2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 22

Way to go, everyone! I know it’s impossible to comment on everyone’s poem during this challenge, but remember that a few kind words here and there can help your fellow poets keep at it during this final week or so of the challenge. Keep at poeming!

For today’s prompt, write a nature poem. For many poets, the first thing that may pop to mind includes birds, trees, waterfalls, rivers, and such. But there’s also human nature, nature vs. nurture, and other things natural, including natural selection and being a “natural” at something. Let your nature take it where it will today.

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Here’s my attempt at a Nature Poem:

“nature strikes back”

it began near the end of winter
high & low pressure systems setting
off a series of mighty migraines

& then i was attacked by pollen
yellow coating every surface &
my throat & triggering my migraines

soon it will be the mosquitoes &
bees & a small strand of poison ivy
don’t tell me that nature can’t fight back

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Today’s guest judge is…

Justin Marks

Justin Marks

Justin Marks

Justin Marks’ books are You’re Going to Miss Me When You’re Bored (Barrelhouse Books) and A Million in Prizes (New Issues).

His latest chapbook is We Used to Have Parties (Dikembe Press).

He is a co-founder of Birds, LLC, an independent poetry press, and lives in Queens, NY with his wife and their twin son and daughter.

Learn more at JustinMarks.net.

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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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914 thoughts on “2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 22

  1. josephdaniel

    It’s Only Natural

    It’s not my nature
    to be so cynical
    I’m all for not thinking
    the world is coming
    to an end
    Maybe I should
    just stop watching
    the weather channel

  2. GregRobin Smith

    The Truth of it all

    Nature is a Knife
    Art in intensity
    Simplicity in myriad combinations.

    Its single command:
    “Live”

    It is not gentle –
    Its hunger is whole

    If peace is found within its magic webs
    it is only because
    it has easier food within reach.


    (c) 2015 GregRobin Smith

  3. Joseph Harker

    Genius Loci

    My brother has that intelligence
    which I never mastered, to know
    one tree from another by patterns
    scored into its bark, or birdsong
    distinguished by pitch and tune—
    white oak, he’ll assert, or black
    horned lark
    . I have to half-believe
    when he claims a set of prints as
    cougar tracks. All I’ve learned is
    how to propagate through space
    and the various interruptions
    of this place or that. I know enough
    to know magnolias, for example—
    how their purple casts up against
    Georgetown Hospital, versus how
    they brown in the rough verging
    that golf course by the river.
    They become individuals, the way
    each differs from the last— a bird
    is a Mozart, every unfelled tree
    an archive of its neighborhood past.
    I learn them by heart. Jealousy
    falls away. Roadsides and yards
    populate with the private lives
    of small flowering gods, who I
    cannot name— though I admit
    this worship seems thin when I walk
    with my brother, all the same.

  4. barton smock

    -distant nature-

    suicide
    writes of you
    in third
    person

    if played too long

    hide and seek
    becomes hide
    and hide

    I crawl in one ear
    and you
    the other
    as the name
    of the insect
    escapes

    god

    our love of dolphins…

      1. annell

        Note: I am thinking nature is not just ‘wild things’ but all things. Men build cities and they become a part of nature, in New York, the hawk builds his nest on the ledge of the buildings, wind blows through man made canyons, some live in the shadow of the buildings most of their lives, never to see the sunlight, we are all a part of natue, constituently changing.

  5. annell

    A Nature Poem

    that quiet place one longs for      a walk in the woods       birds alive over head

    the stream that flows      & all that lives in the stream      the sun rising

    tracking its’ path across the sky      setting at sundown      all the colors of the rainbow

    sleeping out doors under the stars      rain that moistens the earth

    & snow that transforms      all things out doors    …still      nature is everywhere

    all things that exist in space     things that cast shadows      things unseen

    the air we breath      & and the wind that moves the wind chimes

    nature is where we live      our little part of the world      nature is you & me

    April 22, 2015

  6. kelly letky

    the nature of everything

    i want to tell you a secret:
    silence is a charlatan and answers are for birds

    the sparrow scrapes through a litter of leaves
    looking for worm or the snail that will save him

    today

    but he keeps one eye on the sky for a martyrdom of hawk
    and his beak has begun to grow crooked

    he knows the dangers of complacency
    life or death, work or hunger
    boredom is never an option
    fight or flight remains a literal refrain

    the sky is a cage of infinity
    posing as the song of room to soar

    the sparrow knows the gravity
    of thinking

    he’s a miracle in the melt of mirage

    he sings so the morning won’t be lonely

    he lives to defy his mother’s odds

    he sings

    he sings

    he sings

    to tell the nature
    of his story

    _Kelly Letky

  7. Maeflower

    Lifeblood

    Mosquito,
    awakening from a puddle,
    an empty vessel.
    Your touch,
    like a whisper,
    not meaning to disturb.
    But always called:
    Sickness
    Villain
    Disease
    Criminal
    never the humble mosquito.

    A burning hunger
    for our bounty,
    the coursing abundance.
    A frenzied conductor,
    trouncing
    trampling palms,
    beating,
    shadows plunge.
    Our greed overpowers,
    sheltering the rosy sustenance.
    Not sparing that
    single
    drop
    to swell your little belly.

    But if we did,
    what touched our
    hearts
    would be
    set free
    on the wings of a
    mosquito.

  8. mariahewilson

    It’s His Nature

    It’s his nature to love her
    he can’t help it.
    Her laughter lights up
    his darkest places,
    breathes new life
    into old bones.
    Her smile makes
    his knees weak
    her voice
    is the first thing
    to make his palms
    sweat since school.
    She’s a sweet bird song.
    She’s butterfly delicate,
    hurricane strong.
    It’s his nature to love her,
    something this amazing
    can’t be wrong.

  9. Minibusy

    Whimsy of the Dandelion Seed

    Drift, languid, a fairy’s whisper…
    linger, hovering
    above lawns, meadows,
    weaving to and fro.

    Dance with abandon over fallow fields,
    pirouette in breeze’s sway.

    Your course, not chosen:
    an updraft, your whimsy,
    a sudden squall your calamity.

    Your final haven awaits the will
    of nature’s caprice.

    Sharon Anderson

  10. Walt Wojtanik

    SAVE THE PLANET
    (Chewie, We’re Home!)

    Arid and barren,
    landscape strewn
    with android pieces,
    sand crawlers
    and Imperial cruisers.
    They used to be a big deal,
    but since we Forced them out,
    we’re about knee deep in their waste.
    In our haste we did not consider
    the cost; what we’ve lost!
    Don’t it always seem to go, that you
    don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone!
    They paved Tatooine
    and put up a parking lot!

  11. Gwyvian

    Springborn

    Unspoken magnetism is the nature of our force
    pulling and collapsed into a gravitational jelly—
    I spread these thoughts unto the eternal summer skies
    and pushed them farther away to enjoy new life:
    still, the unchanging has its charm, with much wind
    and rainfall – a tropical resort for a heart that
    was built of seasons and laments not truly feeling
    that we are springborn…

    April 22, 2015

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

    Note: At this point of fatigue I hardly know what I’m doing. I wish my timezone didn’t demand that I create around the middle of the night, haha… oh, no, I’m rambling, aren’t I.

  12. Jaye Words

    Thoughts gleaned from reading Imanual Velokovsky

    The Russian found while researching his field,
    It was like an onion, waiting to be peeled.
    Earth’s magnetic field he ventured forth,
    Changed poles north to south, then back north.
    He said outer space gave us Venus so fair,
    Varied writings tell us, it wasn’t always there.
    Other historians blocked his publishing books,
    And bestowed on him many dirty looks.
    Modern science has found his alternate sight,
    In many instances has been proven right.
    Just because the sun sets west and rises east,
    Does that mean it’s really the nature of the beast?

  13. Pat Walsh

    in the quiet of darkness
    by Patrick J. Walsh

    flat and covered
    in wet leaves the grass
    struggles to sprout
    green into
    the world

    sodden and sorrowing
    the day rains tears and
    sifts through clouds
    to lift
    the sun

    while slumbering deep
    in darkly quiet soil buried
    dreaming cicadas whisper
    vague memories
    of summer

  14. Gwyvian

    Glimmers

    Glimmers discover the truth,
    sunlight fed the soil primeval essence:
    it keeps glorying in fluid greens blending,
    such lush aptitude blossoming, unbending…
    glimmers flake from a brow uplifted
    and leave only flashing echoes of the dust:
    come glimmer, take me back down and
    deeper, where the heart beats with
    vicious patience and light consumes itself…
    our core where ire is stored till it founts
    and we all run around with not
    a glimmer of what we’ve done…

    April 22, 2015

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

  15. shadowprancer

    The Nature of Age
    By Brittany M.

    Like a sheet of paper
    Once creased
    These hands
    Never again the same

    Paper fans shutter
    With a laugh and smile
    And these parentheses
    Lengthen
    Along the mouth

    With each breath
    Another hitch
    In the grain
    Of skin
    Another nail
    To glue it together
    Or to split it into two

    Each furrow
    An origami
    Rustling
    A thousand cranes,
    Each year
    A thousand more made

    And in the end,
    All,
    Like me,
    Will rise into flame

  16. Thedeb

    Requiem for an Easter Lily

    Lily, as fragrant
    in death as you were in life.

    Your petals wither,
    and my memory fades.

    The gift was mine to lose.
    I meant to keep it glassed.

    Lessons learned,
    life cannot be contained.

    So I return you, Lily,
    to the place of your birth.

    Deep hole, hard ground.
    Tears for my loss.

    I pray to the sky, that I might
    see you again when Spring returns.

  17. Undrtakr

    The Nature of Things

    She’s pure as the driven snow
    Lay her down in a bed of roses
    I’m over the moon for her

    I heard through the grapevine
    You’re barking up the wrong tree
    Go bury your head in the sand

    Red sky at night, sailor’s delight
    Only happens once in a blue moon
    The sky’s the limit

  18. Gwyvian

    Earthen

    My skin of the moon is absorbing some sun,
    yet most of our dance is mere reflection:
    always the whispers in mirrors and masks,
    sun-dappled velvet a basilisk transfixing my heart;
    shadow of Earth a rising void—
    it swallows my form into a blend of mystery and cold:
    so perfect the swirling patterns I see, hiding
    blue oceans of sorrow and green skin receding;
    my skin is of the night, yet my eyes are never dark,
    for they always seek the skies of the sun where
    my lover lurks, overshadowed—
    I make my mark by pulling that sorrow deep:
    I am the riddle of ecstasy mingled with fear…
    yet I am also Mother Nature in a cloak of identity,
    to whom you speak when your civilization mocks me…

    April 22, 2015

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

  19. pipersfancy

    Flight

    My spirit is refreshed by Autumn’s air
    as I breathe in, breath out, breathe in, breathe out
    returning to a place of tranquil prayer
    devoid of thoughts that needle, raising doubt.

    A gathering of geese at river’s edge
    sing songs of ancient mysteries within.
    In season’s time departing, newly fledged,
    releasing souls from trials and chagrin.

    They call; I answer, turning face to breeze.
    I feel the chill of change that echos softly,
    and grows to a crescendo by degrees.
    To leave this place, or stay; which is more costly?

    My feathers preened, I fly with them tonight
    across imagination’s open field,
    secluded landscapes only seen in flight,
    encircled safely by a feathered shield.

    Their call becomes the song I sing to self
    as I breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out
    all things of past are set upon a shelf;
    there is no room on feathered wings for doubt.

  20. ReathaThomasOakley

    Pellicer Creek

    There is an arm
    of southern water
    snaking west from the
    Matanzas, river of
    bloody slaughter,
    along the border of
    the land George Carter
    claimed to build a village
    for himself
    and his children
    in 1870.

    My father, as a child,
    fished those warm waters
    lead me, as a child,
    down the shallow bank
    to gather water in a bucket
    for the graves of his mother
    and his father and
    George Carter.

    My sons, as children,
    watched the tea
    brown water whispering
    to each other as they spied
    a moccasin glide by.

    I told them stories
    of my father and his father
    rowing in this very water
    late afternoons to
    the ruins of Fort Matanzas
    to sleep with ghosts of
    Spanish soldiers to wake up
    to catch the sea tide turning
    to catch mullet in the net
    his father made.

    I love the St. John’s River
    its gentle majesty but
    it is this quiet hidden place
    my father’s water
    that holds my heart
    in its silent meandering flow.

    1. Thedeb

      As a Florida native, I know St. Augustine well. It is a magical place
      full of history and charm.
      However, it also carries an awful legacy of violence and murder.
      Your poem is fantastic! It should be read to students.
      In fact I think you should submit this to the
      St.Augustine Historical Society. You have captured
      the heart of an Indian Nation in your lovely words.

      1. ReathaThomasOakley

        Thank you. I’ve tried to use, not always successfully, a recent Carter Reunion as inspiration each day. A few years ago a cousin and I started working on a history of Carterville, gone except for Pellicer Creek Cemetery. PAD has taken me back to that project. I will be in St. Aug in a few weeks, but just for the day.

        1. Thedeb

          Oooh how wonderful !
          Enjoy it well. Visit the new distillery, making “fire-water” from sugar cane.
          All joking aside, I really feel that you should offer your beautiful poem to the
          St. Augustine Historical Society. Your work should be prominently displayed
          in some way. It tells a sad, beautiful story.

      2. ReathaThomasOakley

        I read your kind comment too quickly. By 1870, there were no native people left, as a group, in St. Johns County. There were, however, many people like George Carter who have stories worth telling.

          1. Thedeb

            I’m glad you bring forth the poignant history of a family legacy.
            It’s every bit as important as the story of those who came before.

  21. Pepe Batbon

    EARTH DAYS BEFORE WE WERE BORN

    I did not see all of the thoughtless events
    that lead us up to the moment where we are
    but using everyday basic common sense
    we don’t need to look back in the past very far
    maybe a hundred years before our parents were born
    we began serious pollution of the waters and the sky
    as farther and farther from the Earth we were torn
    few earthlings stopped to pause and wonder why
    I did not hear of all the tragic man made events
    that slowly diminished the quality of our daily life
    yet entire countries continue on in a manner most dense
    little disturbed by the Earth’s present daily strife
    however there’s light in darkness, clean water in the bay
    as people help the Earth by celebrating Earth Day

  22. Kjean

    It is in my human nature
    to nurture
    everything defenseless
    right down to the ant
    that can’t quite make it up
    that hill, either way
    it behooves me to think that
    whatever is tossed us by nature
    we are designed to endure.
    That truly is a miracle
    of the Nature of God
    which we will never understand
    but just remain in awe over
    the rainbows that compose
    a symphony of color
    that manifests
    through the entire universe;
    the delicate Monarch butterfly
    who only God knows
    can really make it the entire way
    to Mexico;
    the bird who
    confidently pecks the ground
    with no way of knowing
    if what is found
    will be there to feed her tomorrow;
    the dog who will listen attentively
    to every word that utters forth from the mouth
    of his owner to which
    the owner swears he understands…
    Nature can be so far apart from us
    and yet, so much a part,
    every fiber of our being
    depends upon it
    and its cycle through which
    we eternally move.

    1. BJ.Writer

      “the ant can’t quite make it up that hill”… Do we help them? Angle worms on the driveway after a rain – should I toss them back into the grass lest they fry when the sun comes out?
      I really enjoyed reading your poem, Thanks for sharing it.

  23. pipersfancy

    Written for the children of Nelson House First Nation in Northern Manitoba.

    Fair Morning in the Skies

    You can see a fair morning in the skies it brings
    Good children, arise! Arise!
    Greet this new day!

    You can hear the wind’s wild leaping between clouds
    Good children, listen! Listen!
    Join the drummers in their joy!

    The world and its Maker sing the Song of Creation
    Good children, imagine! Imagine!
    Unfold your wings and fly where it leads you!

    You can know words are true in the stories they tell
    Good children, share! Share!
    Speak your stories and stand proud for your people!

    From broken clay pots and forgotten promises
    Good children, remember! Remember!
    You are the future and the retelling of all that is good!

          1. pipersfancy

            True enough… in both directions, good and bad… But, for certain, my world view and understanding of peoples and cultures has been expanded and changed forever.

  24. uvr

    Rhythm Of The Moon

    Sunlight glinting off the water 
    is the twinkle in your eyes
    The wind in my hair 
    is the caress of your hands
    The swell of the waves 
    is the desire your look arouses
    The clouds skimming the sky 
    are your kisses on my skin
    The foam crashing on the shore 
    is the beat of my heart
    My love lives in the
    depths of the ocean
    Hope rises and falls 
    like the tides
    for you’re the moon 
    to whose rhythm 
    I’m forever bound

    Uma Venkatraman

  25. pipersfancy

    Just for fun – a silly poem written to celebrate the camping experience!

    Blue Lake Blues
    (Communing with Nature)

    Here I sit in my tent
    in the wind and the rain.
    Three long days has it poured
    while the children complain.

    Hiking trails, much too wet
    for the kids to explore
    so we sit and we stare
    munching junk foods galore.

    One’s engrossed with the swatter;
    killing flies, a new sport.
    Stumbling cot over cot –
    now my patience runs short!

    Yesterday on the lake
    we capsized the canoe –
    dripping wet to our tent,
    the bugs sticking like glue.

    To commune with nature
    was my hopeful intent.
    But the closest I’ve come
    are dead flies in the tent.

    Hot dogs remain raw –
    the fire sputters and dies.
    Through torrential downpours,
    you’ll hear desperate cries.

    Soldiering on with our friends
    who endure this ordeal…
    Only seven more days
    ‘till our next decent meal!

    For a year it’s been planned,
    this summer’s vacation.
    It’s a shame that the rain
    has brought us frustration.

    Still, we sit ‘round campfire,
    Oh, dear God! Pass the booze,
    ‘cause I’m singin’ tonight,
    Singin’ the Blue Lake Blues.

      1. Kjean

        Me too! There must be quite a few blue lakes. Only I have no memories of bugs and rain while staying at my Blue Lake. Could that be the selective memory of a child?

        1. pipersfancy

          They have a beetle in this region that locals refer to as Pine Beetles (though, I’m sure that is not their actual name.) I swear… these things are 3 inches long, and when they fly at you… all you hear is this whirling helicopter-type sound before… THUNK! They land on you! You can’t just brush them off as they have they seem to have velcro on their feet – you have to actually grab it and pull it off. (It’s even worse when it happens at night, while sitting ’round a campfire. When you hear blood-curdling screams at night in the campground… you can pretty much count on hearing how someone was “attacked” by a dreaded Pine Beetle the next morning! (Now that I think of it… kind of makes me wonder why we camp there…) Thankfully, the beetles don’t bite… but BOY! Are they SCARY looking!

    1. pipersfancy

      This particular Blue Lake is a provincial park in Northwestern Ontario. I know of at least 3 other Blue Lakes in the US… someday, I’d like to visit them all! My kids and I have been making this annual camping trip with friends for 12 years. Now that both my kids are well into their teens, I treasure this family time even more- as I know the day is coming when they no longer have the time, nor want to, go camping with dear old mom!

      1. KM

        I thought you meant Blue Lake in Manitoba. And I know those beetles, if they’re the same, but they call them Birch Beetles in northern SK and they are super creepy! Like black, flying cockroaches.

  26. writtenbymandy

    Nature vs. Reality

    At home in my room, I pause in downward dog pose
    Yet I imagine myself in nature’s splendid prose

    Clearing all images of fast-paced shopping malls
    Instead I sit next to beautiful waterfalls

    I pretend my desk is not a cubicle, with no window
    I will breathe in fresh air, watching flowers grow

    No half-working copy machine sits next door
    My mind creates colorful images of the ocean floor

    My neighbor isn’t is the lazy, gossiping girl
    It’s trees, birds and the whole wide world.

    I flow from warrior to camel to crane
    Eyes closed, I picture a garden receiving rain

    With dragonflies fluttering and majestic birds flying
    A mother comforts the newborn baby who’s crying

    Reality jumps in and my yoga DVD comes to an end
    I try to smile and face the rat race once again.

    By: Mandy B. Fernandez

    1. Linda Voit

      Your poem transports the reader as your yoga transports you. Very nice, and I smiled at “half-working copy machine” — most people know one. 🙂

  27. Molly Wong

    Message in a Bottle

    A circle like a slice of tic-tac
    tamed the tickertape of worries
    obstructing my view.
    Without my synthetic shot
    I have sight without vision.
    I follow task lists like Escher staircases:
    chaining me to the right page but heading nowhere.
    My hands hover over the keyboard
    frozen in a biochemical winter.

    I swallow my pride every morning
    refusing to soldier-on tugging at bootstraps.
    Energy once spent spinning
    courses wildly, seeking new purpose.
    Signals from my brain meet
    calls from my soul.
    Dreams fly out of the conflagration
    onto the page.

    -Molly Wong

    1. Sarah Metzler

      The sound of your first two lines drew me in. Then I saw myself between your lines and wondered if I too might benefit from a “synthetic shot.” Anyway, I really like the message you pulled from your bottle.

    1. Linda Voit

      Try this tool fellow PAD poet Anders Bylund created for everyone.
      http://gowrite.me/pad.pl?day=year_2011&q=Full-text+search
      Type in your name and click on 2015 challenge and “search”. Your poems and comments will come up and you’ll see if there are replies to the post.
      It used to be that if you clicked on the name of the poem it would go directly to your poem on the day, but lately it only goes to the day itself, so it’s a good idea to keep track of when you posted. 🙂

      1. BJ.Writer

        Once you are on the day’s page, you can click “older comments” toward the bottom of the page. Then you can just change the “page-number-nn” in the url to be the page number of your post. I keep track of the url on which my poem appears.
        And you can search page using ctrl-F to find…

    2. Sarah Metzler

      This may not be the best way. But here is one way.
      1. Place cursor over “editor blogs”
      2. Click on “poetic asides”
      3. Scroll down to “day 4” and click on it
      4. At the end of the first paragraph click on the blue “check it out here”
      5. Click the arrow beside the window that says “writer” to scroll down and click on your name
      6. Click “search”
      If your poems are not there, check again next week. Hope this helps!

  28. Misky

    Pink on a Dragonous Wind

    Those ideas of bright are surpassed
    by our old cherry tree. Pinks displacing
    all manner of previous light, a decipher
    of spring clutching at that great dragonous

    wind, blowing a trail, thrashed all around,
    and crowing of blossom drift up and down.
    And then confetti swirls in affectionate pastel,
    curls wooing the air into a spring settle again.

    .

    (c) by Misky Braendeholm

  29. Shauna

    From Wind & Earth

    We begin as dust
    wind blown & reckless
    whirling together
    from each direction
    losing our succinct
    & elemental character
    to blend atomically &
    mold bodies of somewhat
    solid flesh, chemically bonded
    for blood, pus, spit & sweat
    for skin, bone, cartilage, & fat

    Each of us bonded
    from different star bodies
    forged from the sun
    birthing people of
    wind & earth
    water & thread
    fiery & vital
    both singular & cacophonous
    pliable vessels
    of multiple conscious,
    spinning each day
    a creation story

  30. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    Morning Song>/b>

    The concert begins with lights low
    first a trill, then a warble.
    The deep caw and the flutie tweet
    add to the harmonies.
    As the solar Star makes his entrance
    the canticle crescendos in sweet concordance –
    each voice raised in praise, harmonizing,
    welcoming the new day.

    1. TheBlueGnu

      The ‘play of sound’ from each word really brings the morning to me. Quite beautiful – You obviously don’t have screeching the Hardida’s a and Guinea Fowl to rupture the rapture. 🙂

  31. barbara_y

    How to Be Angry
    (from “The Natural History of Mary Sue”)

    When the unknown bird began– before sun-up,
    during the period of dull pervasive city light
    –to sing a repetitious song through scanty rain

    she was still awake.
    The bird seemed to be saying
    Ex-per-ience. Experience. On, and on: Experience.
    In little modules, each ending in the slightest uptick
    that seemed to pronounce “it”.

    Experience, experience it.
    She was still awake, and reliving
    a slight she had incompletely replied to forty years
    past. I know I am ignorant, she told the boy/man
    this time around. I never said I was anything else.
    Don’t smirk at me: Teach me. She’d finish, but
    unsatisfied, begin again. He was chopping parsley.
    Sometimes she said more, sometimes less. Always
    started it: I know. Always ended: teach me.

    Later she was making a note
    and fell asleep, writing a word that should have been
    “shelter.” Only absent for a moment, she returned
    to watch her hand dot the i of “experience.”

    She cursed the unknown, now undiscoverable, bird.
    Shoo-ed it away with an unintentional wave. What
    do you know, she thought. What do you know about
    it.
    _____
    Barbara E. Young

  32. Gwyvian

    Self-destruct

    The game of elimination has hacked my system
    with all-natural components: diseases to self-destruct;
    yet my mind and my body sing the same tune,
    my heart merely wastes at the sound of falling runes
    speaking of a destiny to delete what I’ve done:
    it’s the escape I’ve always wished for
    gone so terribly wrong…

    April 22, 2015

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

  33. Gwyvian

    Primavera

    On a crystalline eve of a divine starscape
    married with vines betwixed forest trees,
    under a moon beloved by a dark star
    wandered a dryad of a rowan tree:
    she wandered past whispering streams and
    greeted the slumbering flowers by their beds,
    until the grove faded into a clearing and
    she paused to reach for her deeper magics—
    and once power filled her till she might’ve floated,
    she wandered into the presence of a grand oak:
    and as she spoke to his tall and dark figure,
    among his royal the leaves a fae spark fell softly;
    enchanted, the grand oak sighed and plucked
    a gift for the dryad, a sacrifice from the king,
    best: an act to outwit his nemesis, the devious holly—
    an acorn fell into the dryad’s outstretched palm,
    rich in color, fine and healthy; such a gift it was!
    dazzled by the fine dust glittering
    on the acorn’s magnificently smooth shell,
    the dryad whispered to it a quiet, fae spell:
    she infused the ashe of her heart with
    that fae spark that fell from the stars, and
    thus was born a season of rebirth—
    by the love of a dryad with a seed not hers…

    April 22, 2015

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

  34. donaldillich

    Called By Honey

    Pines languish in the wind.
    Wish for play in the lake.
    Ache for a lie in the forest.
    Hoarse because of leaves.
    Bees called by honey.
    Knees ailing in the green.
    Grass creeping, singing.
    Faerie rings in the field.
    Elders flinging black roots.
    Rush past the sleeping deer.
    Slide across the white river
    in a kayak over rocks.
    Yuck it up by the grill.
    Crab apples stone the earth.
    Burgers, ground up turkey.
    Steaks steam in the heat.
    Store vegetables, clean-up.
    Carefully stab the sausages,
    clear liquid from their links.
    Ink the day in memory.
    Pencil history in the eyes.

  35. Roxanna Watrous

    I posted this poem for another day, but it’s better suited for the topic “nature”, so here it is again. : )

    VOODOO SKY

    Today revenge rained down from high

    inside a violet voodoo sky,

    I watched electrify to life.

    Incantations thundered loud

    as she emerged in an angry cloud,
    
to brew her hurricane of strife.

    Destruction whirled within her eye

    as she stirred the cauldron of the sky,

    peppered with wings she plucked mid-flight.
Windblown dreadlocks spun down wild
    
when she reached out, like a hungry child,

    to snatch the frogs that croaked in fright.

    She stomped and cracked the sky alight. 

    Then danced circles, ‘tranced in mad delight,

    until I fell under her spell. 

    She drew bayou trails in wind.

    As small creatures swam in air, she grinned,

    and I could feel her magic swell.

    We were the potion she drank in.

    Our swallowed lives crawled within her skin

    as we cried out for swift release.

    When she let her mercy fly

    frogs rained down the violet voodoo sky
    
and cackling wind died down in peace.

    1. Roxanna Watrous

      Aww. Thanks everyone. To me it’s one the best poems that I’ve ever written and it got no love the first time around. Now I’m happy. : )

  36. Jezzie

    ANIMAL INSTINCT

    Look, I am just an animal,
    I’m doing what is natural.
    I’m sorry if it offends you,
    if it horrifies your friends too.

    As I am a German Shepherd
    it is in my nature to herd,
    therefore when I’m after a bird
    I’d prefer you’d say not a word.

    I enjoy chasing a bunny,
    I know you don’t think that’s funny.
    and I like rolling in fox poo:
    it’s the natural thing to do.

    Cats and dogs out in the jungle
    would never be seen to mingle,
    so don’t be at all angry please
    that I bark at next door’s Siamese.

    I’m just a creature of nature
    you have decided to nurture,
    so then when we are in our den
    I’d like you to put down your pen.

    Another Doggy Ditty using my theme “Almost Human” which I hope to be able to use throughout this April PAD. Read more at https://jezabelmyschka.wordpress.com/

    1. Jezzie

      I’ve revised this and added a verse:-

      ANIMAL INSTINCT

      Look, I am just an animal,
      I’m doing what is natural.
      I’m sorry if it offends you,
      if it horrifies your friends too.

      As I am a German Shepherd
      it is in my nature to herd,
      therefore when I’m after a bird
      I’d prefer you’d say not a word.

      I enjoy chasing a bunny,
      I know you don’t think that’s funny.
      and I like rolling in fox poo:
      it’s the natural thing to do.

      Cats and dogs out in the jungle
      would never be seen to mingle,
      so don’t be at all angry please
      that I bark at next door’s Siamese.

      You’d like me to stop doing what
      is natural to me? I’ll not!
      I’m just a creature of nature
      you have decided to nurture.

      I’m not keen on all that you do
      so I’ll make a bargain with you:
      I’ll stop if, when we’re in our den,
      you’d play with me, put down your pen.

  37. TheBlueGnu

    THE CHASE – THE SPEED – THE PACE – THE FEED

    Fine wheaten grasses
    Sway softly
    A melodic reed conversion
    Hippo pools and muddy banks
    Paw prints, a reminder of the savannah stalker
    Death impending
    Sun descending
    A murder implied
    A life denied
    A patient ambush hovers
    A deafening silence
    All consuming
    Breathtaking
    Gasp!
    The haunting siren of the fish eagle penetrates
    Cuts like a knife
    The starter’s gun
    A ritual unfolds
    Innocent impala pronk with gay abandon
    Frivolous
    Oblivious
    The killer – slow and low
    A matter of stealth
    Stops!
    Deathly quiet
    Time stands still
    Pause!
    The adrenalin ignites with an explosion of fury
    Lightening charge
    The pair waltz and speed
    Flash and weave
    Dart and turn
    A pirouette . . .
    And then a stutter
    The final flight and pounce
    A toothy tourniquet
    A broken neck
    The last breath whispered
    A satisfied growl is the last word
    A feasty denouement
    The silent killing fields of Africa are alive.

    by Kim Watermeyer

  38. Gwyvian

    Out of reach

    Croissants, vanilla puffs, éclairs so sweet
    fresh bread out of the bakery that makes my soul
    feel complete – cheesecake and pumpkin pie,
    Napoleon cream and baklavan dreams, custards
    to curb any tooth gone sweet: the scent of cinnamon
    permeating in the air, clouds of moist carrot cake just
    a taste away – warm and fresh, I can but stare;
    yet I despair, for such sweet desires make me weep—
    for all this delicious feast, I may be allergic to wheat.

    April 22, 2015

    By: Lucy K. Melocco

      1. Gwyvian

        Yes, such pastry…. unfortunately I rather like such things. I’m not sure yet that this is true, but something is causing me to develop some very bad… conditions. I think the wheat is the culprit. *sniff*

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