2016 April PAD Challenge: Day 29

Tomorrow is the final day of the challenge! How did we get here? One day at a time; I know, I know.

For today’s prompt, write a haphazard poem. The poem itself could be haphazardly put together, I suppose. But it could also be about a haphazard situation. Or whatever haphazard thing you can bend the poem into.


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Here’s my attempt at a Haphazard Poem:


half the time i write
about whatever
pops into my
head without
another thought
zipping from one
adjective to the next
regardless of any
designed meaning


roberttwitterimageRobert Lee Brewer has enjoyed writing poems this month, not only on this blog but in his notebooks too. These poem-a-day months always seem to produce more than the 30 poems that make it on the blog. Plus, he’s been reading a lot of poetry this time around, including Barton Smock’s first traditionally published collection, Ocean Vuong’s debut collection, and more.

Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community, which means he gets to do a million things to help writers find more success with their writing (including this blog). He’s also the author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53).

Connect with him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.


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202 thoughts on “2016 April PAD Challenge: Day 29

  1. lionmother

    Zag Zig Life

    My life zags when it should zig
    a haphazard collection of days
    teetering sometimes on the
    brink of disaster
    no routine in sleep patterns
    staying up late and waking up late
    avoiding the morning
    for the morning holds discomfort
    haphazardly getting through the days
    moment to moment balancing
    finding no rhyme or reason in the
    spacing of things and still never
    feeling balanced
    as if I were playing a long game of
    Jenga and losing badly
    pieces pulled suddenly from the
    wrong place and hoping the whole
    thing won’t cave in and fall on the
    table of my life
    copyright 2016 by Barbara Ehrentreu

  2. Domino

    Stupid Tent

    I bought a fancy canvas tent from a good friend of mine
    I fancied that the money spent would make our camping fine.
    But we can’t get the damn thing pitched and it’s begun to rain.
    I’m thinking that the thing’s bewitched, or cursed to cause us pain.

    But still we grapple with the poles, we wrench and pull and lug.
    We cannot match the frickin’ holes no matter how we tug.
    Of course, I tried to call my friend to rail and to berate,
    For him to help me comprehend, but he’s moved out of state.

    And so we wrestle in the storm, the canvas getting wetter,
    The poles keep slipping to new forms and nothing’s getting better.
    And as we go, we start to see that purgatory’s torment
    is naught compared to a beastly, horrid, fancy canvas tent.

  3. Yolee

    “What are you doing?” he said to the guy sitting on the bridge with his legs
    dangling over the interstate.
    “You know.”
    It took a moment for the passerby’s words to get in front of the labyrinth
    of thoughts twisted in doubt.
    “When’s the last time you kissed a girl?”

    The thought to carry on with his plan detached a bit from his mind
    like gum being stretched between a shoe and the sidewalk.

    Cough “It’s been a few days.”

    “Man the last time I even got close to a girl; I’m talking personal space,
    was a few years ago.” “Do you have money in the bank, a job?”
    The blue-eyed guy who felt his soul was oddly short
    for his 6 foot frame answered yes.
    The passerby was locked into the young man’s situation
    for the infraction of being in the same place at the same time.

    “You don’t want to do this. You have more going for you than I’ve
    had in years. Our stories may be different but I know what it’s like
    to feel life is done with me.”

    The young man turned to look at the bald passerby
    who looked like he’d been wedged inside a bottle
    of whiskey, and felt a strange bead of pity rise within.
    But pity for himself or this middle-age guy with a birthmark
    on his hand shaped like a bull’s-eye?

    The air was deep as a grave. The sun was almost
    done caving in.The oily guy gave the young man
    his hand. They walked passed a sign rocking back
    and forth: Auto Body Shop: we fix you shocks and breaks

    And a ball jar rolled in their path until it captured
    the remains of daylight.

  4. grcran

    hazard a mayhap

    haphazard went the rhyme
    timing was all off-beat
    fleet-feeted wrongly pluralized the rurals. urbans too

    city folk spent the dime
    climbing. big fall. repeat
    we humans think ourselves above. we’re only part of zoo

    we stoop, bent from the slime
    griming. appalled. discreet
    and posture. pose omnipotently farther from what’s true

    hazard the guess. hint. mime
    prime wherewithal. compete
    don’t give up spirited response replete with derring-do

    gpr crane

    1. woodpeckerduo

      Well done! Such a unique rhyme scheme… end rhymes, internal rhymes, end of one line-beginning of the next rhymes. Really like “we stoop, bent from the slime” – primeval.

  5. drwasy

    On waking

    Morning finds me
    slaps me into living
    even though where I was
    before is living enough.
    Morning blares
    even in this duskiness
    of fog and bare branches
    of cold wood floors
    and quietude.
    Morning yanks me
    from memories
    of past present maybe
    strips off my quilt
    of not knowing not caring
    lays me out, naked.

  6. briehuling

    ay 29


    I am a house on fire–
    look at me
    shipwrecked in the middle
    of life, mom-less
    nothing more, less
    or different than any of
    these other orphans
    My bones suspicious
    of everything–
    earthquakes, dementia, the dark,
    commitment– falling in love
    with everything again.

    Maybe I am crazy
    or need to take a nap
    but this homeless heart
    is collecting scraps–
    looking for faces in the
    sea like a riptide-knight
    or some jeweled fantasy
    will hold my hand and guide
    me back into the light.

    Brie Huling

  7. Marian O'Brien Paul

    Papers, papers everywhere
    on floor, on desk, on table.
    Time to sort, to separate
    to toss or keep, create
    some order out of chaos.

    By accident I also tossed
    my family address list.
    I emptied out the sacks
    of trash, sorted stacks
    of papers I had kept.

    Luckily, I found the list
    that I had lost but also
    recreated all the chaos.


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