2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 1

So it begins: Day 1 of the 2015 April PAD Challenge. Woo-hoo!

Remember: Paste your poem for today’s prompt in the comments below with your preferred byline. If you have trouble getting logged in, send me an e-mail at robert.brewer@fwcommunity.com. Also, I have a few spots open for screening readers; if interested, click here for guidelines.

For today’s prompt, write a resistance poem. There are many forms of resistance, including militant resistance, resistance to new ideas, the resistance in exercise, and maybe even a little resistance to starting a new project. I hope you don’t resist the urge to write a poem today.

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2015 Poet's Market

2015 Poet’s Market

Get your poetry published!

Writing poetry is one thing; getting it published is something else. Take advantage of the best print resource for publishing your poetry today with the 2015 Poet’s Market, edited by Robert Lee Brewer.

This annual reference includes new articles on the craft, business, and promotion of poetry, explanations of poetic forms, poet interviews, new poems, and hundreds of listings for book and chapbook publishers, print and online publications, contests and awards, and so much more–all for poets!

Click to continue.

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Here’s my attempt at a Resistance Poem:

“ohio”

if i say no
i mean yes

if i pull away
it’s so i’ll snap right back

i can resist
but i can’t

on a city street
in a memory

i’m not in love
but how can i trust

if i say no
i mean yes

i turned my head away
but i never left

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Today’s guest judge is…

Matthea Harvey

Matthea Harvey

Matthea Harvey

Matthea Harvey is the author of five books of poetry–If the Tabloids Are True What Are You?, Of Lamb (an illustrated erasure with images by Amy Jean Porter), Modern Life (a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award and a New York Times Notable Book), Sad Little Breathing Machine, and Pity the Bathtub Its Forced Embrace of the Human Form.

She has also published two children’s books, Cecil the Pet Glacier, illustrated by Giselle Potter and The Little General and the Giant Snowflake, illustrated by Elizabeth Zechel.

Learn more at MattheaHarvey.info.

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Poem Your Heart Out, Volume 2

Poem Your Heart Out, Volume 2

Poem Your Heart Out again!

The prompts from last year’s challenge along with the winning poem from each day ended up in an inspired little anthology titled Poem Your Heart Out. It was part prompt book, part poetry anthology, and part workbook, because each day includes a few pages for you to make your own contributions.

Anyway, the anthology worked out so well that we’re doing it again this year, and you can take advantage of a 20% discount from Words Dance by pre-ordering before May 1, 2015.

Click to continue.

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Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems.

Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.

*****

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1,322 thoughts on “2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 1

  1. ameyer15

    The game
    By Amber D. Meyer

    I offered opposition to the king
    He replied with a kind attack

    I threw my ace into the ring
    The king rolled down like Jack

    I thought the game was won
    I rose victorious to sing

    But then my card was trumped
    And the house started to lean

    The queen of hearts went thump
    Her unforeseen loss now seen

    The king walked away as trumpets played
    And with him, he took everything

    Sent from my iPhone

  2. shadowprancer

    Chemistry of Fear
    By Brittany M.

    Fear is the strongest whip,
    It keeps down the weak and brave,
    It bends the mind into half itself,
    It attacks the sane and insane.

    The chemistry of fear
    Brings forth stress filled prisons,
    Chains made from neurotransmitters,
    Dopamine and norepinephrine.

    I know these pathways electric,
    I know them well and intimate,
    How they transform into paralysis
    And morph into impossible labyrinths.

    It defines our barriers and boundaries,
    Makes us feel safe, but with wanting.
    And our dreams our only timid resistance
    Against our unfulfilled desires and longings.

    Our dreams become motions cerebral
    A shadow resistance of fear;
    Become what you ever wanted, but
    Nothing real changes year after year.

    Only in action with real blood and bone
    Can we truly conquer the mountains
    Of fear; break those hidden chemical bonds.

    And in our victory, we will send out
    Our molecules, those trembling atoms,
    And with them embrace the vibration
    Of the great terrible unknown;
    This is the only true resistance.

  3. Asha1000

    Resist

    Flesh of pig
    bone-marrow of bird
    but not fiery goat-peppered
    fried grunt fish on Good Friday

    Until Easter Sunday
    when honeyed-ham
    and turkey thigh
    temper the burning hunger

    Resist stories of betrayal
    of baseless blackened names
    but not ones of goddesses
    on holy Good Friday

    Until Easter Monday
    when the waters of spring
    in the sea and the air
    suffuse us with knowing
    the dark crucible of rebirth

    – Lelawattee Manoo-Rahming

  4. cdonnelltx@yahoo.com

    A cat is not a dog.
    It does not sit
    except when it wants
    and where.
    No fetch unless
    it spies a mouse,
    an offering unasked
    in your lap.
    Rollover?
    Not on your life
    unless to
    stick its leg
    up in the air
    just when you snap
    the camera lens.
    But then again
    no walking
    in the snow and rain.
    A cat just goes
    but only if the box is clean.
    A cat is a self-cleaning machine.
    No, a dog is definitely not a cat.
    Some say thank goodness for that.
    Agree or not.
    Either way
    what you do
    it’s up to you.

    Carolyn Donnell

  5. Patricia

    To Believe

    What is isn’t,
    What isn’t is,
    How do you know?
    The truth?

    What stays goes?
    What goes stays?
    I cannot discern
    What I should believe.

    I want this,
    I don’t want that,
    How do I feel?
    I don’t really care to say.

    Believe you, me,
    When I figure it out,
    You will be the second
    To know.

    By Trish Jackson

  6. MadPoet

    Resistance Is Futile

    Force opposing force.
    Conflict between body and mind.
    Heart breaking and aching
    For the damage dementia
    brings into our lives.

    Shared memories are gone.
    A daily struggle to remember times past.
    Even those from yesterday.
    Opposing memories sparking
    Disagreement and hurt feelings.

    We refuse to give in to this disease
    But I know it will only keep getting worse.
    When will he no longer know who I am?
    When will he no longer withstand the
    Daily damage to his brain?

    He doesn’t knowingly repress thoughts
    Or memories or even words.
    I yearn for the times we said,
    “Do you remember when …”
    And he would answer, “yes.”

    Now he battles to express himself
    As words elude his utterance.
    He speaks less and less
    To avoid the embarrassment
    Of not being able to find words for his thoughts.

    I see his thoughts jumble and tumble
    Refusing to crash the barrier
    Created by this vile disease.
    A disease without cure or slowing
    Agents to allow us more time.

    I now fully understand “resistance is futile.”

  7. Sarah Metzler

    Do Not Dog Your Dog

    The day you finally
    Sit down to write

    Is the day
    You will stop

    Wondering why your dog
    Will not stop

    Circling

    Before she finds a place
    Good enough

    To
    Just lay down!

    _Sarah Metzler

  8. Denat

    The Ferryman

    I stare into the great and dark abyss
    and think about the world I might just miss
    big bang, one God or hell, or just cliché
    fight for the last breath stay strong and I’ll play

    contemptible as I am i’ll Kick and scream
    the mind is solid this could be a Dream
    the light or darkness whichever arrive
    I will not go to it the strong survive

    I shall not command this heart to stop
    Imploring you do not wait till I drop
    hey you, Shock the rhythm back to my heart,
    grab that thing, you call a crash cart

    breathe, I order my lungs, I’m not done,
    just wanted, to have fun,
    fight for the last breath, stay strong, and I’ll pay
    keep Charon’s obol,
    a
    ghost
    I
    will
    stay

  9. Catherine Conley

    Age Resistance

    We live in a world of youth
    All wanting to be older,
    And the elders
    All wanting to be younger.
    Little girls correct their moms,
    “I’m ten and a half.”
    Beauty creams cry,
    “Age defying.”
    Society has become resistant
    To age–any age:
    Young or old,
    We wish to be other
    Than what we are.
    Like caterpillars looking at the sky
    And butterflies pecking at the ground,
    We resist the reality of what
    We are now.

    https://crcreateaday.wordpress.com/2015/04/21/pad-1-resistance/

  10. lawrencek

    BOY HOODS

    Angelic
    boys
    chase
    dirty
    enemies
    faking
    genocide.
    Hapless
    imps
    jovially
    kill
    lizards.
    Mismatched
    nuns
    offer
    prayers
    quietly.
    Rough
    sentinels
    trip
    up
    voyeurs
    while
    X-men
    yank
    zippers.

  11. Austin Hill

    Day 1 prompt: Resistance poem

    Like a mirror,
    on the still water lies absolute perfection,
    reflected splendor,
    a picture of all I see on the other side.

    dramatically disconcerting…calmly confusing
    detailed doppelgangers of flora, fauna, fowl, brick and mortar
    Which one is real?

    Bread crumbs in hand, I resist the toss
    that would that would disturb this tranquil moment.

    ©April 20 2015 Suzanne S. Austin-Hill

  12. Joyce

    Resistance
    Arctic cold resists warmth
    April first, snow, no!
    Anyone ready for summer
    Awesome green in my yard and garden
    Another sign
    Anyone else doing no snow dances?
    Awesome beauty in nature.

  13. deborahbgkelly

    Lean into Resistance

    Resistance to stigma
    Resistance to the seemingly impossible
    Resistance to lowered expectations
    Resistance to stereotypes

    I resist you
    You resist me
    This struggle has only taught me how to lean into resistance

    Resistance makes me stronger
    Resistance opens doors

    Resistance gives me an enduring pride
    To try harder
    Just to prove you wrong

    I have learned to follow that resistance
    In order to be strong
    To be the one people lean on
    The one to guide
    The one to teach
    The one who can reach the unreachable

    Resistance to stigma
    Resistance to the seemingly impossible
    Resistance to lowered expectations
    Resistance to stereotypes

    My resistance taught me much
    It taught me how to fight
    Your resistance taught me to push harder
    Leaning into resistance led to openings
    Led to goals
    Led to greater success than anyone imagined

    Leaning into resistance is crucial
    Leaning into resistance is powerful
    Leaning into resistance leads to strength and openness
    Never forget to lean into resistance

    -Deborah B. G. Kelly

  14. Susan

    A Twitter Erasure

    Ferguson unarmed
    Shot him 10 times
    Killed.
    Canfield Green
    #justice
    Now that they’ve voted
    Mob reaction
    Outrage on social media.

    Mob?
    You could also use the word community.
    100 police cars
    M-16’s
    Basically martial law.
    MURDERED, by the police
    STILL LAYING N THE STREET!
    I have no words.

    Black. Lives. Matter.
    We have to keep reminding mofos.
    The power of social media
    Hands Up
    But the law is never at fault.
    They used soap to clean blood from the street.
    Rose pedals in the spot
    Rest in Peace.

    Someone please remind me what year it is again?
    Police dogs snarl at a crowd of mourners
    Another vigil tonight
    QuickTrip…now burning
    WHY?!
    DOJ to conduct an independent investigation
    Surreal
    Where IS Jay Nixon?

    Nov. 24, 2014
    Getting the masks ready…
    The Grand Jury decision
    The National Guard
    Police in riot gear
    Shots fired.
    Crowd runs.
    Rocks being hurled

    Tear gas over Ferguson
    Coughing.
    Vomiting.
    Eyes burning
    Freedom and the first amendment
    Gone.
    This is America.
    Seasons Greetings!

    Police car on fire
    I don’t have words.
    Our city is burning.
    This is what they wanted?
    Walgreens on fire
    Beauty Town on fire.
    Little Caesars… in flames.
    Sounds of glass breaking.

    Wow
    It’s bad.
    This is crazy…
    The police have brought in dogs
    Gas station on fire
    I didn’t see any National Guardsmen
    No firefighters in sight
    This is not ok.

    If you can’t say Amen, say ouch.
    White protards
    # Race together!
    Crowdfunding,
    A rallying cry.
    Here’s to less ignorance tomorrow.
    I Heart Ferguson.

  15. Thedeb

    Resisting the urge
    won’t work.
    No day can be blank.

    Challenge has been made
    new poems
    each day must be shared.

    But I missed Day One
    I’ll slip
    one in for the day.

    Hoping you will
    see that
    I resisted not.

    1. Thedeb

      Oops,,, IPhone user error ,,, I forgot the I’m !
      On line 10 !

      Resisting the urge
      won’t work.
      No day can be blank.

      Challenge has been made
      new poems
      each day must be shared.

      But I missed Day One
      I’ll slip
      one in for the day.

      I’m hoping you will
      see that
      I resisted not.

  16. Jenifer Tull-Gauger

    Resistance
    by Jenifer Tull-Gauger

    “To grandma’s we will go. Let’s get you dressed, my sweet.”
    The toddler holds on tight, “These plaid pants it will be.”

    “Those pants don’t match your shirt; we’ll find a better pair.”
    He holds the waistband still, his face red as his hair.

    “No way, these pants are mine!” The toddler won’t let go.
    His mommy pulls the legs. They put on quite a show.

    Mom, with a fashion sense, wants his grandma impressed.
    Son, with independence, just likes the way he’s dressed.

    The tug-of-war goes on, until the mom gives in.
    When grandma sees his clothes, she, smiling, praises him.

  17. Maxine

    Resistance

    Their relationship was framed
    from the start with faulty lumber,
    knotted, warped rail and stile.
    The communicants were

    held together by pounding
    nail-like expectations on the back
    side in the hope the marriage door
    would survive years of opening

    to sounds of life and productivity.
    But slamming insults, scowls and
    falsehoods prove all connections
    are deader than a doornail.

  18. pipersfancy

    Resisting Love

    Unsure; he stood alone amidst the crowd
    and felt as lonely as a starless night –
    ‘till over time, his fear became his shroud.
    So sad – he never realized his plight.

    She saw him from her safe (but distant) mind,
    not wanting to approach for fear he’d laugh
    dismissively, or worse, perhaps she’d find
    him courteous… perhaps, she’d risk a gaffe.

    A momentary thought flashed through her head:
    “Let’s pretend to be in love, shall we,”
    but quickly let it fizzle out – instead
    of acting out a role she couldn’t see.

    Emotions’ wings can’t spread and fly at all
    when butterflies are straight-pinned to a wall.

  19. QatWalsh

    twenty five years, I Get it
    twenty five years , your disappointed
    twenty five years you cant watch me eat
    twenty five years i get salad
    twenty five years you all eat pizza
    twenty five years i should be a ashamed
    twenty five years i am lazy
    twenty five years what a sight
    twenty five years size 18
    twenty five years hate beach season
    twenty five year i did not have a baby
    twenty five years little friends
    twenty five years people teasing
    twenty five years you told me so
    twenty five years i could be more
    twenty five years never enough
    twenty five years i learned to hate myself
    under you careful direction
    twenty five years i had little friends
    because you made me believe i didn’t deserve them
    skinny girls get boys skinny girls get liked
    skinny girls gets jobs, a puppy, jeans and apparently a mothers approval
    Twenty five years screw your opinions
    Twenty five years i love my mirror image
    Twenty five years my friends are few
    Twenty five years my friends are true
    Twenty five years this is my body
    Twenty five years this is my life
    Twenty five years you will not own me any more
    Twenty five years you will not make me cry
    Twenty five years twenty five years
    Twenty five years I AM BEAUTIFUL

  20. Martina Dansereau

    Here Is The Aspen Tree

    He says fuck you, queer
    and the words roll down my spine like a tractor
    plowing away at my dirt-and-stone
    pride, catching the roots of the budding flowers sown
    into my heart and tearing them out of the earth. You and I
    had gardened for a long time before those flowers had sprouted.
    I remember sitting with you in the
    early hours of morning and
    trying to plot the land, eyeing the pothole-weed-rock terrain
    and sketching how to make
    something beautiful out of these disasters we called our
    identities, reaping parts of ourselves
    until they crumbled into sand. We have a lot of work to do,
    you said, and so we marched through cities
    and took back the night, painting ‘queer’ across wind-roughened
    cheeks and stamping ‘dyke’ on lips tasting of stale smoke and chapstick.
    Behind the wall of reclaimed slurs, we planted seeds that we hoped
    would grow into a forest.
    Here is the aspen tree, here is
    the birch, here is something
    unrecognizable that we made out of the shadows. There
    are the tulips we whispered out of the ground, softly. There, our
    orchards that we had worked to cultivate from
    these pieces of ourselves that we have only just begun to understand,
    carving ourselves homes out of unfamiliarity.
    You and I are walking in the city when he
    comes up from behind, says fuck you, queer
    and spits at our feet. You take my hand and try
    to squeeze me strength
    but here is the aspen tree
    and here it is falling, and
    there petals are shedding as the flowers-turned-glass shards pierce
    through skin, splitting open, bleeding inwards.
    We tried to grow forests,
    but men cut them down.

  21. William.Skinner

    Resistance

    Papers to grade, lessons to prep,
    Books sit closed on the shelves.
    Laundry piling up, floors to vacuum,
    And the dishes won’t wash themselves.
    The grass is getting too tall
    But the mower is out of gas.
    Free movie channels on the dish,
    That I must watch while they last.
    I should go out and buy groceries,
    And I must answer my mom’s letter.
    But the bed feels so very soft,
    And the comfy couch is even better.

    William Skinner — Spring Break, 2015

    1. lavendertypeface

      Resistance: Day 1

      It shouldn’t be a hard thing for you to look at me;
      It ought not be a bad thing to talk to me.
      It haven’t wronged you from what I can see,
      So why have I escaped your memory?

      When you were a child you’d glance my way,
      Even think of me from time to time.
      On rainy days we’d sit for hours,
      Reading.

      You never take the time to love.
      You only have eyes for the screen
      My words could be a comfort,
      If only you knew what your signals mean.

      My words are drawing shorter,
      My breath is growing fast;
      My body is getting old now;
      Arthritis from uselessness.

      Let me say a last word before silence,
      Let me write words for you to hear.
      Let a poem in the making,
      Speak words that make you care:

      I’ve always been here.
      You haven’t been;
      It oughtn’t be the case,
      So why do you let me sit on and waste?

      The bookcase is lonely,
      I’m freezing inside;
      My inked heart is moaning,
      No warm hands are on my spine.

      No life to turn my pages,
      No eyes to read my soul,
      I’m a book on your bookcase,
      And your resistance makes me old.

  22. Elizabeth V

    Resistance

    You tap
    on my metal suit
    tap tap tap

    Like ice
    knocking against
    the hard glass

    of my bedroom
    your iron fisted words
    cannot ram

    down the door.
    I will not break.
    Don’t you know

    that bangs and clatters
    carry no weight
    against my armor?

    Spring knows the answer:
    a soft word
    will melt the snow.

  23. Roxanna Watrous

    I can’t resist that one last comment.
    I can’t resist the look that gives me chase.
    When I see your temples throb
    and watch red steam across your face.
    That’s when I know it’s coming
    and prepare for my attack.
    I’ll spin my words from straw
    straight of a broken camel’s back.
    Then I’ll use each point
    to stab and stoke a flame
    until I smile at the inferno
    and accept my happy blame.

  24. simplymarian

    Gray Resistance

    The brain resists
    what the heart can’t hold
    I hear-We lost Daddy
    I ask-Where
    Cling to the
    last second with Dad

    Marian Foster

  25. velvetdelenn

    Cages
    L. Anne Wooley

    DO NOT me
    You must set me FREE
    The box you try to put me in,
    I will not STAY
    inside.

    The truth will not set you free
    For nobody agrees what is true
    And what is false

    Topsy Turvy it’s become
    Common sense, reason, logic
    Abandoned by the powerful.

    The weak get weaker,
    Until they have no
    Power at all.

    It’s supposed to be the meek
    Who inherit the Earth,
    Not the Earth raping, power hungry
    False GODS!.

    Resistance is futile.

  26. julie e.

    SHE.

    She’s holding on to letting go
    of years they spent as one—
    “one up” (she’s down)
    “one thought” (not hers)
    “one promise” (broken daily.)
    She’s letting go of holding on
    for one more day
    (she can’t.)

  27. SGKilbride

    A N S W E R S

    It was the resistance of the belt against her jugular vein that made her realize the noose never held the answer.
    It only held all of the problems that had brought her there in the first place.

    S. G. K I L B R I D E

  28. rlhodges

    Ode to Neurosis

    You provide the irrational worry,
    A snake that ensnares and suffocates me;
    You make my old mole a melanoma,
    Locking the front door an epic saga.

    You help me misuse imagination,
    So the restroom is a boiling cauldron;
    You supply the unease that turns a twinge
    Into the stab of an addict’s syringe.

    You fill my mind with ridiculous thoughts
    That twist my guts into byzantine knots;
    You whisper warnings in my trembling ear:
    I have unknown enemies far and near!

    You distort my logic to something strange—
    A measured spirit you seek to derange.
    If I’m caught without sanitizer gel,
    A restaurant meal morphs to frightful hell.

    You generously transfer through my genes,
    So my sons can know what neurosis means;
    I’ve detected you in nascent state,
    Which attaches guilt to my psychic weight.

    Unlike the uplift hopeful words can bring,
    Your heat will melt the fabric of our wings;
    I pray your ceaseless noise will go away,
    Yet I fear, in my blood, your din shall stay.

    Ron Hodges

  29. Bonniejean Alford

    The Dream, The Promise
    by bonniejean alford

    A dream promised in times long gone by,
    when freedom was the foundation.
    A dream un-realized, even as we stand un-united,
    bound by the chains of collective violence.
    A dream, a dream, the dream.
    Bullshizzism!

    The right to dream
    is built on broken promises and stolen freedoms.
    Hatred, difference,
    skewing the world.

    One vision of ugly shatters the dream.
    We must dare to dream;
    dare not to dream?

    Expected conformity
    with lies and injustice as our guide.
    Truth, the right to truth
    is built on broken backs,
    un-free, in a world of mere dreams.

    Love forgotten
    in the actions of evil.
    Life, sweet life,
    lost at the hands of hate.
    Accepted hate, the new reality
    in a world gone awry.

    Scattered truths stealing the dream
    from the future;
    from the present.
    Un-certainty of time.
    And the dream is lost.

    Dare it be said,
    an impossible non-reality,
    un-achievable,
    even as we stand blind,
    bound in the memories of false freedoms.
    The dream is un-known.
    As friendships part,
    a sea of anger remains.
    As hate wins out over love,
    broken promises of a better tomorrow
    stand as testimony to yesterday.

    A conviction of heart
    lost without a dream,
    without the dream,
    existing only in a sea of confusion,
    of difference highlighted as evil.

    Co-existence impossible
    without the dream as guide.
    Injustice cannot prevail,
    but fear controls
    and the dream stands un-fulfilled.

    Alone instead of united,
    this is where we stand
    with anger in our hearts
    and blood on our hands.
    Innocence lost over misunderstandings
    built on generations of lies.

    The dream, dare we say,
    It was never possible.
    Dare we say,
    that we can still hope
    for the dream to be realized,
    for the freedom to simply love.

    Sadness sets in.
    The world without a dream,
    an ugly place without hope,
    without a chance for survival.

    Tomorrow cannot be
    if we do not own today.
    Even as the fires are set,
    the glimmer of the dream that once was
    still permeates this existence.

    As we stand,
    tears fallen for a symbol of change un-warranted;
    A heart trapped,
    in a world built on judgement rather than acceptance.
    Love un-invited,
    with hate the only guest.

    The dream is lost
    to the corruption of the un-corruptible.
    Promises of a united front
    fall violently at the hands of those
    who never knew unification.

    Eons of lies as truth
    invade the space that is now our world,
    our truth.

    Dare we continue to dream
    in a world that steals the good
    and hides the hope
    in the blood of children.

    Death to the dream,
    not a path we should take indeed.
    Yet, here we are
    having placed the dream on death row,
    even without a trial,
    let alone a conviction.

    And yet, this is the new truth,
    the new reality:
    United we do not stand;
    Allegiance to nothing;
    Self indulgence and the path of least resistance
    have killed the dream,
    will kill the dream again.

    The voices of change go un-heard.
    We are invisible. We must be,
    or the dream would not remain in the shadows,
    locked away from possibility.

    Life, sweet life,
    existing without faith.
    And yet, we still exist.
    Must this mean the dream survives?
    “Strong enough?” We must wonder.

    For the next battle will define us all.

    The dream calls for love united,
    despite difference,
    despite the lies of yesterday,
    despite the broken trusts,
    despite the abandoned promises of freedom.

    The dream is not just a better tomorrow,
    but a better today.
    We must kill the hate
    not the love,
    not the dream.
    For that is the promise the dream demands.

  30. shangrixla

    “On changing things out of your control”

    “Change”
    I’ve seen anguish on million of faces
    but I’ve never heard anyone with plans to do anything about it.

    Obama? Yes. I remember those days.
    The post-war/Guantanamo days that never came,
    like customers to daughter America’s kool-aid stand.

    “Change!”
    A simple enough slogan that really sums up the status of our country.
    I mean that must have really hit home.
    I mean we all mean well.
    But the only change is this week’s retail.

    “Change!”
    I’m sure any of the Franklins would be disappointed, Benjamin, Roosevelt, Pierce.
    Pragmatic like Charles, or cardinal like tierce.
    And a secret revealed is a secret unsafe,
    but we aren’t either, not even from our state.

    “Change!”
    ‘Let’s see what happens when I play god’
    I’d do the same.
    Piercing like Paul – game 1 in ’08.
    To the Corinthians, Thessalonians, Galatians the same,
    Post game proclaim we’ll win on the road.

    Well I’ve been on the road for a while now And I need some “change” to pay my toll.

    – Gregory William Goodrich

  31. Bonniejean Alford

    The Dream, The Promise
    by bonniejean alford

    A dream promised in times long gone by,
    when freedom was the foundation.
    A dream un-realized, even as we stand un-united,
    bound by the chains of collective violence.
    A dream, a dream, the dream.
    Bullshizzism!

    The right to dream
    is built on broken promises and stolen freedoms.
    Hatred, difference,
    skewing the world.

    One vision of ugly shatters the dream.
    We must dare to dream;
    dare not to dream?

    Expected conformity
    with lies and injustice as our guide.
    Truth, the right to truth
    is built on broken backs,
    un-free, in a world of mere dreams.

    Love forgotten
    in the actions of evil.
    Life, sweet life,
    lost at the hands of hate.
    Accepted hate, the new reality
    in a world gone awry.

    Scattered truths stealing the dream
    from the future;
    from the present.
    Un-certainty of time.
    And the dream is lost.

    Dare it be said,
    an impossible non-reality,
    un-achievable,
    even as we stand blind,
    bound in the memories of false freedoms.
    The dream is un-known.
    As friendships part,
    a sea of anger remains.
    As hate wins out over love,
    broken promises of a better tomorrow
    stand as testimony to yesterday.

    A conviction of heart
    lost without a dream,
    without the dream,
    existing only in a sea of confusion,
    of difference highlighted as evil.

    Co-existence impossible
    without the dream as guide.
    Injustice cannot prevail,
    but fear controls
    and the dream stands un-fulfilled.

    Alone instead of united,
    this is where we stand
    with anger in our hearts
    and blood on our hands.
    Innocence lost over misunderstandings
    built on generations of lies.

    The dream, dare we say,
    It was never possible.
    Dare we say,
    that we can still hope
    for the dream to be realized,
    for the freedom to simply love.

    Sadness sets in.
    The world without a dream,
    an ugly place without hope,
    without a chance for survival.

    Tomorrow cannot be
    if we do not own today.
    Even as the fires are set,
    the glimmer of the dream that once was
    still permeates this existence.

    As we stand,
    tears fallen for a symbol of change un-warranted;
    A heart trapped,
    in a world built on judgement rather than acceptance.
    Love un-invited,
    with hate the only guest.

    The dream is lost
    to the corruption of the un-corruptible.
    Promises of a united front
    fall violently at the hands of those
    who never knew unification.

    Eons of lies as truth
    invade the space that is now our world,
    our truth.

    Dare we continue to dream
    in a world that steals the good
    and hides the hope
    in the blood of children.

    Death to the dream,
    not a path we should take indeed.
    Yet, here we are
    having placed the dream on death row,
    even without a trial,
    let alone a conviction.

    And yet, this is the new truth,
    the new reality:
    United we do not stand;
    Allegiance to nothing;
    Self indulgence and the path of least resistance
    have killed the dream,
    will kill the dream again.

    The voices of change go un-heard.
    We are invisible. We must be,
    or the dream would not remain in the shadows,
    locked away from possibility.

    Life, sweet life,
    existing without faith.
    And yet, we still exist.
    Must this mean the dream survives?
    “Strong enough?” We must wonder.

    For the next battle will define us all.

    The dream calls for love united,
    despite difference,
    despite the lies of yesterday,
    despite the broken trusts,
    despite the abandoned promises of freedom.

    The dream is not just a better tomorrow,
    but a better today.
    We must kill the hate
    not the love,
    not the dream.
    For that is the promise the dream demands.

  32. Bonniejean Alford

    “The Dream, The Promise”
    by bonniejean alford

    A dream promised in times long gone by,
    when freedom was the foundation.
    A dream un-realized, even as we stand un-united,
    bound by the chains of collective violence.
    A dream, a dream, the dream.
    Bullshizzism!

    The right to dream
    is built on broken promises and stolen freedoms.
    Hatred, difference,
    skewing the world.

    One vision of ugly shatters the dream.
    We must dare to dream;
    dare not to dream?

    Expected conformity
    with lies and injustice as our guide.
    Truth, the right to truth
    is built on broken backs,
    un-free, in a world of mere dreams.

    Love forgotten
    in the actions of evil.
    Life, sweet life,
    lost at the hands of hate.
    Accepted hate, the new reality
    in a world gone awry.

    Scattered truths stealing the dream
    from the future;
    from the present.
    Un-certainty of time.
    And the dream is lost.

    Dare it be said,
    an impossible non-reality,
    un-achievable,
    even as we stand blind,
    bound in the memories of false freedoms.
    The dream is un-known.
    As friendships part,
    a sea of anger remains.
    As hate wins out over love,
    broken promises of a better tomorrow
    stand as testimony to yesterday.

    A conviction of heart
    lost without a dream,
    without the dream,
    existing only in a sea of confusion,
    of difference highlighted as evil.

    Co-existence impossible
    without the dream as guide.
    Injustice cannot prevail,
    but fear controls
    and the dream stands un-fulfilled.

    Alone instead of united,
    this is where we stand
    with anger in our hearts
    and blood on our hands.
    Innocence lost over misunderstandings
    built on generations of lies.

    The dream, dare we say,
    It was never possible.
    Dare we say,
    that we can still hope
    for the dream to be realized,
    for the freedom to simply love.

    Sadness sets in.
    The world without a dream,
    an ugly place without hope,
    without a chance for survival.

    Tomorrow cannot be
    if we do not own today.
    Even as the fires are set,
    the glimmer of the dream that once was
    still permeates this existence.

    As we stand,
    tears fallen for a symbol of change un-warranted;
    A heart trapped,
    in a world built on judgement rather than acceptance.
    Love un-invited,
    with hate the only guest.

    The dream is lost
    to the corruption of the un-corruptible.
    Promises of a united front
    fall violently at the hands of those
    who never knew unification.

    Eons of lies as truth
    invade the space that is now our world,
    our truth.

    Dare we continue to dream
    in a world that steals the good
    and hides the hope
    in the blood of children.

    Death to the dream,
    not a path we should take indeed.
    Yet, here we are
    having placed the dream on death row,
    even without a trial,
    let alone a conviction.

    And yet, this is the new truth,
    the new reality:
    United we do not stand;
    Allegiance to nothing;
    Self indulgence and the path of least resistance
    have killed the dream,
    will kill the dream again.

    The voices of change go un-heard.
    We are invisible. We must be,
    or the dream would not remain in the shadows,
    locked away from possibility.

    Life, sweet life,
    existing without faith.
    And yet, we still exist.
    Must this mean the dream survives?
    “Strong enough?” We must wonder.

    For the next battle will define us all.

    The dream calls for love united,
    despite difference,
    despite the lies of yesterday,
    despite the broken trusts,
    despite the abandoned promises of freedom.

    The dream is not just a better tomorrow,
    but a better today.
    We must kill the hate
    not the love,
    not the dream.
    For that is the promise the dream demands.

  33. Bonniejean Alford

    “The Dream, The Promise”
    by bonniejean alford

    A dream promised in times long gone by,
    when freedom was the foundation.
    A dream un-realized, even as we stand un-united,
    bound by the chains of collective violence.
    A dream, a dream, the dream.
    Bullshizzism!

    The right to dream
    is built on broken promises and stolen freedoms.
    Hatred, difference,
    skewing the world.

    One vision of ugly shatters the dream.
    We must dare to dream;
    dare not to dream?

    Expected conformity
    with lies and injustice as our guide.
    Truth, the right to truth
    is built on broken backs,
    un-free, in a world of mere dreams.

    Love forgotten
    in the actions of evil.
    Life, sweet life,
    lost at the hands of hate.
    Accepted hate, the new reality
    in a world gone awry.

    Scattered truths stealing the dream
    from the future;
    from the present.
    Un-certainty of time.
    And the dream is lost.

    Dare it be said,
    an impossible non-reality,
    un-achievable,
    even as we stand blind,
    bound in the memories of false freedoms.
    The dream is un-known.
    As friendships part,
    a sea of anger remains.
    As hate wins out over love,
    broken promises of a better tomorrow
    stand as testimony to yesterday.

    A conviction of heart
    lost without a dream,
    without the dream,
    existing only in a sea of confusion,
    of difference highlighted as evil.

    Co-existence impossible
    without the dream as guide.
    Injustice cannot prevail,
    but fear controls
    and the dream stands un-fulfilled.

    Alone instead of united,
    this is where we stand
    with anger in our hearts
    and blood on our hands.
    Innocence lost over misunderstandings
    built on generations of lies.

    The dream, dare we say,
    It was never possible.
    Dare we say,
    that we can still hope
    for the dream to be realized,
    for the freedom to simply love.

    Sadness sets in.
    The world without a dream,
    an ugly place without hope,
    without a chance for survival.

    Tomorrow cannot be
    if we do not own today.
    Even as the fires are set,
    the glimmer of the dream that once was
    still permeates this existence.

    As we stand,
    tears fallen for a symbol of change un-warranted;
    A heart trapped,
    in a world built on judgement rather than acceptance.
    Love un-invited,
    with hate the only guest.

    The dream is lost
    to the corruption of the un-corruptible.
    Promises of a united front
    fall violently at the hands of those
    who never knew unification.

    Eons of lies as truth
    invade the space that is now our world,
    our truth.

    Dare we continue to dream
    in a world that steals the good
    and hides the hope
    in the blood of children.

    Death to the dream,
    not a path we should take indeed.
    Yet, here we are
    having placed the dream on death row,
    even without a trial,
    let alone a conviction.

    And yet, this is the new truth,
    the new reality:
    United we do not stand;
    Allegiance to nothing;
    Self indulgence and the path of least resistance
    have killed the dream,
    will kill the dream again.

    The voices of change go un-heard.
    We are invisible. We must be,
    or the dream would not remain in the shadows,
    locked away from possibility.

    Life, sweet life,
    existing without faith.
    And yet, we still exist.
    Must this mean the dream survives?
    “Strong enough?” We must wonder.

    For the next battle will define us all.

    The dream calls for love united,
    despite difference,
    despite the lies of yesterday,
    despite the broken trusts,
    despite the abandoned promises of freedom.

    The dream is not just a better tomorrow,
    but a better today.
    We must kill the hate
    not the love,
    not the dream.
    For that is the promise the dream demands.

  34. lovewriter

    Shiver in the early morning
    Bask in warm afternoons
    Spring, the Delightful Trickster

    Caught between Winter’s resistance
    to leave and Summer’s eagerness,
    Spring flirts and teases
    sweeping pollen in her skirts

  35. Siofra Alexander

    Roses from my sister’s wedding

    sit on the kitchen counter
    drying as they die
    the color drains
    red to brown

    I encourage their death
    tie them together
    hang them upside down
    I wake to their crisp petals on the floor
    crumbling under my feet
    as I step on them

    I couldn’t willingly throw them away

    and you question if this is my will
    resistant to conformity
    when really
    it is my resistance
    to giving into the notion
    that my flesh is as delicate
    as the fabric of rose petals

    – Síofra Alexander

  36. KatieHolmes2

    Resisting One Another

    Long ago I still recall
    when you approached
    my every wall,
    Fearlessly you melted them all
    then tenderly
    you caught my fall.

    You heard the language of my heart,
    speaking it fluently from the start

    You claimed my soul for your own,
    Which forbidded another
    to make it their home.

    I’ve tried with all my will power
    I’ve put up one hell of a fight,
    Still I’m unsuccessful
    though I’ve used up all my might.

    Trying to rid myself
    of your embedded seal,
    You branded me
    then stranded me
    while sharing what I feel.

    So much I wish I’d not remember,
    This love between us
    so sweet and tender.

    It’s magical and magnetic
    the way it lures us in,
    Sometimes no words are spoken
    but yet so much is said.

    Both of us can hear it
    and oh what a beautiful sound,
    Wanting so much to stay and to play
    but reality brings us down.

    It drops us like the highest high
    while the bitterness creeps in,
    There we chose to lose
    as we stand back and let them win,
    Here we are…
    on hold again…
    This is the story
    Of me and him.

    -Katie Lynn-

  37. Shaindel Beers

    Resistance is Futile

    Don’t you want your students to meet
    the benchmarks? You want to give them
    an authentic learning experience, don’t you?
    You need to backward-design your curriculum
    using your attendant rubrics. Nothing can be done until
    you define your goals and design your assessments.
    This is a positive climate! Every student matters,
    every moment counts. Everyone a learner, every day.
    We are striving for inclusive excellence, but that depends
    upon your grit. You might have to flip your classroom
    to meet the performance standards we need to see.
    Could you unpack that a little more?
    I’m afraid I didn’t get that entered into the Learning Outcomes
    Module. I can’t allow you to do that. I don’t see it listed
    anywhere on your IEP. I am not a “teacher”; I’m an engaged,
    leadership driven data wall. I didn’t achieve these results
    just by accident. I am a firm believer in regular reviews of results
    followed by laser-focused learning. I know. The Enterprise
    Reporting Tool told me. Am I being transparent here?
    I need to know because as soon as I leave, you are accountable
    for your classroom data collection on your adequately yearly progress.
    How will you address their non-cognitive factors?
    Will you be meeting their core competencies?
    How are we going to define success?
    I am not feeling very synergetic. Do I have to modularize
    everything for you? You’re going to need to be more proactive.
    You’ll have to come back after completing your Learning
    Readiness Indicator. Until then, I’m afraid
    I can’t help you. You see, you’re missing the code,
    and all that comes up is an error message. I know. I am
    the daughter of the Strategic Planning Online Library.
    I came out of the cloud myself.

  38. jean

    The future pushes back
    Every time I peer ahead
    I cannot read the signs and symbols,
    Confirmations pointing the way
    Dear God, make them more obvious.
    Please.

  39. Anvanya

    Le Resistance
    The war dragged on for so very long
    While I searched for you in so very many places,
    Always looking for my heart’s twin
    Ever reaching for that hand to grasp mine
    The way yours had so many years ago.

    What could I do but search and look and
    Take chances with my heart,
    Chances that forged walls around my life
    And froze my heart within their confines.

    I may have loved…who is to say?
    Who can penetrate the costumes and
    Dodges and jobs taken on that cemented
    Said wall in place whilst the war waged
    Outside, fitting and starting, overrunning
    All territories, eventually even mine.

    We give in to the day to day requirements
    Of sanity – I did. And was alone for many
    Months before a knock on the door
    Brought news of war’s end.

    What had I done or not done?
    What had I said or not said?
    Whose voice might come to my ears
    Once the guns stopped at last?

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