinzo

    Tell it to the Crowd

    Three steps remain when it hits
    The stench of stale urine
    Making moods more contrary with each
    Breath drawn in through nostrils
    Unaccustomed to the city

    The turnstile (are they still called that?) opens
    To the gathering crowd waiting behind
    The yellow line
    Milling, pacing, talking
    Scanning other eyes that refuse to connect

    Wind pushes from the dark
    Electric, warm
    A whisper that tells of a coming train
    Screams an obvious arrival through spark and steel

    Inhaling it begins

    Heads down


    Pressed in now feet arms legs backpacks bags satchels duffels contact inevitable too tight

    Routine aggravation
    It doesn’t have to be this way

    Tell it to the crowd

  253. Clae

    Tell it to the Asphalt

    besides people
    things that cross the road
    sandhill cranes
    assume the cars will wait
    seized by indecision
    leap out of nowhere fast
    make a break for it
    swift but long
    sometimes too long
    at top land speed
    everyone cringes
    raccoon and opossum
    only the failures are seen

    T.S. Gray

      1. carolemt87

        Well stated but you, perhaps intentionally, left out the lowly skunk, which I hit two weeks ago. Wasn’t and didn’t smell like roses–that’s for sure!!

  254. Walt Wojtanik


    You’ve traveled far, traversing the golden road
    to where the grass is greener by design. You need
    to speak your mind, lest your words fall to be trampled.

    You’ve sampled the good life and think it would be rife
    with possibilities and endless potential. But your state
    is deferential to your success. I you had to guess

    you’d be sure every need you have can be rolled up
    into your ball of despair. It is where you might be granted
    a reprieve if you truly believe in wizards and dreamers.

    You feel empty inside, and you hide it well.
    your tell-tale heart was left out of the grand plan.
    You stand motionless; your emotions are less moving.

    Your thoughts are jumbled, and you stand mumbling
    something about your mindless situation (as if
    you ever had one in the first place) Your face

    is blank and thankfully it hides your fear. It is here
    that you wish bravado would find its groove, but you’ve
    given up before the battle is won. You are one scared cat.

    And that is you in a nutshell. Say “What the Hell!”
    and tell the man what you need. Don’t think of it as greed
    or avarice. It’s all good for what’s hurtin’ you.

    Tell it to the man behind the curtain.
    You owe it to yourself
    and that goes for your little dog, too!

  255. taylor graham

    The difference / between nothing / and nothingness / is existence.
    – Rae Armantrout

    Such a tiny town on the road
    to nowhere, it has no motel, not even
    the no-tell kind.
    The local joke, no-tell = there’s nothing
    to talk about in a nothing town.
    So what do the kids do?
    They smuggle a couple of 6-packs
    into somebody’s room,
    and when they’re done it’s nothing
    but empty
    cans and one less kid who must
    have snuck out a window
    or something. Nothing’s
    as cold as a no-tell town in winter,
    the fields all white
    as angels’ wings brushing
    away like wind the evidence,
    filling his tracks
    with snow in drifts of unmade
    sheets, singing him
    lullabies that tell nothing.

  256. Kimmy Sophia

    I lay on grass and think of fragile earth,
    all the tempests in our tea cup.
    I tell it to the gods.
    My sacred planet,
    silly planet,
    fellow earthlings off their meds,
    screaming tantrums,
    smashing crockery,
    cradling the crying babies.
    Earth is like an underworld.
    Orpheus, we need a song.

  257. uneven steven

    Tell it to the NSA

    who says your government doesn’t
    listen to you anymore
    Tell it to the editor
    when you complain
    you’ve heard that joke before
    No really, at the end of every gmail
    tell it to the NSA
    in obscene yo mama jokes
    and veiled turbaned threats
    what’s the worst that could happen
    Then tell it to the guys at guantanamo
    the simple cabbies
    cleared of any wrong doing
    but now too dangerous
    to leave
    Go ahead
    tell it to your doctor
    preexisting conditions
    won’t deny you coverage anymore
    but they just might cut to the chase or to the quick
    or to whatever else the kids
    are cutting it to these days
    So let’s just tell it to the NOUN now shall we
    but don’t expect him to do anything about it
    it’s not his job to be actively
    or passively anything at all
    No matter how much you keep
    telling it to your self
    it never has been
    and never will

    1. PKP

      Hi there! How have I missed you this challenge? Well obviously since we are now in such a bustling throng… Wonderful to see you and a terrific – thought provoking, entertaining poem :)

  258. kelly letky

    tell it to the darkness in the cave of existence


    whisper what you saw to the wall of painted protest

    the white bear standing lost on a landscape gone green

    an ocean filled with plastic pours and printed promises


    water everywhere

    seeping up through the grip of your lost toes


    your thirst will force you to imbibe

    the fish of forgotten

    as extinction inches up the corner of your thigh


    cry foul and you’ll be silenced

    by the nownownow

    of tomorrow’s impossible exigence


    grab a brush dipped in gone and wash away

    the last canary


    light a fire in the oil that skims every surface

    illuminate destruction with a ring of false keep

    raise your hands high and tell your last story


    i can see i can see i can see


    ~Kelly Letky

  259. Walt Wojtanik

    My pocket poem is one written by my “Partner” Marie Elena Good. Like her, it is short and sweet and from the heart. Her absence is notable.


    LOVE SPEAKS by Marie Elena Good

    When love speaks,
    It speaks softly.
    When love listens,
    It listens intently.
    But when love sings,
    It ascends to the heavens,
    And enchants its very Creator.

    The whispered tones feed my mind a voiceless noise
    that infiltrates my heart and head. Instead of filling my ears
    with your breathless tears, you have elevated your love
    to rise above all obstacles. It feeds the hunger with in,
    my soul hears what your heart broadcasts in dots and dashes,
    a Morse Code that is easily deciphered. It sifts through
    and you let your words of compassion heal all hurts inflicted.
    You would be depicted as an ever-beating heart, that started
    the day we met, and we’ve never let it cease its rhythm.
    Your whispered tone speaks to the love we bear.
    It is there that you are heard loud and clear.

    1. PKP

      Ah – the love story which began right here on this cobble-stoned street with white chestnut blossoms falling softly …. continues… across the lake…through all sorts of time… observed… and enjoyed… Delight-full!!

  260. grcran

    tell it to the ace

    go tell it to the ace of spades. so grim,
    so utterly unhappy with your lot.
    The ace will stare, you’ll have your fill of him.
    He reaps he keeps the date and there is not
    A thing that could be done to change this dance.
    This daily chance to tie loose ends will stop.
    The ace will hear no pleading, no romance.
    And if you had some way to make a swap,
    you better tell the queen of hearts instead.
    Say often what is on your mind, share all
    The kindnesses, kudos; give her some cred-
    it. Soon, indifferent ace will come to call.

    Then after, what to think and what to do?
    It all depends if it was him or you.

    by gpr crane, aka rusty

        1. PKP

          :) one of my “grand-girls” asked me last night (the 9 year old) when is that ‘challenge like we did last year?” Just thought you’d be touched to know that you and Ina made a lasting impact :)

  261. Walt Wojtanik


    Why are you telling me this?
    You were never one to kiss and tell,
    and it’s just as well. It’s a bit unfair
    to draw me into your tale, but
    it never fails, you think your exploits
    make everyone else around you pale
    in comparison. And like you are
    a garrison of virtue? Please!
    My disinterest is only paralleled
    by my lack of empathy.
    My caring tank is empty!
    My tiny violin is playing a symphony
    for your sad story. I’m sorry,
    but tell it to someone who cares!
    Don’t tell it to me!

  262. barbara_y

    Tell it to the Barefoot Writer

    Lurking in the margin–a messenger, M’Lord,
    arrived to you from some far distant duke.
    An invitation: Come. And live the life,
    with nothing of the drudgery. How? Do I write
    this lord by way of return runner? What life
    do barefoot writers live? And what of winter?
    I do fear the lure of sand and sun drowns reason,
    for work suffers while my dreams converse
    with tan-cheeked clean-limbed messengers.

    1. dhaivid3

      Oh my! Because it is not my place to do so I try to avoid using the synonym for ‘VICTOR’ or ‘CHAMPION’ in my comments but m’dear you are onto a ‘winner’ (personal opinion) here!

      It is so sad when the poems hit home simply because they are true. “Get your head out of the clouds and get to doing” you say? Well written. I started off thinking of Good King Wenceslaus and then it all came to a shattering stop by the end of the piece!

      “I do fear the lure of sand and sun drowns reason,
      for work suffers while my dreams converse
      with tan-cheeked clean-limbed messengers.”

      The history of tomorrow becons and can hardly wait for these words.

  263. Cameron Steele

    Second write-thru

    To The Bricklayer

    Collect as many as you want:
    Old ones lettered from
    the demo of your mother’s
    high school, others a rich lady
    left by the garden, no need for pathways
    to a koi pond, no fish, no grandchildren,
    no skinned knees, no reason to
    kiss them or warm washcloths
    as your mother did for you.
    Your gentle face mashed against mortar,
    up-close the beauty of the composition.

    A decision, then, no men to say —
    silly to believe German poets
    will write about you. A poem,
    then, for your pile of bricks,
    dreams you laid down
    like a woman, working your elbows
    trimming the excess, everything
    almost neat, everything a story or
    leading to one: Your daughter’s
    feet in high-heels or saddle oxfords,
    clattering to school like punctuation,
    like letters to your past,
    like the sound of a poem
    put together with stuff that won’t
    soon turn to sand.

  264. Quaker

    Tell it to the weather, we are tired of snow.
    Here it is, April 24, and it’s still here.
    It should have been gone weeks ago.
    The weather has gone insane.
    It needs its head examined.

    Try telling the weather that it’s time to plant.
    See if it will listen.
    I tried begging, pleading, cursing, yelling
    until tomato seeds fell out of my mouth.
    At first, it was funny, but now it is serious.
    I have zucchini to plant, my starter kits
    are tall enough to take outside,
    the peppers and squash are going stir-crazy.

    Outside, the daffodils close their lips and shiver.

  265. Andrew Kreider

    Tell it to the woman that got my bag by mistake

    I can explain this:
    the ziploc stash is grape nuts
    from my grandmother

    (try it – it tastes great)
    and the Barbie underwear
    was somebody’s joke

    I assume she has
    a great explanation for
    the three pineapples

    the maple syrup
    and the Beastie Boys CDs.
    It all got sticky…

    My cell phone number
    should be on the luggage tag.
    Tell her to call me:

    I’m just a plumber
    who happens to have the same
    black bag as she does.

  266. Gwyvian

    Tell it to the Alchemist

    Soft slippers whispering across the palace tiles, and
    your intentions are written plain on your face—
    you’ve told me of your despair, born as you are
    and never given what you desire deep down; and I sent you
    to the Alchemist – not for what you want, but for
    what is needful in a time when you have burdens to carry,
    a place where there is no room for petty indulgences;
    and, perhaps, you will forgive me one day, but your
    transformation will ever be one at my sufferance: the power
    behind the throne, the truth speaker when you want none,
    wisdom where you are riddled with concerns of the flesh—
    and it is at the forbearance of the gods that you still hold
    that overly gilded chair of a throne, something I will
    remind you of once again – once you are released from
    the clutches of my talented Alchemist…

    First, there will be Nigredo:
    he knows your heart is Prima Materia wrapped in shadows,
    hidden in a place that no part of you can know, but there
    for the taking by relentless fingers that know where to press;
    and your essence will drip from you through the sieve of
    ancient knowledge, a projection of what you truly are—
    whether monster, creature of nightmares terrible, or
    ethereal beauty wept forth from the tears of Father Sky,
    or majestic sapling birthed from Mother Earth’s loving embrace;
    but whatever you will be, you will see truth and know yourself—
    and know it for changeable not for another’s touch, but for the intent
    you have poured so much of
    into becoming something different.

    Second, there will be Albedo:
    there is a part of you distinct and otherworldly, waiting
    for your discovery – that yearning in you answered, a lover distant
    as the moon, but deep within you and forever close—
    and that is the only true love you shall ever need to
    satisfy your insatiable greed, someone who is tailored
    by what you are; and that is not all, my lovely little songbird—
    a trembling ball you may be now, but you will search your soul
    and find meaning that stands stronger than your small wants; you
    are exposed in the light of painful rebirth, a scourging of
    pillars of strength and encumbrance of weaknesses alike—
    you will have no choice, but to embrace the animus, embrace
    and let who you were die with grace.

    Third, there will be Citrinitas:
    murmurs and whispers are all you are composed of, heart
    locked in a light so intense it is of a pure black, and blessedly,
    you will know divine intellect: the ruler of avarice shall pass,
    the maiden forever displeased with her own image, claiming
    to be a widow of a beauty that has forsaken her, and always
    clutching her subjects as a child with a horde of sweets—
    dawn has no patience with wisps of night trailing softly,
    it cleanses with unquenchable fires that bathe you golden, and,
    I hope, grant you the wisdom you have always lacked, my
    lovely ruler unwittingly pure and simple: a love I have ever
    ignored for who you were, and who am I in comparison—
    but in the realm of the Alchemist, there are no such distinctions.

    Fourth, there will be Rubedo:
    he will scour your soul, tear down your useless pretense and
    desire for the love of the moon itself, to wear a necklace of stars,
    your reign one of peace – and absolute obedience; with a kiss
    of anguish and reverent love, he will draw out your heat and
    repurpose it, exercise your imagination to its limits and plant
    intentions that suit your station – your heart is Prima Materia
    awaiting a delicate touch of such an artist as he is; and when
    you return to your flesh and soul reborn, I will be waiting there
    with hopes I never dared ponder long, thoughts that would have you
    a ruler of justice – and a woman of love; for I am an Alchemist,
    whose council you had only sought in passing – but now you
    know me for what I am: a simple man, loyal, and forever hoping.

    Soft slippers whisper across the palace tiles, and
    the frost in your gaze is a painful twist for my heart, yet warmth
    also accompanies it with your small smile, a bare curving of lips—
    my love, a just ruler, woman of power who has ever been
    a fair maiden in my eyes, now with a beautiful sun radiating inside:
    she is the moon in the skies that holds gentle rains and
    terrible storms alike – but whatever I have done, she has become
    the one who needs not such as I… yet, keeps me close enough,
    that I cannot help but hope; my purpose is done,
    and my work is complete: she told the Alchemist her fears, and
    I gave her what she needed, and now that my magnum opus is done,
    I am left feeling empty and lost – perhaps I will tell her Alchemist,
    and hope she can reach inside me, purify the shell I have become—
    …and, perhaps, one day return my secret love.

    April 24, 2014

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

    A brief explanation for the curious:
    Nigredo (the blackening), Albedo (the whitening), Citrinitas (the yellowing) and Rubedo (the reddening) are the Stages of Transformation in alchemy; it can be heard of with only three stages in many places (excluding Citrinitas), but in some sources, including psychological manuscripts, it is included. Its essence is, as the name suggests, a process of transformation, the destruction, death of the old and a rebirth of soul and spirit into something new – more explanation would take much longer, but this is the essence and the core of the poem.
    Prima Materia is the essence first sought in those undergoing the transformation, the “pure material” in the Nigredo stage, it is the uncorrupted seed of nature from which the elements are born.
    Animus (or anima for men) is an inner “counterpart” of sorts, for women the embodiment of the ideal male and vice versa, also known as the inner soul mate. It’s purpose and the reason for its significance requires much more explanation, primarily in modern times a psychological one, but suffice it to say that everyone has an animus/anima, and getting in touch with it is an essential part of the transformation.
    Magnum opus – most probably know this, as it is more commonly used outside of an alchemical context, but for those who don’t, it means someone’s “great work” – or “masterpiece” is probably the most accurate translation. It is something that someone continually works towards, and generally it is one of a kind in a person’s life, the peak of a career.

  267. BethBrubaker

    Tell It To The Kids

    Will you shut the lights off?
    Were you brought up in a barn?
    Your room is SUCH a pigsty
    you’re not living on a farm!

    Eat your veggies, eat your fruit
    eat lean meat and whole grain,
    no junk food and no sugar!
    and please do not complain!

    To have friends is to be a friend
    be kind to all you know
    Do good things and help people
    and see how far you’ll go!

    Be honest in your workplace
    don’t steal or cheat or lie
    work hard in everything you do
    and the limit is the sky!

    That one isn’t right for you
    choose one you can befriend
    respect that’s in relationships
    will rarely ever end.

    I’ve taught you everything I’ve learned
    and everything I know,
    the day you spread your wings and fly
    will be the hardest to let go.

  268. Cameron Steele

    To The Bricklayer

    Collect as many as you want:
    Old ones with letters from
    the demo of your mother’s
    high school, others a rich lady
    left by the garden, no need for pathways
    to a koi pond, no fish, no grandchildren,
    no skinned knees, no reason to
    kiss them or warm washcloths
    as your mother did for you.
    Your boyhood face mashed against mortar,
    up-close the beauty of the composition.

    A decision, then, no men to say —
    silly to believe German poets
    will write about you. A poem,
    then, for your pile of bricks,
    dreams you laid down
    like a woman, working your elbows
    trimming the excess, everything
    neat, everything a story or
    leading to one: Your daughter’s
    feet in high-heels or saddle oxfords,
    clattering to school like punctuation,
    like letters to your past,
    like the sound of a poem
    put together with stuff that won’t
    soon turn to sand.

    1. PKP

      Cameron – I don’t know if I’ve had the opportunity to add my voice to the chorus of how truly beautifully talented all your writing including this piece is…. (and yes that dangling fellow at the end of this comment? tell it to the grammarian!)…. LOL… :) Wonderful wonderful writing :)

  269. break_of_day

    You raise dramatic tension
    by keeping to yourself
    the inner turmoil
    or dangerous knowledge
    or whatever you think
    other people cannot handle

    You are Buffy in season six
    bottling up the torment
    and exercising it only
    in destructive ways
    as this type of storyline warrants
    even if it makes no logical sense

    You draw out the arc
    until its inevitable conclusion
    when everyone finds out
    and it’s just worse for the waiting
    but in the meantime
    only the stars know your secrets
    if they’re lucky

  270. lionetravail

    “Tell It To The Ministering Angels”
    by David M. Hoenig

    And you’re so sure that God’s not there,
    you have stopped even rote of prayer?
    Well, we have served since time began,
    a time, mind you, before you, Man,
    was given world and choice. Unfair

    in the extreme, we think! To share
    creation’s glory ‘fore His chair,
    but just lip-service to His plan?
    Are you so sure that God’s not there?

    It’s not like there exists a spare
    creation with new rules somewhere!
    Because your life is shorter span
    you should be much more careful than
    you are, avoiding evil’s snare!
    Alas, you’re sure that God’s not there.

  271. rebrog

    Tell it to the Forsythia

    Say “It’s been a long, hard, winter”
    and they will look at you with astonishment
    “Yellow!” they say, “yellow! yellow!”
    and it’s undeniable that punch drunk
    scrabbles of neon, flare
    in the clinker and drab of the wood,
    put everything else in a dull light.
    Forsythia know only expansion –
    see the force with which they
    grasp their moment.

    Rebrog PAD Day24

  272. PressOn

    I just wanted to say how much I enjoy reading these works, and wish I had time to look at them all. This blog is a seminar in poetry, especially now. The next few days, I won’t be able to check much at all, but will do what I can. Thanks, Robert, for providing all this.

    William Preston

    1. aphotic soul

      I appreciate all the positive feedback you’ve left on mine, and other’s poems. It’s always a nice thing to hear positives in a field such as poetry where you deal with so much rejection. Thanks again, and take care.

    2. grcran

      William, some folks may look at your comments and disregard, or dismiss them as unfelt or unreasoned, but I have read many many of them, and you consistently give helpful and useful feedback. Much thanks!… and ditto, regarding the thanks to Robert, the forum is crafted much as a building of a master architect, we poets placing our furniture and wall-hangings within, and thus with Robert, co-creating a palace of word-ly beauty…

    3. PKP

      Hi there Will – how synchronistic ally fascinating at least to moi … that just yesterday I commented that you certainly had taken on a Herculean (albeit deeply appreciated) task. Of course you will be missed – go rest your eyes and recharge …. Thank you, once again and again for all you have done and your graciousness in informing us that you won’t be around much the next few days. Hope all is well with you and yours, You are a true delight :)

    4. dhaivid3

      Yup, well done providing all the helpful feedback (apologies if this is intrusive but I hope it is not a health-related absence?).

      Well done too to Robert for setting this gig up.

      It was really nice working with you all and I am truly going to miss this experience when it comes to an end; starting to wonder what the last prompt is going to be? Whatever it is, with the way things are going, there might be tears…

    5. Jane Shlensky

      I simply don’t know how you do so much and still stand and walk for a few minutes every day. Your constancy and kindness are phenomenal in commenting and those comments are made all the more meaningful by the fact that you’re a splendid poet. You rock!

  273. Blaise

    Tell it to the river

    Go ahead
    scream your outrage
    every searing detail
    name all the names
    flail arms and legs
    splash all bystanders
    empty your mouth
    your mind your heart
    your lungs
    just try
    and try again
    you will fail
    and fail again
    until I also carry you
    face down
    to the sea

  274. Phil Boiarski

    Tell it to the moon

    No need to bow or kneel to tell her.
    Just hold time holy and let the wasted
    moments go into the well of eternity.
    She won’t lie to you, if you don’t lie to her.

    She reflects on time with every turn,
    contemplates the currents of light,
    pulls all seven seas toward her,
    as water is her sister. She knows.

    She knows there is a blessing in
    the rise and fall of every breath,
    gathering in and releasing
    as the voice of the ocean,
    repeats the name of the ineffable.