2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 29

Here’s a quick behind the scenes of the April PAD Challenge: I always get the prompts set in stone before the month begins. There are a couple reasons for this, though the most important reason is that I don’t want to get “prompt block” and slow everyone else up during the month. However, the death of Gabriel Garcia Marquez–one of my favorite writers–forced my hand, and I changed today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt mid-month. Enjoy!

The final Two-for-Tuesday prompt for this month is:

  • Write a realism poem. A poem that is rooted in the real world. Or…
  • Write a magical poem. A poem that incorporates magical or fantastical elements.

Or write like Gabriel Garcia Marquez and do both!


national_poetry_monthGet the National Poetry Month Kit!

Yes, this has been another great National Poetry Month, and here’s a great kit to celebrate: The Writer’s Digest National Poetry Month Kit, which includes a digital version of The Poetry Dictionary, a couple paperbacks (Creating Poetry and Writing the Life Poetic), a tutorial on building an audience for your poetry, the 2014 Poet’s Market, and more!

Click to continue.


Here’s my attempt at a Realism and/or Magical Poem:

“young men with enormous wings”

listen the ocean has fish
for every mood & the sun
can only travel so deep

beneath the surface we hide
our intentions mako sharks
swim figure 8s & approach

with open mouths before they
attack we ran along docks
watching fish scatter as we

dove into the azure sky
spreading our wings & flying
to the vermillion sunset


Today’s guest judge is…

Adam Fitzgerald

Adam Fitzgerald

Adam Fitzgerald

Adam is the author of The Late Parade, his debut collection of poetry from W. W. Norton’s historic Liveright imprint. A 2005 graduate of Boston College, in 2008 he received his Masters in Editorial Studies from Boston University’s Editorial Institute. In 2010, he received his MFA from Columbia University’s School of the Arts.

Adam’s poems, essays and interviews have appeared in A Public Space, Boston Review, Conjunctions, Poetry, and elsewhere. He is the founding editor of the poetry journal Maggy and contributing editor for The American Reader. In September 2013, he co-curated the immersive-environment exhibit “John Ashbery Collects: Poet Among Things” for Loretta Howard Gallery in Chelsea, New York. Next summer, he will direct The Ashbery Home School in Hudson, New York with Timothy Donnelly and Dorothea Lasky.

He teaches at The New School and Rutgers University, and lives in a pea-sized studio in NYC.

Learn more here: http://www.thelateparade.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. His favorite Marquez story is “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings,” though he also loves the short novel Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Learn more about Robert here: http://www.robertleebrewer.com/.


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672 thoughts on “2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 29

  1. Alaska Christina


    When the night falls
    And the shadows dance
    And the stars come out to play
    I am transformed
    No longer insecure
    Worried about my thighs
    Or my bank balance
    If that guy really likes me
    Or how I should work harder to impress others
    I emerge on my knees from the dark corner
    Stretching taught, bronzed arms to the heavens
    Long, flowing silken locks that fall to my knees
    And I slip into my superhero cape and tights
    And I fly through the air with the greatest of ease
    Swinging through the jungle from branch to branch
    Where I talk with the lions and the tigers, the bears and the monkeys
    My entire world is a stage
    Where I sing and I act and I dance
    And I don a feathered hat and boa
    My lips an endless stream of pouting, crimson red, all frosting and filling
    And the people that come to see me clap endlessly
    Until there hands are chaffed and worn and blistered
    And still they cannot stop
    And the reviews quote “we’ve never seen the likes of a wonder such as she”.
    I am strong
    And brave
    And beautiful
    A colorful bohemian in finest form.
    And I need no words to comfort the unrest in my soul
    For unrest has no place and cannot play
    In the gaiety of the eve –
    Of sweet powerful night
    That offers such freedom
    Why do you flee so quickly in the dawn of morn
    Chased away too soon
    Stay with me a little longer
    Just a little longer
    And just a little while longer still
    My cage in that musty corner beckons me
    And I don’t want to go back in
    Into that place where the light blinds me through the pinholes
    Of all the masks I wear.

  2. JayGee2711

    A Sale of Dragons

    Dramatic barter occurs
    with abbreviation
    in the marketplaces of
    parking lots and
    atomic bombs.
    A blend of barmaids
    and attraction,
    pay envelopes tainted
    with flattery,
    ramshackle abodes
    watching harshly over
    water lilies,
    tadpole coins and
    chameleon yarn unspooling
    from a bottle of
    flatfooted champagne.

    Julie Germain

  3. Angie5804

    Not Quite Magical

    The closest to magical I’ve ever been
    Is a bit mysterious
    Or a tad delightful
    Oh to be a little less down-to-earth
    And a little more thrilling
    A little less sensible
    And a wee bit breathtaking
    A little less prudent
    And just a speck exhilarating

    Angie Bell

  4. Heidi


    Dozens of blackbirds stop trilling.
    Stop trilling their ballads under the noon sun.
    In silence the blackbirds listen with human eyes
    Watching. They listen and watch as I enter the wood.

    One lone bird sings songs of sorrow,
    A song he sings a song of haunted mourning.
    Like an oboe in the canebrake rustling with reeds
    Humming beneath sunlit canopy, one bird laments.

    The moss is soft beneath my feet,
    my feet follow the path to the old gnarled tree.
    The stone chair glows as in writings of ancient lore.
    The lone bird bobs its black gilt head, beckoning me forth.

    The golden spray of leaf and bough
    shivers as I reach to touch the rousing chair
    Lodged with fossils, beryl, and ruby. The portal
    hums songs of sorrow, a tug to serve its ancient spell

    “Here Lies the Gate Beyond All Time”
    warn the glowing runes, no chance to turn and run
    gold bursts spark, and whirring black wings usher me far
    I know not what I know as I catapult past all time.

    Heidi R. de Contreras

  5. Heidi


    Have you seen her? I saw her once.
    Eyes like salt mines, deep caverns,
    dark and hollow.

    She hovers as a fly on raw meat,
    over the wounded. When the light is
    dim, she’s a moth

    fluttering from woman to man to woman
    to child. Cloaked in green velvet, hidden
    under a mask

    of stolen wings and stolen light
    one of the fallen watchers, they say, the
    grand pretender.

    Heidi R. de Contreras

  6. stepstep

    special moment

    skin so soft, but voice real deep
    made my heart race, made the heartbeats leap;
    is it so I can put all my trust in you
    follow you blindly, no matter what you do.

    I long for a sweet gentle breeze
    accompanied by a drizzling rain as a tease;
    the message comes clearly through your eyes
    then suddenly I do realize

    that you and I in tune do click
    a moment so magic, when eyelids flutter and flick.


  7. eileenDmoeller


    Foolish woman
    closed into the bathroom
    with a frightened bird
    trying to coax him
    down, as if he could
    understand her words.

    Silly woman left
    the screen less window
    open just enough
    for bird body to squeeze
    through, sleeping cat
    on the bed never stirred.

    Bird up high, woman
    down below in a dance
    of swoops and risings.
    Crazy woman, towel
    in hand, waiting for
    bird to land on the floor,
    though bird never lights
    for more than a second.

    Slow woman, watching
    bird hit the window, finally
    wakes up to screen removal,
    lifts window wide, sits and
    prattles on hoping the bird
    will glide right out, but bird,
    unable to tell glass and air
    apart, flits too high up, at
    first, to escape, then finally
    drops to the sill and quick
    as a sigh, is through the
    window and gone.

    Kind woman, gentle
    heart, big with love,
    despite all of the above

  8. seingraham


    If only I knew what it was that tweaked
    my reality
    Made me a little more aware, a little more me
    Perhaps I wouldn’t retreat so often to that
    place within
    That’s neither here nor there but somewhere
    in between
    A sort of limbo that’s very safe but there’s
    nothing happening
    And I know there’s nothing about to happen
    Do you know what I’m talking about?

  9. gibbslissy

    Summer Magic
    You were born day after Valentine’s
    And made my Day pretty and long
    I wanted you to have your own way
    And become a part of my May

    A las it was not to be
    You wanted into the world
    I wanted out, of pregnancy
    A long you came day after love

    Love you are and shall always be
    Held forever,
    Lest you fall and hurt your head
    Then you better not wind up dead.

    I love you Summer and hope you become
    Everything you could be and then some
    I wish you love and sweat and tears
    Some of these without too many beers

    Along you’ll go learning and growing
    Me happily watching and hoping &

    I love you Summer my Valentine’s
    b*tch and hope you are neither and not a witch
    Twenty two hours you finally arrived
    & become our little baby
    Now we are just watching and loving seeing you thrive.

    by Elissa Gibbons

  10. LeighSpencer

    Waking with Dragons

    My eyes are not open
    yet I feel their presence


    Curious and tentative
    at first
    becoming more aggressive


    There are at least two
    maybe three

    I feel a claw on bare skin
    leg poking out from the blanket
    as the smallest begins its ascent

    Do they sense that I am waking?
    That the time of offering is near?

    Flanked at one side, the largest
    weight on my chest now

    Hot breath
    panting anticipation

    I open a tentative eye
    inviting no fire

    But a wash of kisses
    and happy yelps

    My dog dragons
    of 9, 12, and 40 pounds
    delight at my waking

    Their primeval stealth rewarded
    with offerings of head pats
    belly scratches
    and breakfast

  11. horselovernat

    Daydreams by Natalie Gasper

    Wishing for a break from the
    mundane tasks at work,
    I let my focus slip
    as my thoughts being to wander.

    Over hills of luscious greens
    and past rivers that run blue,
    I come to a familiar place,
    to my stronghold in the mountains.

    Moving gracefully, I peer out
    from my cave, awed by the sight
    of a large dragon herd
    taking refuge from the skies.

    As if by magic, an unseen force
    draws my eyes to a loner
    resting just outside of the others,
    basking in the radiant sun.

    Immense in size, his head’s as big as me
    with a wing span that dwarfs an airplane.
    His coloring is solid black
    but is by no means bland.

    To watch him as he adjusts his tail,
    black scales gleaming in the light
    while he lets loose a yawn,
    revealing razor sharp teeth, is stunning.

    Most beautiful of all are his eyes,
    such a rich gold speckled atop
    the electric blue in his irises,
    with eye ridges that arch for miles.

    Slowly I make my way over to him,
    to this mighty dragon king,
    in hopes that I might feel his
    leathery wings and rough shoulders.

    Catching my scent upon the wind
    he turns to greet my child-like gaze,
    so full of wonder and fear
    as his eyes pour into my very soul.

    Whether compelled by fear or by faith
    I reach out my hand and rest it
    on his nose, carefully stroking his
    thick and roughed scales.

    Then a whispered voice in my heart
    becomes louder, urging me on,
    promising this king will do me no harm
    and to go one step further than ever before.

    Excitement and anticipation flood my veins
    while I began to climb his front leg
    and come to a stop just in front of his wings,
    feeling his strong muscles beneath my legs.

    I hear a voice, rich, deep, and full of ancient power
    asking me if I am ready at last.
    My fear is now gone, and answer
    with a resounding yes! Let us fly!

    He unfurls his massive wings and forces
    them towards the ground with all his might,
    demanding the wind lift him up, up,
    up into the skies.

    This feeling is like no other
    for I am both safe and in danger,
    confident and uncertain.
    Trusting my dragon with all that I am.

    The sun begins to set, throwing
    pinks and oranges across the land,
    making it harder to believe that this
    moment, this place, this world, is real.

    Sure enough, I find myself back
    behind a desk, phones ringing,
    employees bustling,
    and customers mingling.

    A smile gently crosses my face,
    reminding me that there is more
    in the world than this endless cycle,
    than this dull monotony.

    I know in my heart that those daydreams
    come from something genuine. That one day,
    I shall ride my dragon for real, and that
    there is still magic alive in the world.

  12. Linda.H

    because the harsh reality is that not all friendships are forever

    Tough Break

    Salt water taffy? No. That salty-sweetness
    that gradually thins as you pull its ends
    until it gently rips apart is not us. We split
    in two with a snap, like sticks of spaghetti

    being halved by clenched hands then thrown
    into hot water, neither of us able to take the heat.
    This afternnon, like many days since, the world
    confronted me with memories of you when that

    Sound of Sunshine song you loved played
    on the radio as I drove to the grocery store.
    I wondered where you were at the moment,
    what you were doing, if you ever thought

    about me. I contemplated how I felt about you
    now that time has passed, wondered if
    you’d ever change your mind and soften like
    noodles do when they’ve cooked long enough.

  13. grcran

    Quite Magically

    All of these myriad things
    Falling into place
    No one ever quite meaning them to
    All of these numbers
    Amounting to the sum
    Of a dna molecule
    All of these stars
    Swirling billions of them
    Cozying one Earth

    All of this water
    Coursing through the veins and valleys
    Thirst is not required
    All of this sunlight
    Delivering food to living things
    Packages of energy
    All of this fresh air
    Blowing over landscapes and into lungs
    Fires won’t burn without it

    All of these colours
    Blending in unbelievable variation
    Perception goes beyond the spectrum
    All of these shapes
    Shifting the status quo
    Perfection at every given moment
    All of these teary-eyed beings
    Mourning myriad things
    Magic happens too

    by gpr crane

  14. j.wessier101

    Three Quarter Time

    I went to sleep in your shirt
    so I could meet you in the space
    between one dream and the next.
    Tonight the moon is only a sliver of hope, but
    still we dance on the glass lake
    edged with pines; conical spires
    against a shimm’ring scrim.
    Still we dance,
    the cicadas marking time,
    my slippers wearing thin.
    Still we dance,
    mindless of the weight of certainty,
    the burden of infringing morn.
    There’s a loon in the orchestra,
    her doleful tune
    punctuates the falling away of night,
    the passing away of our collected moments –
    moments I had gathered all day,
    trusting they would be enough.
    Now, spent like the candle in my sill,
    there is only the fragile
    silver thread fastening us
    to guide you home.

  15. IndiFox

    My Universe

    She’s magical
    A celestial being
    Her face is the sun
    Her eyes are the stars
    With hair like the Milky Way
    And a heart bigger than Mars
    My world is her
    Through eclipses
    And meteor showers
    She’s everything to me
    She’s magical

  16. Margie Fuston

    Skin Magic

    Twigs claw at us like witches
    fingers in the moonlight,
    but you’re the one casting
    spells as you push me
    against a stolen blanket and
    pour potion from your lips
    to mine. I drink. I wonder
    what you stole from me
    to make your magic. A lock
    of hair? A fallen eyelash?
    A sliver of skin? A thimble
    of blood? Or have I lost
    something else?

  17. shethra77


    Red lights blink
    on vehicles
    lined up on both sides
    of the street in the complex.
    Two are ambulances. At the
    far end is yellow tape surrounding
    We don’t have to wait for the evening news—
    we know it’s murder. What we don’t know
    is that five children are now parentless
    since their father stabbed their mother
    this morning.


    The unicorn
    (impossibly white, like blowing sheets on the
    washline when the sun shines through)
    shook his head so his pearlescent horn
    winked in the dappled light of the grove, and
    pranced on velvet green moss, one silver hoof
    scraping at turf.

    I approached, and he allowed
    the touch of my hand, my whispers in his ears.
    He quivered, yet permitted me to climb
    onto his muscular back. He galloped,
    racing against the queen of fairies, and
    carried me to her throne. Forevermore
    we live here in spring.

  18. Shennon

    The father cussed under his breath again
    His boy was never going to catch that ball
    They’d practiced day and night since he was ten
    Another toss, another trip and fall.

    The father feared the time had come to quit
    The time had come to hang up those old cleats
    Dad’s dreams faded with ev’ry empty mitt
    No more impromptu baseball in the streets.

    But then the boy ran backward in a rush
    A pop fly landed right inside his glove
    A smile lit up his face, he even blushed
    When dad’s eyes met his own with pride and love.

    Just twelve years later his confidence rocks
    He’s signed up with the Chicago White Sox.


  19. Shennon

    One more armload of wood –
    That should satisfy the immense
    appetite of our fireplace. If only
    Jimmy would eat that well.
    The doctor said there were small
    signs of improvement
    on his last visit.

    That was two months ago.
    With misty eyes I gaze out
    the window, cursing the bitter
    storm, whose icy hands shut
    the door to our mountain pass.

    A hoarse cough turns my attention back
    to the room, where my first-born child
    lays, anticipating spring, but knowing
    he won’t live to see it. Taking all
    the courage I can draw from his
    brave young face I reassure him that
    morning will come soon. I daylight I can
    cope with any situation, but once again,
    before going to bed, I make good use
    of the ever decreasing supply of
    tranquilizers. Morning will find us both
    in a serene state of mind.


  20. beale.alexis

    “She’s a Goddess”

    She kisses fire
    And burns your insides pink.
    A reminder that you’re alive.

    She crushes rocks
    When she walks
    And uproots the flowers by their stems.

    She throws them to the sky
    And forces them to abandon
    Their sense of security.

    Her name is ice
    To your skin
    And rain to your eyes.

  21. mshall

    Reality is the alarm
    Too early on a Monday
    The coffee pot grins at me
    Surrounded by grains
    I spilled in my sleepiness
    My daughter pads softly down the stairs
    Reaching out for a hug
    I have no time

    The bits of cereal bobble in the milk
    Like living insects laughing
    At their inside joke
    Daddy sloshed the milk
    When he poured it in my bowl
    He said a bad word
    I laughed, he cursed again
    Magic is cheerios in milke

    Reality is we are ten minutes late
    Five because she could not chose
    Between the pink shirt or the green
    Lets go, I said.
    You have a stain on your collar, she said.
    Five more to search for a somewhat pressed shirt

    The coat material slips through my fingers
    Like sunlight through a cloud
    Like melty butter on hot toast
    The cold metal zipper is monster teeth
    The slippery snaps are jumping beans
    Daddy finally button up my coat
    Magic is daddy’s strong fingers

    Reality is I have to shovel the car
    The roads are icy
    And we were late twice already last week
    My daughter’s teacher is sure to phone
    To tell me that the first ten minutes of class are
    For that is when they read
    Fantasy books

    A castle of snow surrounds our house
    I sit in the car like an ice princess
    Snow flakes dance around us
    Like a ballet
    The car is warm when Daddy climbs in
    To drive me away in our stately chariot
    Magic is mornings with Daddy

  22. mzanemcclellan

    Fantastic Visit To Fairy

    I never believed fairy tales
    yet I think I must make an exception,
    since there is no other explanation,
    magic mushrooms nor viral infection.
    There I lay at the foot of a daïs,
    Monarchs no taller than an inch or three,
    sitting on thrones at the end of my nose
    imperiously glowering at me.
    I was definitely not in a dream state,
    but I may have been spelled with a glamour.
    I slowly rolled up to sit comfortably
    the Fairy Court erupted in clamor.
    Ethereal lighted dust trailed pixies
    in aerial dance to the satyrs’ fifes,
    who capered on cloven hooves below them,
    entertaining the Fae King and his wife.
    The cacophony was overwhelming
    my every sense was under assail.
    I squeezed my eyes shut and then I whimpered
    not doubting my move beyond the pale.
    “What is your need of me?”, I enquired.
    “I am simply an amateur poet.”
    The Queen smiled now with haughty conviction.
    “You’re just what is needed and you know it.
    The Great Bard was once lived in obscurity
    penning his plays by light of a candle.
    After a visit to this Fairy court,
    he enjoyed more fame than he could handle.”
    With a sniff and turn of her neck she said,
    “just write down whatever comes to your mind,
    take note of everything that you may sense
    find a way to put it into a rhyme.
    We tire of this cryptic poetry.
    We want beautiful words in simple verse.
    Back with you, write poems incessantly
    you will find it our blessing, not a curse.”
    I gathered myself up from off the floor,
    proceeded to my desk with calm aplomb.
    I no longer question the why or how,
    just write down words in my head as they come.

    ~ M. Zane McClellan

  23. PSC in CT

    Real Magic

    There’s magic in math, in science, in nature.
    Khayyam and Da Vinci knew it, wrote it, drew it;
    Galileo and Newton sought it in the stars,
    Fibonacci found it in numerical sequences – patterns
    repeating in nature: mysteries unfolding in a fern,
    the florets of a flower, chambers of a nautilus.

    Empiricists can catalog details,
    focus on the bits and bytes,
    but they see
    only a small piece
    of a much bigger picture.

    There are facts & figures one can gather, yes:
    you may weigh and measure all you like.
    Calculate and extrapolate, if you must,
    hypothesize and postulate, if you insist.
    But, numbers, figures, data,
    reasons & rationale
    will only get you
    so far.

    Sooner or later,
    you must put aside
    the slide rule,
    the telescope,
    binoculars & microscope
    and Open Your Self Up.

    The rest – the magic & mystery,
    must be perceived by another means.
    Sometimes, it’s simply
    a matter of employing
    the proper lens.


  24. TuLife

    “We Made Love”
    By: Tuere Aisha

    We anticipated the amalgamation with patient unease,
    predicted its perfection omitting fraud and regret.
    You craved for access to my mystery keys,
    so sought to conquer by toil and sweat.

    It was untold glory with the brush of your lips;
    the stroke of your hand filled my womb with gold.
    Your hunger growl furnished wings to my hips.
    Such fantastical marvels could not be foretold.

    No more well-contained fire I have held in my life
    than the fervor laid bare once you made me your wife.

  25. carolemt87


    If you woke up one morning
    and the floor fell away.

    If the world spun backwards,
    gold changed to black, orange to
    blue; a finger tapped your shoulder
    and a bright light pierced
    the dark space beside your head.

    If you fell slowly, spinning a web
    of silver spindles from your hair
    and your fingertips drew red spirals
    along the sides of a brown tunnel.

    If, at the end, after drifting down
    days into the nothingness, you
    landed on a white linen pillow
    in a sunlit garden, ablaze with
    jasmine and juniper, where a purple fairy

    who spoke only French asked you
    to dance between the wild plums and
    red willows, while green and yellow finches
    flittered through freckled ferns
    and tall sedge at the edge
    of a frog clotted marsh.

    Carol J Carpenter

  26. spinzo

    In the Morning

    A crow in a drooping hemlock bough scolds me for the trespass
    At an hour he expected to have for himself

    It is still
    Not yet light
    As I crease the hovering mist
    Pushing my prow quietly forward
    Toward a place where there is hope

    Confident in my direction
    I drift and stow my paddle with a clunk
    Amplified by the need for silence
    And raising my rod overhead
    I thrust back and forward
    Casting out upon the water

    My offering is a deceit
    Floating in the place where
    Air meets water
    And I wait
    For faith’s reward

    The apostles were fishermen who wrote that
    Christ Himself sought the face of God
    In the morning

  27. Nanamaxtwo

    “We need more mystery in our lives, Hem”
    A Moveable Feast

    Staring at this blank page I think,
    God created the world in six days and sat
    out the seventh when he wasn’t finished,
    galactic plates needing to lift unborn
    mountains, volcanic core spewing
    writhing rivers into every sea. Why say
    writing one true sentence unquestionably
    leads to volumes, while truth defies experience
    beyond the realism of milk left on the table
    turning sour, or a man’s heart lifting a fallen friend.
    These and more do nothing to clarify
    the enigma of creation, bewildering
    as dawn rising in steam over a frozen lake,
    broken as a man who takes vengeance
    with his pen.

  28. BezBawni

    Couldn’t Sleep

    look, the sun is rising
    darkness turning to light
    morning in all its might

    birds have started singing
    first just the modest few
    then as if on a cue

    flower are waking
    to wash their honey eyes
    waving at butterflies

    look, all of this is real
    though I can’t but think
    there has to be magic
    by Lucretia Amstell

  29. C.

    Melted snow still hovered over grass, hanging
    words slipped, like thick humid dew, and split
    dripping rain into a splash of grey cemented glass.

    Quiet was left by the tumultuous storm, fearing
    where cold air was adjourned, opened and broken
    window brushed aside Winter’s comb once more

    through summer’s old tangled up regrets. Remembering
    spring lightning sounds of unspoken tones, leaves still
    through thick branched trees yet no efflorescence shown.

    Venus must have missed this trap of hers, so deceiving
    Cupid was led astray by Eris and her discord- growing old
    a helpless daughter, whose only harmony was in her name,

    asked, Why would anyone commit this ungodly game? Unanswered
    questions were left forgotten by the past lovers, so enslaved
    narcisstic needs then swallowed, or kept forever in an unburied grave.

    But still the wheel-less chariot will fly again, awake
    the sun will rise again when dark night endured finally will fade
    exhaustion from our feet looking once more for other feet to meet

    since, after all, stars crossing, recall, merged into this, here, our eternity in time.

  30. Snow Write

    We’ll build a ladder to the stars
    To dance with radiant beams of light
    We’ll flip and turn and bounce and run
    Our wildest dreams will soar in flight

    Surpassing planes and rockets too
    We’ll build a ladder to the stars
    Explore the universal space
    And make a loop or two ’round mars

    We’ll gather wood and nails and tools
    Create the master plan you dream
    We’ll build a ladder to the stars
    So you can touch those dots that gleam

    Before you find a different path
    Before the world leaves mental scars
    Before you stop imagining
    We’ll build a ladder to the stars

  31. KiManou

    black rose

    the sky cracked and she fell from it
    a rose garden of black, cushioned her fall
    but the thorns…pricked on every side
    broken limbs became stems
    and her palms sepals
    a delicate rare flower
    life sowed survival in her
    her broken earth produced a malleable heart
    washed down with torrents of love and sheer exquisiteness
    she is a beauty to be reckoned with
    mesmerizing to the eye but oh so painful to the touch
    she will not be plucked
    when she decides
    she scatters seeds and sheds petals
    her stigmata a desire for collectors
    brave in her garden
    she discovered her style
    she blooms on her own
    a perennial splendor
    watch her grow


  32. PenConnor

    Wings in Ink (a rondel)

    The ink in my skin is bewitched;
    These feathers are thrumming like strings,
    and life, it is flooding these wings.
    It started this morning. It itched.

    My shoulders have through the day twitched,
    You’re stretching, and my pale flesh stings.
    The ink in my skin is bewitched.
    Your call echoes loudly, it rings.

    You leap to the air without hitch,
    while I’m tethered by earthly things.
    Your first flight is fire, as it sings.
    I’d give anything to have switched!
    The ink in my skin is bewitched.

  33. grcran


    Something happened in the world
    One of those years
    when I wasn’t looking
    and the world went all loveyoutoo
    and the only place I went was
    left out

    Left out, my self leapt out
    Out of facebook friendship
    Out of fastfood frenzy
    Out of tweeted toodle-oo
    Out of conservative conversionism

    Now, increasingly, I’m unreal
    In too many ways
    Left to my own devices
    I didn’t devise anything

    My problem with loveyoutoo
    Is not that I don’t, I do

    My problem with loveyoutoo is that
    For most, it seems,
    It doesn’t go anywhere from there
    It doesn’t connect to anything else

    Might just as well be left out
    With me

    by gpr crane