I’m not sure how November always gets away from me so fast. Maybe it’s the beginning of the Market Book cycle; maybe it’s this challenge; but November often seems to be nearly over before I get my bearings on the month.
For today’s prompt, write an excuse poem. People are full of excuses–I’m no different–and sometimes they’re valid; other times, not so much. Write a poem about making excuses, listening to excuses, or hey, maybe excuse someone for making them.
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Quit Making Excuses! Enter for a Chance at $1,000!
Writer’s Digest has extended the deadline to their Writer’s Digest Poetry Awards competition to November 21. As you may have guessed from the bold statement above, the winner will receive $1,000 cash!
The winning poem will also be published in a future issue of Writer’s Digest magazine. And the winning poet will receive a copy of the 2015 Poet’s Market.
Even poets who don’t win can win, because there are prizes for 2nd through 25th place as well.
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Here’s my attempt at an Excuse poem:
“out”
i used the last one an hour ago
on my homework that did not
materialize when i had hoped
it would and now here you are
asking me where i was when
you waited all night & avoided
dancing with the guys who
asked & there were many
because you were saving
your dancing feet for me &
me alone & i know i’ve used
them so often in the past
but i’ve completely run dry
*****
Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of the poetry collection, Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He edits Poet’s Market, Writer’s Market, and Guide to Self-Publishing, in addition to writing a free weekly WritersMarket.com newsletter and poetry column for Writer’s Digest magazine.
He knows all about excuses from first-hand experience and realizes they’re often lacking. His five little poets often remind him that excuses are not the same as making good choices and performing the right actions.
Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.
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excuses
by juanita lewison-snyder
postcard arrived
along with the millionth reason why
you can’t come, this time
the time before
the next time yet to come.
i wish you would just say it
own the words
own your soul
own up to what we’ve become.
this hurt you think you’re avoiding
already took root long ago
when i was naive
and you weaker than
the original
lie.
© 2014 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Apology
I try to say it
but every time
the letters
slide up
my throat
they get stuck
in some
other
sentence.
THERE REALLY IS NO EXCUSE…
UNTIL THERE IS
It was the family motto, a legend almost
and they all knew it, and abided by it
“There’s no excuse for bad behaviour”
Whether it meant treating someone
discourteously, or less than charitably
Or in a manner, you knew you would
not like to be treated yourself
Then came a day, when one of them
began to feel a creeping malaise
That something just wasn’t right
And she didn’t know how to express
her feelings without sounding
whiney so she never said anything
Until something happened, something
minor, so minor – no-one knew what
it was…
And the one feeling slighted, the one
feeling that things weren’t right
Fell off the map, went somewhere dark
and from there, shot invisible nets
of steel around herself, and
everyone she wanted to protect
The others, having no idea about what
was going on – were flummoxed
They wondered if the one upset had lost
her mind; the change was so unexpected
and radical
And she was not responding to any of their
overtures to discover what was wrong
In fact – quite the opposite
She was putting up stronger and thicker
walls, daily.
There were no excuses for this kind of
behaviour, some of her family thought,
and said
But as time went on and there was no
way to get to this person
Some of them began to wonder…
My Excuse
Because I was on a road trip wanting desperately
for the cornflaked, burnt-orange and blood
red leaves to show me their to sense.
I wanted to be a first draft
of a whimsical day; cruise by the scenry
and mislead expectation.
I wanted my head-out-the-window
to feel the cool whispers of dawn,
and let musings grab a coat
from evening’s well-lit closet.
I wanted my bones to ache
from the absence of writing;
hold up for poems
the way I’m supposed to wait
till after supper for chocolate pudding.
Fabulous! Loved the imagery, loved the cadence, superb writing!
Leaving
I tell you I’m waiting.
You tell me you’ll give it
tomorrow. Tomorrow
comes and goes.
I tell you I’m waiting.
You tell me it’s done.
Done?
So where is it?
It’s not important to build, you say.
Not important to give what you know
is what I’ve been waiting for?
OK. Sure. Not the first time
you and the others
have performed this blatant
offence.
You leave me no choice.
Goodbye to you all.
Why? you ask.
Why would I commit such a heinous crime?
Why would I leave their exciting world of internal power struggles?
Oh, if you haven’t caught on,
I am leaving
because
your office is just
too far away.
IT’S ALL BEEN DONE
Pinch me.
It’s been one week,
and you haven’t run away.
You’ve had every chance to leave,
But every subway car comes
full circle. Starting where it ends;
ending where it starts.
Just like lover’s hearts.
She’s on time, and I’m
stuck in the old apartment.
A call to her that she
wouldn’t answer. I saw it coming.
Another postcard. A boxed set.
A book of regrets that gets
painful to read. Indeed,
if I had a $1000000,
I’d buy her love; make her the one!
Lovers in a dangerous time…
it’s all been done!
10 Reasons Why I Haven’t Been Writing Poetry Lately
Because I’ve been playing Candy Crush and binge watching Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.
Because my work will never meet the impossible standards of the great poets of our time.
Because I have to focus more on that novel I’ve been writing for twenty years.
Because I have bills and child care and a regular job and chores and….
Because I’m waiting for my muse to come by and kick me in the butt.
Because I ran out of metaphors and have to order a new box.
Because my dog ate my rhyming dictionary.
Because my computer’s on the fritz.
Because I’m out of ideas.
Because I’m lazy.
Love this, Bruce.
LOL, touche!
“Sonnets Should Be So Easy”
But sonnets are hard.
That’s why I
Don’t write them.
Iambic pentameter,
A structure, a meter,
da-Duh, da-Duh
A dummie am I.
Or is it, a dummie am I?
Yes and yes!
The syllables count.
Rhyme the lines
Unstressed then stress.
I’m under duress!
There’s a little white
Dog breaking through
Snow. Go, dog, Go!
Ah– but that looks easy.
I LOVE this, angie. 🙂
EXCUSES
So what excuse is it this time?
You cannot concentrate?
or cannot find a rhyme?
I want to write–it’s true,
but, pen in hand,
I find it’s all that I can do
to find ideas in my head.
How strange that what I love
is what I seem to dread.
The hard-drive that I call my brain
seems very full just now,
and simply will not entertain
the thought of thinking any more!
Tomorrow I will write–for sure!
‘Scuse Me, While I Kiss This Guy
Stand back.
It’s gonna be a good one,
full of lack
of excuse
and passion
-ate purple haze.
.
Go for it, you’re excused:)
There once was a girl from Taloose
Who always had an excuse
In every season
She had a good reason
To be carefree and footloose
I think I would like this girl. 🙂
This morning the motley-faced kitten
sat by my bed and mewed,
“I’m sorry I stank up the litter box,
it just seems to happen that way.”
Coffee-break time, a winter-drab Goldfinch
clutching the thistle bag twittered,
“I’m sorry I look so dull, no clear yellow and black.
It just seems to happen that way.”
After lunch I bumped the Orbweaver’s web,
spun below the light. She scuttled down and waved,
“I’m sorry my web’s got in your hair —
it just seems to happen that way.”
At dusk as I went for the mail, a gray fox yipped,
“I’m sorry I ate all your grapes last month.
I was scratching for bugs when I smelled them;
it just seems to happen that way.”
I study the winter moon rising,
soft blankets pulled up to my chin,
imagine I’m praying, “I’m sorry,
it just seems to happen that way.”
_Achoo_
I’m sorry
I couldn’t make it
to your wedding—
it was on a Saturday
and on Saturdays
I like to pick my ‘fro
and water my plants
and cook my grits
and write some poems
and call my folks
and paint my toes
and fantasize ’bout my own
never-gonna-happen-wedding
while they dry.
Plus, my sinuses
always be bothering me
on Saturday—
achoo!
This made me smile, love it!
Love it !
I need no excuse.
It’s taken me fifty years
to figure that out.
—Daniel Ari
NO EXCUSE???
by John Yeo
My excuse for living today,
Rests firmly in the here and now,
My partner and very best friend
Is here sharing every step of the way.
We face the rigours of age and decay
With no other weapons but faith.
Faith that my friend and I
Will overcome anything in our way.
Our families touch our lives,
Entwined and part of us both.
As we gracefully age together
With love and acceptance to all.
My soulmate and I together,
We built our lives with care.
I look and I smile whenever
I turn round and she is there.
We tackle the rocky path together
Without regret or despair.
We need no excuse for each other
Acceptance is always there.
I turn and I look at Margaret
We will always be happy together
Without a single regret to share,
No excuse required.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo, All rights reserved
Excuses
Can you excuse me?
I cannot seem to write today.
I cannot tell you why.
I have put it off all day.
I could give you some excuse,
but it would be a lie.
So I can give you nothing,
just the truth and how things lay.
11/19/14
Day 19
Write an excuse poem.
No Excuse
Yes, it’s stressful,
sure, I traveled four out of the last
six days;
but that doesn’t allow for snapping or yelling,
on the way to a wedding planner appointment.
Thank You, Lord, and thank you, hubs,
thank you, daughter, for forgiveness of this tense tired
momzilla of the bride.
In this bed, we chase
each other and excuses. Another sun rises.
We wake, make coffee. Stare at each other
across the chill of our kitchen.
Shameful
What a sorry human being,
narrow vision – what’s he seeing
except himself always fleeing
from situations, from people needing
a helping hand–they might be bleeding,
but he walks right by, hears no pleading.
Too afraid his time is fleeting
so on he goes, and keeps repeating
the same behavior, so people read him
as a poor excuse for a human being.
Indulgent Motherhood
“He’s an innocent victim,”
she said as she patted his arm
and smiled.
Another, in a long litany
she constantly rehearsed
to excuse his obnoxious behavior,
his insolent tongue,
and his boorish habits.
Perhaps he IS a victim—
of her incessant excuses,
her blind eye,
and her lack of discipline.
Excuse
When you go home at night
think upon your day
do you ask yourself
if you made a difference?
I’m not talking about
meeting basic needs
performing to a
minimum expected standard.
Did you go above
and beyond?
Did you push yourself,
your client,
your team,
to really go for broke?
Or did you let
something insignificant
get in the way?
What’s your excuse
for hiding in the shadows?
~also published on http://heatherbutton.com/2014/11/19/excuse-a-poem/
Your bitterness smears across
Our daily interactions,
Another day standing by the copier
Waiting for someone to approach.
Never before has
“”How are you doing today?”
Been such a harrowing
And unwanted politeness.
Regale us of your struggle;
How perfect things would be
If they would just fall your way!
A miserable monotone
Lathering spectators in
Your insecurity and injustice.
It pains us all to hear you
Not out of sorrow for your plight;
But because of our inability to get away.
Your reasoning?
“You asked me how I was doing.
That’s on you.”
Excuse or Reason
I wonder as I hit
submit-send
again and yet again
If the Robotic-Editor
who stops me
reading quickly
will this time
my posting drive
me to
submit-end!
Tumbled-Trouble-Time
She found them in the basket
Right behind the laundry door
A smiling teensy thong waiting
Dropped winking on the floor
Nothing too unusual
Nothing too bizarre
But for sagging post-baby
bouncing belly large above
Her still red C-section scar
The right time
It is too late to begin
Too early for the end
Tumble-whirling time
Productivity – passion
Wait around the bend
Heartbreak
as a little girl on
Saturday mornings
I sang along
with the theme song
to Fat Albert
so glad to see
kids who looked like me
as a teen I was transfixed on
Thursday nights–
a prosperous family
that fought for justice
valued education
heritage
and loved each other.
I wanted to be Clair.
again, they looked like me
And now with
story after story being told
of rape
I have to wonder
what is Cosby’s
excuse
So very potentially sad and so very poignantly expressed
The Excuse
I did not write this poem, and
I might not write it tomorrow.
Why? I don’t know.
I think it is because
many years ago
bits of my brain trickled out my ears,
and the beans I replaced them with rolled out,
so I put in the rocks because I figured
Hey! Rocks are rough, and they’ll catch
on everything and stay.
Wrong. Now
I have to go through life with
a complete insufficiency of brain,
desperately trying to do what I could do
easily in third grade but is
freaking hard right now. Oh,
how I miss my
little brain.
Oh, and by the way,
don’t even get me started about
my muse.
Shethra Jones Hoopes
EXCUSE TRUCE
You were busy.
I forgot to turn on my phone.
You didn’t notice the time.
I didn’t realize you were still talking.
You didn’t remember the grocery list.
I forgot you were allergic to spinach.
You didn’t set the alarm.
I neglected to tell you I’d be home late.
And here we are.
This isn’t getting us anywhere.
Can we start over?
Wipe the slate clean?
Let’s declare an excuse truce.
Thank you so much! During April and November, it is tough to stop writing poems, day and night sometimes! Glad to know I’m not alone!
She Needed A Ride Home
You lie
and cheat
You smile
and wink
You claim that you didn’t
want to go to the bar
You claim that you didn’t
flirt and take it too far
You claim that you didn’t
take her in(to) your car
No, you had to go for your friend
Right.
No, you had to be nice to her
Right.
No, you had to drive her home
Right.
You lie
and cheat
You smile
and wink
Am I once again falling for that grin?
That horrible trick always lets you win
I don’t find it fair, I don’t find it kind
But maybe… Sure, I don’t mind
Excuses
Eventually
Xerxes
Created
Underwriting
Sophocles still
Employing
Symbolism
Antigone hiding her brother’s
hamster in the microwave
wanted to be pretty, idealistic
and brave
Who turned it on
she thought she knew
Poor Ismene
having to pick between
her father the dolt
or burying her brother –
wealth, prestige,
her pick of the boys
or digging in ditches,
in prison, a slave
They always thought she protested too much,
that chorus of repetition singing in her ears
Be a bit player in a raging throng
or a persecuted heroine on a funeral pyre
There’s no excuse for not taking a side, she thought
choose or some kingly writer will surely choose for you
This is a definite “bravo!”
PORTRAIT OF A TURTLE
Ancient poet, words encrusted
like scaled skin, carapace ringing ever
wider, the keratin crevices,
moon rising between,
or a saint armored by faith
that lost its words ages ago, eyes
nictated shut to look inside
itself
measuring the world by
increments, each toe-hold in time,
slowly,
without excuse.
(on “Turtle,” a pastel in the EDAC Gallery)
A classic TG stunner!
HandWashing
By this Symbolic Act
I Cleanse myself of all
Negativity and critisism
toward my fellow man
that stems from ignorance of
The Divine Plan.
If all of your poems follow in this vein, (as I noticed yesterdays did as well),..they would be an amazing meditative contemplative tool. Beautiful truthful words, Meriadoc.
Just being myself, Hannah.
Can’t cry if it happily turns itself into a theme.
(I notice many of the most seasoned on here tend to do just that.)
If anything I said touched you, I am most pleased. After all that is what we are here for.
But to be perfectly Honest, I do nothing of myself.
🙂 to Hannah’s comment and your reply
With your white Pearlies, hehe?
Thanks, and much love!
Thank you for responding, Meriadoc and of your last sentiment…beautiful and true. ♥
Destiny
Bloom turning inward
her seeds don’t seek an excuse,
readying for rest
Queene Anne bows her graceful head –
crowned beauty of summer breaths.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2014
Hannah Girl . . . love’ crowned beauty of summer breaths’! Wonderful feeling and imagery!
I second Janet!
Thank you, Pearl!
Thank you, Janet…I’m so pleased that spoke to you!
Oh this is beautiful! So elegant!
Thank you, cb!! There’s an image I captured that I featured on my blog which inspired this tanka! 🙂
EXCUSE
G. Smith (BMI)
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
Everyone, it seems, is full of demons;
Sometimes you’ll find an angel or two.
And I’ve got feelings I don’t have the names for;
But I never knew about them until you.
I never knew about them until you.
Now mine is a scared and wild heart;
Scared and scarred,
From a life lived hard.
And yours is a mystery to me;
How can it be,
You want me to see,
You want me to see.
So won’t you excuse the excuse?
You know I could use
A little break,
I made a mistake;
But I’m just a man,
Doing what I can;
Doing what I can.
Is it not enough?
I learned not to set my heart on anything,
Just to take things as they came;
Never linger on the name,
Or let the ember flare to flame;
Let the ember ffare; let the ember flare.
Joy can be joy,
Sorrow can be sorrow;
Today doesn’t cancel yesterday,
But it colors our tomorrows;
All of our ttomorrows.
So won’t you excuse the excuse?
You know I could use
A little break,
I made a mistake;
But I’m just a man,
Doing what I can;
Doing what I can.
Is it not enough?
Sometimes it’s best to keep things to yourself;
But you know you can’t,
You know you can’t!
You can’t, you know?
You know you can’t.
My Excuse for Being With a Jerk
Much too deep to be alone, and easily bored in my own home,
I’m use to having someone to hold at night, that’s bigger than me
my heart is really turning black, and barely beating
he said things to me, that I’ve only said to me,
when loneliness started to kill me
something like a sweet little demon,
that’s sitting on my shoulder, would say to me,
like “You can do it, I know you can. Do it for me”
— Victoria Hunter
The Inexcusable Excuse
(a Cascade poem )
Excuses are sugar-coatings,
to cover uncensored truths.
Like an oxymoron spoken by a true moron,
excuses are not excusable as proper apologies.
Just as faux bandages
manufactured to entice the mind
from what lies underneath,
excuses are sugar-coatings.
Excuses (valid or not) are deflective
and thus are not excusable,
but defective, as apologies
to cover uncensored truths.
There’s no worthy excuse worth
making excuses for what was done
or said, failed to do or say:
like an oxymoron spoken by a true moron.
If you didn’t really mean it (at least
on some level), you wouldn’t have said
or done it in the first place, now would you?
Excuses are not excusable as proper apologies.