2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 30

Today is always the most bittersweet day of the challenge. Sweet because we’ve made it through 30 days! Bitter because it’s day 30–the final day of the challenge. Tomorrow, I’ll share a next steps post on what to expect as far as results and such. Also, just a heads up that I’ll be busy hanging out with my mom the next few days–so you can play catch up on many of the final prompts through May 4.

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Bury the (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Some possible titles include: “Bury the Hatchet,” “Bury the Body,” “Bury the Past,” “Bury the Hate,” and “Bury the Acorns.”

Good luck, and thank you so much for another fun and rewarding challenge!

*****

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Time is running out to celebrate National Poetry Month with a super poetic collection of poetry-related products with the National Poetry Month Collection!

This super-sized kit includes 4 e-books, 3 paperback books, 7 tutorials, and much more! In fact, this kit covers everything from prompts to poetic forms and from revising poems to getting them published.

Click to continue.

*****

Here’s my attempt at a Bury the Blank Poem:

“bury the dishwasher”

in the back yard
or fill it
one last time

with flowers
instead of dishes
because if

it’s not one part
broken
it’s another

& maybe it’s time
to return to
doing things

by hand

*****

Today’s guest judge is…

Jessie Carty

Jessie Carty

Jessie Carty

Jessie Carty is the author of seven poetry collections, which include her newest full-length collection Practicing Disaster by Aldrich Press.

Other collections by Jessie Carty include Paper House, Fat Girl, and Morph.

Jessie is a freelance writer, teacher, and editor. Plus, she’s one of the nicest poets you’ll ever meet.

She can be found around the web, especially at http://jessiecarty.tumblr.com.

*****

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.

*****

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.

*****

More poetic posts here:

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1,086 thoughts on “2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 30

  1. Keith Welch

    Bury the Month
    The month has died!
    cover it with rose petals and sing its praises
    bear it reverently down to the burying place
    where its brave fellows lie waiting
    January, stern and icy-faced
    February, with his rimed locks
    March, who called back the sun
    April, with your poetry and flowers
    you were best of all, we salute you
    we who sang your praises day-to-day
    now lay you to rest among the green trees
    with poems, with songs, with warm words
    You were the messenger of our Spring
    You were the opener of Summer’s green door.

    1. Kjean

      Lovely and what an awesome way to end this month! There are so many words I like in this poem. Here are some of my favorites: “bear it reverently down to the burying place,” “you were best of all, we salute you we who sang your praises day-to-day,” “warm words,” “opener of Summer’s green door” —each of these bring such vivid and vibrant images to mind!

  2. josephdaniel

    Bury the Workload

    Deadlines, assignments
    Reports piling up
    Everyone coming to me
    all at once
    I’m pulling my hair out
    I wanna scream
    I’m buried in work
    I’m not living the dream

  3. barbara_y

    Bury the Seed

    Everybody who knew her, or knew somebody who knew the body below the dissolving white marble, has dissolved. No one remains of her her friends. All her intimate moles and common irritations are irrelevant, and here lies is a lie; she died. Stopped. Stopped hurting, bleeding. Was as finished with weeping sores as with sudden laughs she never explained. Someone may have finished the coverlet she started. Someone may have stood at the Grand Canyon’s North Rim and remembered Mary always wanted to see this, and Venice. She stopped wondering where she had put that Delft thimble. Stopped seeing her dead son in the door. Stopped wishing she had told her father–not I love you, but–good-bye.
    Better to have burned her, planted a seed-bearing plant on this slender plot, called it by her name. Then every summer we would harvest more of Mary Wilson, have a loaf of Porter Long, a mug of Margaritte, and watch the swifts criss-cross the sky for a while.

  4. candy

    Bury the Past

    How deep must I bury
    Past transgressions so
    They no longer walk be-
    Side me all day long or
    Toss me me about when
    Sleep eludes me?
    How deep must I bury
    Guilt and rage and envy
    So they cannot seep from
    My mouth to attack innocent
    Bystanders in my world?
    Is there a shovel long
    Enough to dig a that will
    hold them?
    Then you smile, hand
    Me your love and anything
    Is possible

    1. KarenAWK1

      This is beautiful. I feel this. Wanted to let you know there appears to be two typos:
      Line 5: It has two “me’s”….”Toss me me about…”
      Line 13: Should “hole” be inserted? It currently reads, “Enough to dig a that will”

      Love your thoughts in this poem. So true! 🙂

  5. Walt Wojtanik

    Joining the choir in extolling the awesomeness of this site, this challenge and this magnificent poet host of our, Robert Lee Brewer. I love these 7Poems-a-day gauntlets and the talented poets who have participated over the years. Remember that this “sense of community” lives on each Wednesday with the weekly prompts until the PAD Chapbook Challenge in November. Also, the Phoenix Rising Poetry Guild (an off-shoot of the Creative Bloomings blog) had been on hiatus so our poets (all familiar names here) could participate in whichever challenge they preferred. But we’ll be back at it as the pace settles down. Find us at phoenixrisingpg.wordpress.com

    Thanks again, Robert, judges, poets and lovers of poetry. See you Wednesday.

    1. SestinaNia

      I concur! And thanks, Walt, for your gauntlets and for being such an encourager 🙂 You help make this place fantastic, and your poems are always a delight!

  6. Kjean

    Bury the Faithful Dog
    (I’ve buried many, and when you have a kennel of up to 16 dogs during your lifetime, it’s
    inevitable that burying will be part of the process. This poem is dedicated to all the furry family I have lost.)

    Each time
    DOES NOT
    get easier.
    “At least you have the others”
    doesn’t comfort the soul
    or quiet the mind
    that begs for your return,
    daily.
    I know
    we will see each other again
    but the space that exists between
    now and then
    is too wide,
    the chasm too deep,
    for the heart to ever
    stand confidently on the edge
    of that truth.
    So I bide my time
    delighting in the
    days that you
    playfully pawed
    the secret spots of
    my inner most being;
    the days that you
    looked into my soul
    and barked,
    rousing
    the kindred spirit there;
    the days we could sit side by side
    among the willows and spruce
    watching rabbits
    sneak between slough grass
    while birds hovered over our heads
    squawking displeasure
    of our proximity
    being too close
    to their tufted tots
    who fell from the nest;
    and the multiple
    winter days when
    squirrels stumbled and scrambled,
    scooting up
    oak trunks
    with you, hot on their heels.
    These will replay through my mind.
    and as time passes,
    reminding me not of what I lost
    but what we have shared
    and will share again…

    “It came to me
    that every time
    I lose a dog
    they take a piece
    of my heart with them
    and every new dog
    who comes into my life
    gifts me with a a piece
    of their heart.
    If I live long enough
    all the components
    of my heart will be dog,
    and I will become
    as generous and
    loving as they are.”
    -Anonymous

  7. Undrtakr

    Bury The Bone

    I want to bury the bone
    Not a bad thought,
    for a dog to have

    Perhaps even an undertaker,
    can be allowed this conclusion
    Although cremation is rising

    But come on be honest,
    it’s nothing more than a euphemism
    Beginning a new conquest

    Whether man or woman speaking,
    it can be just as degrading
    Let’s leave it to the dogs

          1. Undrtakr

            That is very nice of you to say, I really appreciate it. Admittedly, I haven’t been able to read each of your posts, but I plan to even though the challenge is completed. I did really enjoy your poem entitled Spring, and your Authority poem was extremely poignant and meaningful to me. Thank you again for your kind and encouraging words.

  8. Walt Wojtanik

    BURY THE POET

    “Poetry is dead”, they said.
    “Poetry is dead!”
    Whatever put that thought in their heads?
    Instead they should know it lives and breathes!

    Poetry leaves a yearning soul gasping
    for the fresh air of beauty when words
    subject them to a breathless longing
    for the lyrical songs we sing. It is eternal.

    These infernal wordsmiths of yore
    knock me to the floor with every
    utterance of a chance turn of phrase
    or verse, or for better or worse, rhyme!

    But we become kindred in our vision,
    the division of an inspired artist
    kissed by the spirits of Shelley and Keats,
    and every beat poet Ginsberg could fluster.

    The muster is varied, and each harried
    soul is in control of their myriad of words.
    Touching the hearts and minds of each
    with the poems that will live longer than the writer.

    Take the romance poets who write from their heart.
    Starting with a glimmer of hope they believe
    that all emotion laced in loving tones
    should serve only to put the world on notice.

    The protest poets write from their sense
    of justice as it applies to the common man!
    The stand they take may shake out as
    self-righteous from there in their easy chairs.

    The humorist poets seeks to tickle the fickle
    hearts with a twist or turn to burn an image
    upon their funny bones. They own the mirth
    that is most needed on earth, laughter is key.

    The confessional poets rend their very being,
    seeing themselves as this muddled canvas,
    stripping away layer after layer until skin and bones,
    they stand naked and alone, having shown their all.

    We stand in unison, shouting from the rooftops,
    “WE ARE POETS! HEAR US!” Sure,
    it comes off a bit pompous, but between us
    poets, take a stand; we’re in demand!

    Poets are merely mortals standing at the portal
    of the cemetery wall, waiting to let life pass
    as a new class of poets advance. There is a chance
    we will live on in our words. Heard or unheard, they are ours.

    So bury the dead poet… once removed from life.
    All the thoughts of love, and joy, and trouble and strife
    become our lasting epitaph. Our last gasp to grasp a reader
    and seed their brains with a bit of us and trust they will heed us!

    © Walter J. Wojtanik, 2015

    1. Kjean

      Lovely! This is my favorite line: “that all emotion laced in loving tones
      should serve only to put the world on notice.” Enjoyed this immensely…

  9. Caitix

    Bull

    Bury the bulls..t
    I’ve had enough of the lies
    Do you really think I’m interested
    In what goes on in your mind
    What am I
    Your Dancing Queen
    Here for you to lead me on
    Well, I’m sorry
    I’m no longer falling for that song
    So, bury the bulls..t
    And move along
    .
    (Advice for the abused : Don’t dance)

  10. josephdaniel

    Bury the Burden

    There was no procession
    No one cried
    No one came to say goodbye

    There was no obituary
    No words to say
    No one knelt to pray

    There was finally peace
    where my body lay
    I buried my worries today

  11. Linda Voit

    Bury the Moon

    Bury the moon deep in your heart.
    Let its round, cool comfort temper
    your temper. Let its glow hold you
    steady through daylight’s blaze
    and its smiling blue cheese face
    make you beam for what seems
    like no reason. When others see
    wax and wane, understand
    it’s just their angle and a play
    of light. Know you are always full.

    Linda Voit

  12. JanetRuth

    Thank-you Robert for another great April:)

    Bury the Fruitless Sigh

    Bury the woulda-coulda-shoulda
    Because its fruitless sigh
    Strips moments of the bit o’ love
    In hope-streams hasting by

    Carry in Want’s weeping whisper
    Not tears of regret
    But gladness because morning offers
    What is undone yet

    Janet~

  13. Joseph Harker

    As always, many thanks to Robert for the tremendous energy and effort it takes to run this thing, and to all of you for reading and participating and dreaming…

    Bury the Days

    when you have done with them,
    worm-eaten and grey, or else sucked
    clean of their gold.
    Scrape their minimal graves one
    after the other and tip them in.
    The scraps of meat
    come loose in the soil. You can
    walk barefoot and feel their remnants
    nitric and full of sugar
    water drawn up into your veins.
    You will know each small mound
    contains its core, hard,
    fibrous, spangled with twenty-four
    round seeds. In the spring, which is
    another lifetime entirely,
    new trees begin their thrust out of
    these days you thought you’d left
    behind. Your life
    becomes a thousandfold orchard.
    Your memory swells sweet for others
    to come and eat.

  14. lionetravail

    With the Dead Pets of Yesteryear
    by David M. Hoenig

    Bury that sense of moral indignation
    in your weedy, barren back yard,
    right next to Goldy in her cardboard box
    who, even today, smells less fishy than your hypocrisy.

    Dig down twelve feet, why don’t you,
    using your righteously forked tongue,
    because the lies you tell are so monstrous
    they won’t lie quiet at six.

    The way you set your feet, heels dug in-
    like a discarded tabletop in Death Valley,
    without leg or high ground for your arrogance-
    recalls Lot’s salty wife, too virtuous for Sodom’s destruction.

    Please, bury that cubic zirconian indignation deep, out back,
    because it reeks like moldering corpses falling from your lips.

  15. Patricia A. Hawkenson

    Time for THANKS, Robert! and fellow wordsmiths ALL! Another great ride through a cherished month together. I’ve been in this game for a few years now, and it never gets old! Thought provoking poems that were written and read pull up so many memories and emotions. Good luck to all in the next phase of the fun!

    1. Kjean

      HERE! HERE!
      I am new to the challenge this year, but I have enjoyed it immensely! So much fun to write from the prompts you have given, Robert, and I especially love your rendition of today’s prompt. I feel like I should write my poem for today, as a eulogy. I have also enjoyed the inspiration from others and the wonderful feedback!
      This has been a remarkable experience, one I will definitely do again next year. Thank you so much for this opportunity, your hard-thought-through prompts, and all the professionals you were able to invite as judges. THANK YOU!

  16. writinglife16

    BURY THE DRAMA

    O woe is me
    What will I do?
    The Poem-A-Day
    Month is now through.
    I told my sister
    and then I heard her say
    Don’t be dramatic
    There is always May.

  17. writinglife16

    Robert, thank you for this poem-a-day challenge. The effort to think of prompts, arrange judges takes a lot of organizational skills and creativity. I originally started this challenge to…wait for it 🙂 write every day and make a crack at my tendency to procrastinate. It has helped with the former, not so much with the latter. But I found a writing community that now feels like home. Read so many amazing poems this month. I thank everybody involved in making this happen.

  18. Pepe Batbon

    BURY THE APPLE – an abecedarian doggerel sonnet

    bury the Apple and you’ll get a tree
    Bumbles will come if you Busy a Bee
    Crumbles on Cinnamon Cake with Cherry
    Delicious, nutritious? Donuts and tea
    Enough already Famished must Go
    Hear my stomach Holler Inside says Joe
    Keep Looking Molly Night Owns e.a. Poe
    Quiet Rose Sit Tight Under Vines
    Wait Xavier You Zoned out early
    brunch is served out on the front porch
    y’all come and eat don’t be squirrely
    we’re burning crème brulee with a torch
    doggerel alphabet soup is on the menu
    get the crackers, I’ll eat first and then you

  19. PressOn

    BURY THE BAGELS FROM BETHLEHEM BAKERY

    These buns
    are rocks; harder
    than schist that’s run amok.
    But all’s not lost: I’m using them
    for pucks.

    William Preston

  20. writinglife16

    BURY THE PROCRASTINATION

    Bury the procrastination
    It is such a disease
    It will delay you
    And bring you to your knees
    It will choke and surround you
    Until you can’t breathe
    So, bury that monster
    Then get up and leave.

  21. PressOn

    Robert,

    I just wanted to thank you again for this challenge and this site. You have a gem of a classroom here. I love the conclusion of your poem today, even as I wonder how many of our drafts for this challenge actually were hand-written. This has been an exciting month, albeit I regret not having enough time these days to read as much as I’d like to.

  22. Jaye Words

    Bury the Veggies

    Making a garden is a lot of work.
    You have to plant according to plan.
    What used to drive me berserk,
    Was the work when I started to can.

    One hundred quarts of green beans,
    That much applesauce, too.
    By the time I got to tomatoes,
    My kitchen turned into a zoo.

    Bread and butter, dill, and beet pickles,
    Jams, jellies, and fruits galore,
    I was raising four big boys,
    Who always wanted more.

    I often said a prayer of thanks,
    That in my part of God’s beautiful land,
    Many root crops were quite happy
    When buried safe in sand.

    1. Jaye Words

      My thanks to Robert, Writer’s Digest, the judges, and all of the other writers.
      What fun for you, writtenbyMandy, getting to talk about this challenge on TV.
      A small group joined to work on PAD. It started with just two of us, but more had joined in writing with us by the end. I don’t know if all of them checked for the prompts, but they were flexing their writing muscles, anyway. At least two of us who started are going to keep up with the Wednesday prompts.
      I liked Mandy’s poem about the stuffed animal. My granddaughter had a “Barney” they would have traveled miles to retrieve if necessary. My great-granddaughter has an “Ariel” doll she loves as much. I, too, write about the everyday things, thinking they need their 15 minutes of fame. I will miss all of you very much. Instead of England, I’ll think of November.

    2. Kjean

      I really love this! I so appreciate the “fruits” of gardens. You have written such wonderful imagery, exacting it all so that I can see every ounce of produce!

  23. ReathaThomasOakley

    Bury your dead

    Bring out
    bring up
    the rotting corpses
    of your anger
    your hurt
    your bitterness
    your need
    for revenge

    dig holes
    make them deep
    and wide enough
    to hold the decaying
    flesh of your past

    cover them well
    sprinkle salt over
    the graves
    erect no stones
    no memorial markers
    bury your dead
    and walk away

    1. ReathaThomasOakley

      This has been such a great month. Thank you, Robert for all this, for the great judges, and for your daily poem. Thank you, everyone, for your amazing work. I’m still trying to catch up on my goal of reading each one. Thanks to all who commented on mine. I hope to see you all back here for the weekly prompt. It’s been a lovely (my favorite word) month. Reatha

    2. lionetravail

      Nice- I love the different feelings I got during this: the ‘bring out your dead’ which kindled Monty Python for me, the more sage advice of the grave prep, and the voodoo teasing of the salt over the graves to prevent them from rising again. Awesome.

      1. ReathaThomasOakley

        Thanks, I only realized the Monty Python horribly funny scene after I posted this. I actually used salt once, but that’s for another prompt.

  24. TheBlueGnu

    BURY THE DEADLINE

    Seconds strip, discarding the present
    Minutes strangle the hour
    The repetitive beat of time nags
    Deadline looms like the Sword of Damocles
    Hanging from a horse hair
    Panic, the tic
    The focus, the stick
    Nervous discombobulating hands
    Part the claustrophobic space
    Proceed, the speed, the chime, succeed
    Hate killing time,
    let’s bury the deadline!

    by Kim Watermeyer

  25. Alfred Booth

    save them quickly, before they sink 
    to depths wetter than a century of wailing
    before sea ridges claim their flesh
    as breeding grounds for new coral reefs
    before we forget them
    they are nameless with families
    and friends who did not see this tragedy
    although dolphins will understand
    it is not for fish to mourn
    and refugees
    cannot be returned to their homelands
    in anonymous boxes
    the Mediterranean has no grace to offer 
    as eternity afloat in remembrance
    elsewhere
    let us set aside verdant hills
    on dry foreign soils
    where humanity still mourns the dead
    give them crosses that touch the heavens
    each epitaph
    a white star for the pure quest of freedom

    <strong<bury the dead
    [2015.30.4…a]

  26. writtenbymandy

    Bury the Stuffed Animal

    Please bury the stuffed animal
    The one attached to my child’s hip
    We should put it out of its misery
    So it’s not hanging from the dog’s lip.

    That thing is dragged all over the house
    I step on it face-down on the floor
    My daughter is always asking for it
    But I can’t take it staring at me anymore!

    The animal begs to be left alone
    Or to go live with Woody and Buzz
    Not screamed at, squeezed, covered in drool
    Or whatever wretched thing my child does.

    Was this the one we won at the fair?
    Or was it a claw machine prize?
    I know it wasn’t made in the U.S.A.
    It keeps looking at me with crazy eyes!

    The poor creature is being loved to pieces
    Then it will be forgotten inside the car
    Okay buddy, let’s go out with a bang
    Before I bury you, let’s have a drink at the bar!

    By: Mandy B. Fernandez
    http://www.writtenbymandy.com

    1. writtenbymandy

      Robert and Writers Digest,
      Thanks so much for a fun, unique month of writing prompts. I really enjoyed them. My writing colleague and I are going to be on a local TV station next week talking about this challenge and our other writing endeavors. We thank you and the judges for giving us some great talking points in our upcoming media debut as emerging writers!
      All the best to you and all the poets on here!
      Mandy

  27. PeanuttyO

    Bury The Sons

    Herodotus said in peace
    Bury fathers
    In war, fathers bury

    In our cities if peaceful
    We could find a way
    To bury the hate
    Rather than bury our sons

    In peace we can talk
    To one another not
    Past one another
    To and not at one another

    In peace we have open
    Minds and hearts
    In war we are ugly, spiteful
    Unable to see right from wrong

    In peace we build a city
    We build up our neighbors
    In war we destroy our cities
    Bury our sons and our future

    I have no power in the city
    Only in my heart
    Talk to me and I’ll listen
    Talk with me and I’ll hear

    Together we can find a way
    Together we change wrongs
    Peacefully, without burying
    the sons, and their future

    I live in the DC metro area. This one came to me after watching the Baltimore riots this week. I hope it didn’t sound preachy, I’m just so sad about it all.

    I had a ball this month. It should be a year long event! I’m going to miss you all 🙁

  28. mohinipuranik

    Bury The Past

    This poem is dedicated to the emotional pain of a verbal abuse victim.
    bury the past and move on
    live a fresh life

    bury the past
    it’s easy to preach

    forget all that happened,
    it’s easy to tell

    how can i bury the scars?
    how can i bury the memories of torture?
    how can i bury the toxic words?
    how can i bury the threats?

    bury the past and move on
    so easy to preach
    as you can’t see them
    you don’t have empathy
    can you bury your scars?

    someone tortures you,
    can you forget it?

    witnessing shattering your dreams
    can you bury that moment?
    can you imagine?

    bury the past and move on
    can you do it?

    can you bury the injustice with you?
    nobody knows it
    when your heart experiences it
    every moment
    how will you bury those moments of injustice with you?
    can you bury them?
    then teach me!

    bury the past and move on
    it’s easy to preach
    can you do it?

    i can’t
    i won’t
    i won’t ever
    until i change my present and my future
    i won’t forget the injustice

    i won’t bury the past

    – © Mohini Puranik

  29. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    Bury the Winter

    With spade and rake, I work
    like grave diggers of old,
    opening wounds in the garden,
    packing them with gauzy roots and pills of seed.
    Then, with surgeon’s skill,
    I close each lesion,
    dressing the area with fresh mulch.
    Standing back, I take pride
    in my handiwork, knowing
    with warmth and sustenance,
    my patient will recover.

  30. Misky

    Burying Neighbours

    When I was 6 or maybe 8, we lived next door to a man that I thought was exceedingly old. Mr Stewart. He smelled of rotting onions and tinned chicken soup. Used a broomstick as a cane; he’d tap that stick and find his way along the pavement. We never called on Mr Stewart for Halloween candy or to buy our Girl Scout cookies because the smell of him when he opened the door made our eyes squint so that we couldn’t see very much. One day Mr Stewart went to the hospital. Mother said he had an operation. When Mr Stewart came home after his operation, he didn’t walk with his broomstick anymore. He seemed to be able to see everything including the uppity slabs lifted by the tree roots. Mr Stewart died a few weeks later. Hit by a car, so maybe his eyesight wasn’t all we thought it was. Mr Stewart’s daughter sold his house to a family with 8 kids. The Mallets. I had a crush on the boy called Doug. I used to smile at him from behind the drawn curtains in my bedroom. He never knew I was smiling at him. Doug’s father drank too much, and one day he died. Something about his liver killing him. I hate liver. Haven’t eaten it since.

    © 2015 Misky

  31. dhaivid3

    Bury the blanket

    Drop the labels
    The comments
    Open the windows
    let in fresh air
    And hope that fresh thoughts follow
    Bury the ideas
    And ideals of generations past
    End the stigmatisation
    Stop the profiling
    Blur the lines
    Heal the divisions
    Stop the separation
    Into classes and groups
    Birthing the blankets to describe a few
    To tar the many
    Bury the lines
    With the paint
    Bury the blankets
    Let’s start again

    Well done Mr. Robert Brewer. Well done to everybody who took part – reading, writing, commenting, encouraging and criticising. A wonderful true family.

  32. leatherdykeuk

    Bury the Evidence

    We were poor people, my poor mother
    dragged me the two miles to the supermarket
    every Thursday, one hand holding mine,
    her shopping trolley dragged behind
    along the single track road and steep hills
    to the orange-and-white of Barnt Green’s Fine Fare.
    Tinned vegetables, eggs, a pound of cheese
    and a quarter of sliced ham as a treat for Dad,
    and if I’d been especially good, I could choose
    what breakfast cereal we’d eat for the week.
    Sooty’s Sugar Stars my favourite, or coco-pops
    of puffa-puffa-rice; I varied the choice
    depending on what came free in the packet:
    plastic spoons, moulded figures (collect them all!)
    or save the Weetabix tokens to send off
    for a Lego castle or a box of goldfish through the post.
    One promotion was for Doctor Who figures –
    a Tom Baker series with daleks and cybermen.
    I opened a box and stole the cardboard press-outs,
    hid them up my jumper with my heart hammering
    as my mother paid and collected her Green Shield Stamps
    but at home I was too ashamed of the theft
    and buried the evidence of cardboard Sontarans
    from the accusing eyes of our Catholic God.

  33. kissingtheshoreline

    Thank you so much for everything, Robert! This is definitely something which has challenged me to get my poetic juices flowing in new and creative ways, and even let me finish some that have been sitting around waiting to get finished forever! I’m very grateful, and I already can’t wait til next year!

  34. Jezzie

    ADIEU
    Let’s bury the chew

    It’s all finished, April is gone.
    With other poets I’ve padded on.
    I’ve had a chew and I’ve had fun.
    Now I must run, our PAD is done.

    Of vegetables I have written,
    told of damage to a machine,
    told a secret, honest I’ve been
    in admission, confessed a sin.

    Told of pigeons who annoy me,
    of Auntie from across the sea,
    puzzled about the mystery
    of black in my white history.

    I’ve said there’s no art or science
    can beget my accweescence.
    It’s my natural resistance
    to authority, my defiance.

    I’ve been besmirched, my tail has sagged.
    Apologised, I’ve even nagged
    when in season off I was dragged.
    to be doctored. My tail still wagged.

    I’ve spoken words coined by our bard,
    shown how I’ve dared to swing the lead,
    shown the boss just how much I’ve cared,
    looked back and aired moments we’ve shared.

    My departure’s well overdue.
    I’m away to bury my chew.
    I have to say farewell to you:
    I hate goodbye, I’ll say adieu.

    My doggy ditty theme “Almost Human” Read them all at https://jezabelmyschka.wordpress.com/

    1. Jezzie

      After a reread, I changed this slightly:-

      ADIEU
      Bury the Bone

      It’s all finished, April is gone.
      With other poets I’ve padded on.
      I’ve had a chew, buried my bone.
      Now I must run, our PAD is done.

      Of vegetables I have written,
      told of damage to a machine,
      told a secret, honest I’ve been
      in admission, confessed a sin.

      Told of pigeons who annoy me,
      of Auntie from across the sea,
      puzzled about the mystery
      of black in my white history.

      I’ve said there’s no art or science
      can beget my accweescence.
      It’s my natural resistance
      to authority, my defiance.

      I’ve been besmirched, my tail has sagged.
      Apologised, I’ve even nagged
      when in season off I was dragged.
      to be doctored. My tail still wagged.

      I’ve spoken words coined by our bard,
      shown how I’ve dared to swing the lead,
      shown the boss just how much I’ve cared,
      looked back and aired moments we’ve shared.

      My departure’s well overdue.
      I’ll away now to eat my chew.
      I have to say farewell to you:
      I hate goodbye, I’ll say adieu.

  35. Kyusu

    Bury the fire

    Bury the fire
    but it keeps burning
    bury the fear
    it keeps returning
    bury your father and your mother
    bury the pain
    when you lose another
    bury your love
    to enshrine it
    bury your gold
    and later mine it.

    Alison Williams

    30 poems in 30 days – I would never have believed I could do that! Thank you for the inspiration Robert and all my fellow poem-a-dayers!

  36. kissingtheshoreline

    “bury the sadness,” Drea O.

    bury the sadness,
    darling.

    you’ve been carrying it for so long
    i know you don’t think you know how
    but
    there must be a way to set it down.
    to set it six feet under,
    where it shan’t bother you again.
    lay it to rest under a simple tombstone
    so you can walk away happy.
    i don’t accept that you must carry this shadow forever.

    bury the sadness,
    darling.

    you’ve been fighting for so long that surely
    by now you must have won.
    i hate how it always leaves you empty;
    this burden sucking you dry of anything
    but this life devoted to carrying it.

    darling,
    let me help you kill the sorrow.
    it might bleed all over the floor
    but we can clean it out, surely.
    surely the time can come when this
    hollow pain in your eyes finally dies.
    i would see the light in your smile again.

    but i know it’s not that simple.
    know that this battle is daily one
    that sometimes the burden is too crushing
    all you can do is lie down.

    so if you can’t
    bury the sadness,
    darling,
    then let me slip in a little closer
    and help you carry it
    instead.

  37. sppeac1987

    Bury the Bitterness

    Your tongue won’t thank you
    For that terrible taste, you know.
    Stop chewing on what you can’t change,
    You need to swallow all that spite now.
    Your stomach may swell from the scorn
    But your mouth will finally know mercy.

    If you insist on feeding it still,
    Its weeds winding tight inside,
    The bitterness will become you.
    So for your own sanity’s sake,
    Cut yourself from this cruel circle
    That threatens to consume you.

    Your enemies will evaporate
    In the flames of fortitude,
    And peace will be restored
    To your vexed and weary vessel,
    Once you have banished bitterness,
    And buried it in the before.

  38. donaldillich

    Bury the Desire

    Everywhere I look there are holes. Some are dug shallowly, just a few inches, while others are ten feet deep. A pile of dirt is next to each one. I carry a toy shovel, blue with a red handle, the same kind I used to dig sand castles when I was four. Nearby, a metropolis towers over me, with constellations of skyscrapers and tenements, glittering with artificial light. By each hole is something I am supposed to bury. Closest to me is a beginner’s guide to French, a silver toy stuffed rabbit, and a pack of green cigarettes. I recognize each object as things I gave to someone, but I can’t remember that person’s name. Was it Sophia? Was it Daphne? Was it Kate? As I drop the object in its corresponding pit, I notice the cuts on my fingers, the blood dripping slowly off them. Looking up, after spreading the earth over it, I see that the holes stretch for miles into the distance. They look like pock marks on a giant face that’s staring through me. “And though the holes were rather small they had to count them all,” I heard in my mind. I raced toward the next one, completing that work, then toward another. I only had this night, or every night, to finish.

  39. Ravyne

    Bury the Bones

    this compound
    a crushing blow

    this avulsion
    a pulling jerk

    this spiral
    a twisting grip

    these bones represent
    the worst parts of us

    bury them
    and make me whole

    ~Lori Carlson~

  40. mzanemcclellan

    “Bury Me in Love and Amber”

    When I breathe my last
    preserve my heart in amber
    and keep it with you

    to last as my love for you,
    from now unto forever.

    M. Zane McClellan

    1. mzanemcclellan

      Thank you all so much. I have enjoyed this year’s challenges and have been entertained and inspired by so many of you great poets.
      Please visit my blog here:

      https://the poetry channel.WordPress.com

      … and let’s keep in touch.

      Peace,
      Michael

  41. Jezzie

    On our last April PAD day, I would really like to say I’ve had fun all the way. A big vote of thanks is due to Robert Lee Brewer for his prompts, so inspiring to get comments admiring. Who could ever have thought quite how many verses I’d write? But I did it, I penned more than thirty for “Almost Human” chapbook of Doggie Ditties, and almost finished it is. Special thanks also to those who will be having to choose a winner. How can you judge which one is the best from such amazing pieces of art? Where on earth does one start? Many, many thanks go too to other poet friends who read through my rhymes so absurd adding encouraging words. You are all so very kind. I wish that I could have found the right words to compliment the awesome, magnificent poetry written on here. But I’m just an amateur. You all have so much talent. You are all so eloquent. Thank you for your words so dear and see you again next year!

    1. Linda Rhinehart Neas

      Add my gratitude to the others here. I am so sad, Robert, that this month is over, but after the winter we had, it has given me new energies. Can’t wait till November! Blessings to all here. May your poems flow freely even without PAD prompts to help!

    2. Roxanna Watrous

      I ditto the sentiments. Thank you Robert and judges. I know it’s a lot of reading for you all but this challenge has really encouraged beautiful poems. I going to miss it. Cheers to enriching each others lives with poetry. Xoxo

  42. Danabelle Gutierrez

    Thank you very much, Robert! I really don’t know what to do with my life now. Lol!

    I’ll post my poem later, but I just wanted to say that I loved the prompts and your poems and how you tied it all in with this last one. “Maybe it’s time to return to doing things by hand” — Beautiful.

  43. Arash

    Thank you for organizing this Robert, and others who participated, I enjoyed reading so many good poems and got to comment on a few (thank you for commenting on my poems too). I don’t know of the comments how many were poems and not corrections or comments but I imagine at least 10,000 poems were written during this time (if not way more), which is just amazing!

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