2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 7

There is a prompt and example poem attached to each day of this challenge, as well as a guest judge, but don’t forget to check out the poetic posts at the bottom as well. There are links to poet interviews, poetic forms, and more.

It took an entire week to get to our first “Two for Tuesday” prompt this year, so I’m going to make it the one that I run every single year:

  1. Write a love poem. Yeah, I said a love poem, or, if you don’t like that option…
  2. Write an anti-love poem. I know there are some haters out there; go ahead and hate on love and/or love poems if that’s your thing.

So if this is your first rodeo, here’s how the “Two for Tuesday” prompt works. You can choose one of the two options; choose both options; and/or blend the two together in some way. Just be sure to write a poem.


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.


Here’s my attempt at a Love and/or Anti-Love Poem:

“call it love”

o baby it’s true
been up thinking all night about you
& what’s a poet supposed to do
with flowers both red & blue

i guess i’ll just figure it out
i’ve been filling myself with doubt
since i last kissed your mouth
o yeah, i’ve been dreaming of the south

baby it’s true
been up thinking all night about you
& there ain’t nothing for a poet to do
but pin words upon these pining-for-you blues

these pining-for-you blues
call it love if it gets me on back to you


Today’s guest judge is…

David Kirby

David Kirby

David Kirby

David Kirby has published over 20 books and is the Robert O. Lawton Distinguished Professor of English at Florida State University. His most recent collection is Biscuit Joint (Louisiana State University Press). His new and selected collection, The House on Boulevard St. (also published by Louisiana State University Press), was nominated for the 2007 National Book Award in poetry.d

Kirby’s work has won numerous awards, including four Pushcart Prizes, the James Dickey Prize, and fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation.

Learn more at DavidKirby.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.


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956 thoughts on “2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 7

  1. Brandi Noelle

    Our love began
    As a single vine in an open field
    Every gentle caress of the hand
    Every adoring smile
    A wink of the eye
    Each warm embrace bringing
    The vine grew among the rolling hills of the valley
    Each nurturing moment
    Allowing the blossoming of grapes so sweet
    Best friends sharing endless laughter
    Soothing tears
    Celebrating triumphs
    A union strengthened
    In both seasons of trial and seasons of joy
    An everlasting love
    Harvesting only the finest of wines
    A vintner’s dream
    As hand in hand we embark on a future
    Until aged to perfection
    We will stroll through the vineyards we have created
    Lush with a lifetime of memories

  2. Diane Laboda

    What Will We Do With This Love?
    by Diane M. Laboda

    It’s been sitting here on the table
    between us like a lazy cat,
    this love we avoid speaking of.
    We’ve tried sugaring it to sweet,
    and salting it to brine, but still
    it sits there between.

    We’ve both gone from it and returned,
    hoping that we’d see it differently,
    shape it into a model romance,
    but neither of us has embraced
    its sloppy shape or tied a bow
    around its long, luxurious mane.

    Occasionally, it jumps up and dances,
    trying to capture our festive sides
    and get us to join in, take a turn
    around the kitchen, nothing formal,
    just a jig, but touching each other
    about the waist, swaying close.

    I try to clean up the mess it’s made
    but you interrupt and ask too many
    questions about what’s this for
    and where did it come from,
    and what we should do with this
    unruly thing we refer to as love.

    Eventually, we tire of its pestering
    and paunchy body lounging there
    as if it owns us, as if we couldn’t exist
    without it, as if it were a minor god
    acting out a passion play
    we can’t take our eyes off.

    1. Xairos

      Diane — I saw this on Day 9 as I was posting my Day 9, finally, & was glad to see I’m not the only one who’s behind 🙂

      I came over here to say I enjoyed your poem — it is intriguing, & I enjoy the images: the lazy cat, the sloppy shape, neither tie a bow, the jumping up & trying to get you to join in stanza, the interruptions & questions while you try to clean up, the paunchy body & passion play. I’ll keep an eye out for others of yours appearing in odd times/places!

  3. Diane Laboda

    No Response
    by Diane M. Laboda

    Never read your letter—
    saw the postmark and threw it
    on the junk pile along with
    your unspoken love.

    I never opened your note
    within the rose-colored envelope.
    It too resides with the discount
    circulars and day-old news.

    I never checked the mailbox,
    so far down the lane, for the poetry books
    you meant to return last summer.
    They’ve probably been recycled now.

    I cannot respond to words I’ve never read—
    ones anticipated, ones feared, those purged
    from between the sheets of the bed
    we never shared.

    I cannot wait for reasons to write back,
    can’t make up rhymes for candlelight
    that flickers suddenly
    sputters and dies.

  4. Bonniejean Alford

    he is my everything
    a poem by bonniejean alford

    he took my heart
    he promised to hold it
    he vowed to love it
    he proclaimed intent to protect it
    he squeezed it tight
    it cracked in two
    he set it down
    he left it all alone
    and sought another

    he was my everything

    he broke his word
    he shattered my hope
    he left my love unattended
    his love to never truly give
    but my soul
    has always been his to hold
    my life has no purpose
    without the dreams he stole
    without this love untold

    he was my everything

    his needs most paramount
    as my crumbled heart
    lay abandoned in the cold
    my future non-existent
    wrapped in the choices he has made
    my faith I doubt
    my instincts I question
    my love still freely given
    my worth is nothing
    if my love is cast aside
    by he who is my everything

    and yet his space he needs
    he demands freedom
    from the commitment he chose to make
    my time stolen
    by an unwillingness to grow
    my journey was not to be alone
    we were to be each other’s everything

    he is my everything still

    and yet here I sit
    ever alone in the cold
    cursed is my soul
    poisoned by my past
    poisoned by his love
    happiness clearly not in my stars
    hell on earth I continue to endure
    a plight forever bestowed upon the child trapped within
    and wait I must
    for his decision to transcend
    for without him at my side
    my promises can only remain unfulfilled
    leaving behind an empty life

  5. treniff

    “Love in Perfection”

    We all have flaws;
    Nobody is perfect.
    I wash and fold laundry,
    but dusting I neglect.

    I write long letters
    and rhyming poetry,
    but can’t remember dates
    when I study History.

    I shop for groceries,
    but forget to bring my list.
    I go back to the store later;
    to get the things that I missed.

    I eat lots of fruits
    and vegetables, too;
    but I can’t resist ice cream
    which makes me gain a pound or two.

    I love and respect my family
    and the things that they do,
    but I make mistakes
    and hurt them, sometimes too.

    When I am being myself,
    there is no exception;
    ’cause I’m the only one
    who can be me with perfection.

    You’re not perfect either;
    I know that it’s true.
    Sometimes you are forgetful,
    but I still love you.

    Life’s not always easy.
    Sometime’s it’s full of despair.
    There may be frustrations,
    but I know you’ll always be there.

    Sometimes you procrastinate;
    about the things that you do,
    but hey, guess what?
    I’m guilty of that, too!

    Mistakes make us human,
    but when it comes to being you;
    no one does the job with perfection,
    the way that you do.

    We forgive one another;
    for flaws and mistakes;
    concentrate on kindness;
    and the love that it makes.

    Never ending love;
    is worth enduring flaws.
    Always face everything;
    in unison because…

    Commitment means forever;
    even when times get tough;
    we’ll always have each other;
    and that will be enough.

    We may not be perfect,
    but we’re perfect for each other.
    When things get tough;
    we can count on one another.

    We look at each other;
    and in the reflection;
    we over look the flaws;
    and find love in perfection.

  6. Caela

    Adam and Eve
    were made for each other,

    sweetly working
    side by side

    sleeping together at night

    Satan came

    and turned
    Eve’s submissiveness
    to jealousy

    and Adam’s adoration
    to shame.

  7. MarieJason


    Newton’s Third Law perhaps applies
    To LOVE — that an equal and yet
    Opposite reaction exists.
    But what about a parallel
    Universe that’s Antimatter
    To our Matter? Is the LOVE that’s
    There an Anti-Love? Or, could it
    Be the one place in all cosmos
    Where unrequited love’s unheard
    Of? And, how different is their Keats?

  8. Maxine

    1914 A Farmer on Her Death

    Ours was not a union made in heaven
    but we made it work on earth. Giving
    your child to a cousin for upbringing freed us
    from the daily reminder you were housekeeper
    for the devil, a churchman who will never
    pass the gates but drop licentious face first
    into the flames. Your tongue clamped prisoner
    behind your teeth expressed neither gratitude
    nor resentment as you kneaded bread
    our three offspring gobbled as their just desserts.
    I milked my cows before the light shone
    on your face, my retreat in evening when guilt
    or frustration escaped your lips: you were married
    to a farmer and his cows and your piano
    students were whelped on neighboring farms,
    manure smell leeching from their pores
    into your parlor my cows’ milk furnished.

  9. bubblleigh


    “I love you” has never been more true
    than when I say it to you.
    When you say it too,
    the breath that I drew
    is let out instantly and I feel brand new.
    I love you, I love you, I love you

  10. lavendertypeface


    Is the most commonly used word without meaning.
    Love is the shortest lie I’ve ever heard.
    Mama says “I love you,” and she means it.
    Jesus says “I love you,” and He does, too.
    And then there’s everyone else.
    The 99.99% left.
    Also called, Planet Earth.
    Who to trust, who to trust?

    What is it.
    It’s a word.
    More than a word.
    How do we know someone loves us?
    When they do it, that’s how we know, for sure.
    It’s like climbing this big, big mountain of words:
    To get the truth up top, you’ve got to climb, you can’t just say you are climbing.
    This paragraph here is making the base of the mountain.
    If someone loves you, they’re a mountain. They got a reason they love you: that’s the mountain.
    And you know they love you because they climb the mountain.

    Love is doing.

    Love is showing.

    Love is putting someone before yourself, even if it means self-sacrifice.

    So when that cute date tells you he loves you,

    Ask him about what Mama and Jesus do:

    “Do you climb mountains?”

    This poem doesn’t make sense, does it?

    Love never does.

  11. Kaylast


    Love is never what they say
    Always closer to infatuation than deep searing
    Like the give and take relationship
    That my parents share,
    Or more my mom shares
    My father takes.
    Though since I somehow found
    in this sorry love-bound state
    I sometimes catch glimpses
    of affection on his face.
    And small moments when he eases
    the burdens we all put upon her,
    Out of love.

  12. Khara House


    Oh, earthly fathers, we honor thy feet
    pressed worn lines on carpet
    and creaking wood floors
    thy palms leaned merengue light
    on bedroom doors to guard us from our dreams.
    We honor thy tongues teaching us to suckle
    sweet berried treats, to lash us out
    of youthful conceits of knowing
    all there was to know in a world
    we were still too small to grasp.
    Thy tender necks leaned back
    to recline us at thy beating heart,
    the comfort of thy bellies’ warmth
    and steady climb and tide
    nestled in the crooks of thine arms where blood
    pulsed to the surface in hard times.
    Thy wooly hair, oh fathers, thy furrowed brows—
    we humbly thank thee for the tickle
    of thy cheeks, thy sideburns and bristles,
    thy fingers fumbling the skin beneath our knees
    to giggle us like tiny brooks poured out
    from thy roaring seas.
    We thank thee, oh fathers,
    for thy borrowed cells, thy spines
    worn to crescent moons beneath
    our growing weight, thy patience tried,
    thy reddened eyes, thy breath
    inside our rising chests.
    Hallowed be thy knees.

  13. Jennifer Peach

    by jennifer peach.

    if he fills your life up with the
    scent of forever, forget him.

    if you cannot imagine Christmas morning
    without him, tell him you have to leave.

    believe me. if you stay, there will be teeth
    in your hands for the next three years at least.

    they will clench down every time you try to let go,
    they will force you to be more than you can handle.

    your mouth will bleed indefinitely, searching
    for his lips, for the words you did not say to him.

    is there anything you did not say to him?
    how many languages can you possibly scream love in?

    if you feel like he should stay, fight against the song
    of your soul, silly girl, send him home.

  14. marcy r

    Grandma Lillian stood at the stove
    sucking the marrow from the chicken bones
    gone soft in the soup, her short square body
    swaddled in a flowered apron.

    In her thick Yiddish accent she complained of
    the varicose veins she got standing all day
    at the notions counter at Hengerer’s, standing
    all day at her age, 70, “it’s too old,” she’d say.

    She taught the grandkids dominoes and
    beat us at pickup-stix, her knob-gnarled fingers
    defter than our young ones. But Dad never
    shared any stories of growing up with her,
    never offered anything about her at all,
    except once he said, “She was not a nice woman,”
    then clamped his mouth shut.

  15. pipersfancy

    Northern Love Song

    I’ve flown in northern bush planes, sailing frozen azure sky,
    and when I see the sundog’s spark, I hear the husky’s cry.
    Auroras spread angelic wings ‘cross heavens as they fly.
    If prayer were answered, I would change the ‘me’ to ‘you and I’,

    for beauty is most rightly found within your warm embrace.
    As two souls search for purest love, I’m searching for your face,
    and if I thought I’d passed you by, I’d turn back and retrace,
    for no one else will ease my mind, and memories efface.

    Like tamaracks bent heavy with the snow ‘till spring’s reply,
    I’ll wait until first thawing when, in love, two hearts comply.
    I’ll listen for the sound of geese returning with loud cry,
    and pray, at season’s turn, to change the “me” to “you and I.”

  16. mschied

    A story book romance

    will never happen

    I’m convinced

    For it’s always the shy girls
    the quiet girls
    the not so pretty but nice
    girls who get the
    (maybe secretly wounded
    but outwardly knight in shining)
    who sweeps her off her feet

    sometimes literally

    do I need a wicked stepmother
    do I need a mama crone
    do I need a poison apple
    to steal away my throne

    to get the guy to look my way
    walk up to me and say
    with words or without
    I love you today

    If someone locked me away
    would my prince
    move heaven and earth
    to scale my tower

    If someone threw
    me to the wolves
    would he snatch me
    up to safety

    If someone looked at

    really saw me

    would he see someone to love

    would he say

    would he be

    love for me

  17. Katynimm


    We have a
    Kind of love.

    No less caring
    Or devoted
    Than others.

    It has
    Taught us
    How to say “I’m sorry”.

    That, is more
    Than many have.

  18. Lucretia_BezBawni_Amstell

    Love Has No Fear, And Yet. . .

    Look! The day is about to melt in the ravenous night
    Listen! Silence means something loud is about to happen
    Feel it chilling your senses, envelopping, wrapping
    Fear is an ominous net for our heart to be trapped in
    Cry! Your fearless tears are pure from hatred and spite.
    Come! I’ll show you the eye of the storm in its beauty and might

    See? Fear is only a part of our nature we tap in
    Breathe! Let it go! It’s not fear, it’s love that you fight
    by Lucretia Amstell

  19. LeighSpencer

    Real Love

    When I feel unworthy
    you find my worth

    When I feel ugly
    you see my beauty

    When I feel weak
    you boost my strength

    If only

    you were better
    at communicating
    any of that

    all the arguments
    we’d avoid?

  20. Ecubed

    “An Un-love Poem”
    I planted a vegetable garden once
    where I met the tomato worm;
    the most beautiful ugly thing,
    (model for the Cheshire Cat I bet), –
    he ate half the dozen vines
    I didn’t water in temperatures
    seventy and above.
    There were maybe seventy plants
    In that garden – the woodchucks got
    the broccoli, the marigolds did not
    discourage nematodes, and I decided
    I was letting God down with my
    Lack of love for vegetables.

  21. Ecubed

    A Love Poem
    “A Love Poem”
    I apologize for
    the thing I just said
    which you didn’t hear
    because you don’t listen
    And you don’t get my feelings
    which is a good thing because
    If you did get my feelings,
    and always listened,
    You would have been hurt
    By the thing I just said.
    So, sorry…

  22. azkbc


    I wasn’t looking for you when I found you.

    I talked to you on New Year’s Day
    sitting in Jane’s house having black-eyed peas
    after the Singles Group climbed the hill
    to honor group tradition
    and you talked about Mexican restaurants
    because I was being polite
    and you wanted to talk about Double L,
    Mi Nidito and Michas. You said that Mexican
    chain restaurants weren’t worth the ground
    they sat upon but then I found
    that you secretly liked Taco Bell.

    And then the Single Group went dancing
    one Friday night and there was that guy
    who kept following me around
    and I thought he was a member
    I just hadn’t met, but then someone
    who knew said that no, he wasn’t,
    so when almost everyone decided
    to call it a night and leave,
    I followed you so he’d think
    I was with you. I guess he did
    because when he saw me walk
    beside you he stopped and didn’t
    follow me out the door
    into the parking lot.

    I wasn’t looking for you when I found you.

  23. ToniBee3

    “Before Sleep”

    Time for head to meet pillow….
    Whatcha thinking ’bout, Love?
    Love the tip of your nose,
    the curves of your lips…
    I trace them with my fingertips.

    Thinking of kissing them softly;
    Kissing them indigo.
    Giggling in your neck.
    Lovers’ dulcet chit-chattin’.
    Unbended, unworried.

    My ear reposed
    upon your sternum,
    hearkening to your soufflé.
    Sheer bliss to be “We”, and…
    “We” are remarkable in tandem.

    Our big love
    in this atomic world…
    Kiss me too before shut-eye.
    Kiss me ditzy-dizzy…
    and selflessly.

  24. mcastillogarsow

    Dear Love,
    It’s not you. It’s me.

    I’m breaking up with love today
    There’s no place for you here
    There’s enough pain
    enough confusion in my world
    untried crimes for 1 percent
    protectors turned perpetrators
    hidden horrors in histories
    I can’t help
    but unearth
    Deaths when I didn’t know there was sickness
    Sickness when I didn’t know I was that
    And two babies:
    one I killed
    And one that just died
    and took me with her.

    I never dreamt of weddings
    Never cared for big white dresses
    or white picket fences
    I just wanted to write something
    And that
    be important to you too
    I just want to look in your eyes
    And see the me
    I wanted to be
    The me I could have been

    Just because you didn’t mean to
    Doesn’t mean
    The blood wasn’t red
    dripping down my teeth
    mixed with snot and salt
    Doesn’t mean
    I woke up again
    unable to chew

    Accidents happen
    my life happened
    and now
    I don’t believe love can be good
    to me
    I don’t believe in love
    for me
    I believe love tricked me

    And all I want now
    is to retire
    from this game
    sleep for a week
    wake up in a lilac room
    of my own
    Secret and sealed
    a soft bed of warm sunlight
    where love can’t find me anymore

  25. SFagan12

    Still Life with Endings

    No one talks about the long after.
    I hear your father died in October, this year,
    the week of your birthday, and you glimpse a photo:
    me grinning on the porch of my new home. Clean break.
    Cleaved in two. How I could have buried you
    in my pain. And rage. But there’s life and icy sidewalks
    that turn to muddy trails through Frick Park, and
    the dog I adored, who adored you
    collapses suddenly one winter day and is gone.

    The peonies shoot out of the dirt. Fists in the air.
    Ants crawl over them, an intricate part of the
    machinery of opening. I hold myself
    close. Fold my arms over the body
    of my guitar. Pull out a chord and then
    another until, before I know it, I’m playing
    that old song we used to harmonize to
    and I stop mid chorus. Wash the dishes.
    Brush my hair.

    I do not know if you’ve remarried,
    are dating, in love, laugh over late night
    bacon, hash and eggs at a diner
    where the city streets splash with rainstorms.

    You do not know my new stories: the girl
    I teach this year whose hero is Audubon!
    She intricately draws a different bird
    for every piece of American literature we
    study. Whitman earns a robin. Hawthorne,
    a turkey deep within the woods.
    I guess I’m still too concerned with nature.
    I imagine you are still a fool Republican.

    The truth is, I don’t miss you,
    don’t want to see your face again. I almost
    died. But then, I just grew older. I simply
    wonder what it means to love so hard
    that when it’s over, you are left
    no longer the woman that you were, nor
    the American cliché
    of stronger, better, wiser.

    Oh past, where does that hard love land?
    With its hollow bones, does it sprout wings?
    Is it lost within a hymnal’s page?
    Or baked like a coin in a leavened loaf?
    Will it ever find the marshy edge
    and scatter across the river?

  26. William.Skinner

    A Chance Meeting in the Parking Lot

    He was a silver Mylar balloon
    Helium-filled with a faux-silk ribbon
    Tied to a wailing toddler’s wrist.
    She was fresh from a party,
    Filled with warm exhalations,
    A yellow yarn string tied to pink latex,
    Dribbled by a zephyr above the deadly asphalt.

    Strings touched, tangled, briefly tied,
    Sharing a moment, mated into one.
    But as the child watched with amazement
    Its hand jostled them, just briefly
    And they pulled apart again.

    With sadness and loss he levitated,
    Incessantly straining for the sky,
    But drifting lower and lower each day,
    A debilitated future looming ahead.

    Constantly only inches from disaster,
    Wild and mild winds whisked her away.
    She found herself untethered from the world,
    With an unknown adventure on every horizon.

  27. Swati Mitra

    Thy Name is Mistake…..

    I know that I should have said ‘No’,
    But I made the mistake of saying ‘Yes’….

    And now….
    I hear your footsteps coming up my stairs
    Closer and closer and more closer…
    I’m feeling nervous, I’m overwhelmed
    Oh, I can’t take it any more…
    How am I going to open my door?
    How do I open the door for you? How?
    What would I find in your lively eyes?
    Would I still see the familiar bright smile?
    I know, you’d ask me, “how have you been?”
    What would I say in reply? Should I smile?
    How do I hide my pain of all those cold days,
    dark nights and long, long solitary hours?
    I know, I know, I’ll try to find the right words,
    try to fake a happy smile. I know I’ll have to.
    I’ll try to hide my anguish behind my smile
    and smile, smile and smile some more
    While I try to find the perfect sentence
    to justify me opening the door for you.

    1. JUST_jerusha

      I love this. The nerd in me was all about the Star Trek allusion, but the editor in me was all about the simplicity.

      If you were to try something with it, I would humbly suggest rolling it around your tongue with the first line as the title and not as part of the poem itself.

  28. Blaise

    In The Beginning: Love

    In the beginning,
    electricity crossed mere inches,
    hand to hand,
    tentative in the dark,
    surprising power
    where nothing coursed before,
    heart to heart.

    Pathways incised,
    alchemized by years of chemistry,
    a primordial spark,
    birthing the unknown
    in all its unexpected glory.

    Love cannot be explained
    or restrained,
    it bridges distance and time,
    neck hairs raised
    by a bristling ether.

    There is no secret,
    beyond receiving my beloved’s truth
    whether whispered or explosive.

  29. Elizabeth V

    Love in the Movies

    My delicious despair
    born of dark desires
    spawned in cavernous
    flickering caves
    heroes larger than life
    and more heroic
    than life could stand
    beautiful without
    moles, hairs
    never burped or
    someone one needed to
    long for
    search for
    acquire like charms on
    a bracelet, only shadows
    on the screen.

    The real stuff has love handles
    imperfect teeth
    anger issues
    and forgets birthdays.

  30. kimberleetm

    How a Green Beret Loves a Cat
    (“I Love It for the Fur”)

    Fur knows no regulations
    And colonizes far beyond its borders.

    Stroking fur lowers stress
    And purring is hypnotically pleasant.

    Fur has spurred trade
    and insulated explorers in harsh lands.

    Fur is warm and soft
    And you can tell lies while you hold it.

    Fur self-regulates body temperature
    And provides camouflage in proper environment.

    Fur is less complex than a feline
    And leaves an out when a cat gets in.

    Kimberlee Thompson

  31. foodpoet

    What Time is For

    Another year
    another write on love.
    This is not a love poem.
    This is not an anti love poem.
    I have no wiggle room,
    no time for hand holding
    smooches or
    for that matter anything beginning
    death taxes work.
    Any free time, I pick pen
    over romance,
    paper over tender moments,
    so maybe this is a love
    poem, an affair of words
    where lines come and are
    This is what I find time for.

    Megan McDonald

  32. foodpoet

    What Time is For

    Another year
    another write on love.
    This is not a love poem.
    This is not an anti love poem.
    I have no wiggle room,
    no time for hand holding
    smooches or
    for that matter anything beginning
    death taxes work.
    Any free time, I pick pen
    over romance,
    paper over tender moments,
    so maybe this is a love
    poem, an affair of words
    where lines come and are
    This is what I find time for.

  33. CathyBlogs

    by Cathy Dee

    Dressed all in gray
    I become the clouds,
    my tears fall as rain
    so heavy no umbrella
    can protect us
    when I speak you must
    shield your ears
    against the thunder
    no warning will
    save us, for
    the wild wind blows
    your kiss against my lips.

  34. QatWalsh

    A Love Letter to Grandma.
    By. Kat Walsh

    If you are to lie 6 feet under
    Let me be buried below
    So the fossil they one day find
    Yet the discoverers will never know

    That before me you sinned
    And after me sin was still there
    You used your own fears and weakness
    To steal away all of the air

    With the body underground
    And the spirit where it may be
    The womb that made the womb
    That made the one called me

    I am not the words that burned you
    I am not the hand that stings
    I am not the man who left you
    I am the one blessing my mother brings

    If you are to lie 6 feet under
    Let me be buried below
    So when I lay my head for final rest
    My children will always know

    That you came before us
    And underground you will stay
    But though we will only heal
    We will never turn away.

    Love is all that’s left
    Abusive words stop with me
    But the past is what we carry
    The bad, the good makes us a we

    At death all sin forgotten
    As if holy water came from underground
    So as deep as you lie under
    Under you I’d like to be found

    If you are to lie 6 feet under
    Let me be buried below
    So when God takes me with him
    I’ll know you’ll get to go

  35. chgorrie

    If only love came easy.
    Once exposed to its removal, its terror, the heart grows queasy.
    How hard it can be
    To know loving’s unlovely
    Side: The caught breath once the curtain falls,
    Deadened sanctity when recent calls
    Turn against self-esteem.
    “Was it just a dream?”;
    “Was it a rue,
    Temporary?”; “Was it true?”
    Questions amount to nothing,
    And answers only seem like bluffing.
    I want to love you,
    But I know the drill: Two,
    Then one. One’s pain is expectation,
    One’s guilt is association.
    “Life is short—let them care”;
    I wait…I dream…I stare…

  36. Penny Henderson


    I love thee with….
    Shall I channel Ms Browning
    or love you in some unexpected way?
    with curiosity…always wanting
    to know the things you cannot tell me?
    with conviction….sure I know
    the bestest rightest way?
    with terror….shaking my fist at
    feckless, foolish fate?
    I have chosen.
    I will love you with impish delight,
    dancing elvish circles round your life
    to banish fear and
    and establish light.

  37. waplef

    The Purest Love

    Even with eyes open wide…the soul refuses to see

    And knowing ones’ origin…does not always bring relief

    For love does not attach itself…to one color or one shape

    In fact, the depths of it…gives the heart no avenue to escape

    There is no descriptive entity…that comes to the mind

    Except the air that we breathe…in this we are all entwined

    It’s like our invisible line…and unspoken connection

    Merging us together…to proclaim God’s redemption

    So take a minute…and try to envision with me

    A world without shrive…hatred and jealousy

    Can you feel that invisible bond…that link us all as one

    Stop trying to be indifferent…and help us overcome

    Recognizing we are here…only because of God’s grace

    For I’m not better than you…it time that truth be faced

    And if you even wonder…how to interpret who’s your brother

    Just remember the purest love…like air…eliminates all color

  38. drwasy

    Industry in Utah: A Love Poem

    Utah, you are glorious
    in your snow-stained crown
    rimming valleys verdant
    with cherry-pink.

    Here, you grow fields
    of grain, and cattle,
    and sad girls and boys
    sent to your peaks
    to carry willow packs
    and make fire
    with aspen bow-drills
    before sleeping under
    cloud-less night.

    Here, your towns
    and farms take in
    the broken children,
    then tended by heart herders,
    home-grown and on
    a mission to grow
    the sad, spent children
    into less sad
    women and men.

    Utah, two thousand
    miles and more
    from where we live;
    yet flying to you (my son)
    is the best valentine,
    the best hardship.

    For Utah is where your
    heart remains herded,
    where we come together—
    mother, father,
    sister, brother.

    Utah, you are glorious–
    your homes and hills
    sanctuary for
    our broken children.

    (Most people do not know that Utah is home to most of the nation’s wilderness and residential treatment programs for our youth who do are not healed in our mental health ‘system’. I wrote this poem yesterday flying back from visiting my son.)

  39. jacquemlane

    A Heart not Mine to Give

    Walking through the woods yesterday
    I stumbled over a deep root surfacing for air
    A moment of clarity jarred my spine
    Recalling moments we spent
    Nestled together like sleeping cats
    A mangle of my solid and your stripes
    How many times I admired your demure smile
    As it departed the edge of a wine glass
    How I knelt at your feet looking up to see
    Your wild mind twirling the genius of writers
    Into balls of fire in your heart

    Which is where my mind was twenty years ago
    When I wrapped my world
    In the one I could not live without
    When I tell you with every song I hear your name
    Thoughts of you ringing in my ears
    Silencing what I am mute to say
    Just as the trees cannot give themselves to sky
    With their roots already married to the earth
    Your touch is the hand that pushes me under
    Demanding the soul already given away
    Not because this is where it starts
    Because it has always been the end

  40. Angie5804

    She sits at her desk
    The one handed down
    From her aunt
    Who had no children
    And she writes her letter
    On cheerful stationary
    Trying to engage
    Remembering to be kind
    She walks to the mailbox
    Sends the letter with a prayer
    Love is longsuffering
    Love is not lost

  41. tphan850

    What do you say to those who ask where you found me?

    tell them you found me in a letter

    I was scrunched in between the words “I” and “you”

    tell them you found me at the end of your finger

    attached by an invisible red string that had finally brought us together

    tell them you found me at my worst

    and seen light in me, when I didn’t see it myself

    tell them you never really found me

    by no means were you looking

    tell them you don’t really know how you found me

    and it doesn’t really matter

    now that you have me

  42. Xairos

    Snow Bed

    Ground bare, trees naked,
    snow slips from gray rump clouds,
    fondles the rounded mountains,
    settles in the valleys, loving their fields.

    The snow has pressed itself against the fields
    far too long, pulls away from mountains
    as if disdainful of its partner now the sun
    shows the rumpled bed, the debris left behind.

    Margaret Lee Ferry

  43. jclass527


    Without having to ever hold a flame,
    one knows it is filled with light, passion, warmth,
    renders any kindling into full consumption and
    can even inflict pain when uncontrolled –
    without ever holding it,
    one knows its incandescence
    is survival, and without this fire
    one is lost in the black abyss.

    And this is my love for you.

    Jessenia Class


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