2017 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 22

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) Day;” replace the blank with a word or phrase; make the new phrase the title of your poem; and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: “Happy Day,” “Sunny Day,” “Thanksgiving Day,” and “Happy Birthday.”


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Learn how to write sestina, shadorma, haiku, monotetra, golden shovel, and more with The Writer’s Digest Guide to Poetic Forms, by Robert Lee Brewer.

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Discover a new universe of poetic possibilities and apply it to your poetry today!

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Here’s my attempt at a Blank Day Poem:

“lazy day”

wake up
to lay in bed
& think about getting up
knowing that there is no rush
& maybe i’ll do something but
maybe not


Robert Lee Brewer

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of the poetry collection, Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He edits Poet’s Market and Writer’s Market, in addition to writing a free weekly WritersMarket.com newsletter and a poetry column for Writer’s Digest magazine.

He loves getting things done, but he also appreciates the rare lazy day.

Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.


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267 thoughts on “2017 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 22

  1. SarahLeaSales

    Atonement Day

    The day was not special,
    but for the One whose death made it so.
    And though His blood should be on our hands,
    it is washed away
    with that same life-sustaining substance.
    Our faith is celebratory–
    with the day of His birth
    and the day of His death–
    not because He succumbed to it,
    but because He overcame it.
    He showed us that
    through Him,
    by Him,
    and with Him,
    we could,

  2. Valkyri

    blustery days

    blustery days
    remind me of
    pooh and piglet
    when I was very young…
    a hot cup of tea
    with lemon and honey…
    a pile of books
    on the floor by my bed…
    safe and snug
    under the quilt
    grandma made –
    listening to the world
    being blustery grey
    just outside
    my bedroom window…

  3. Nancy Posey

    Decoration Day

    The first Sunday in June without fail
    we drove back home, picking up
    a white rose corsage for Mama
    pinning it on her church dress.

    She tells us every year about the time
    when her daddy was a boy
    and he wore a pink rose
    because his mama was sick.

    After the preacher’s sermon
    about mamas that always made
    folks cry, we all shared dinner
    before going back to our cars,

    retrieving sprays of flowers
    from the trunks and truck beds,
    mostly plastic bouquets, most likely
    to withstand Alabama winters.

    Most pulled weeds, some planted
    live flowers, a sign of hope. A few
    grumbled about thieves, kids
    probably, who stole the flowers.

    Every year it happened. On Sunday
    the plastic flowers appeared
    like fresh blooms, By Thursday,
    some had blown, some were simply gone.

    Only the living knew or cared; the dead
    were past worrying about blooms
    or greenery, accuracy of birth dates,
    sentimental verses carved on stone.

    Mama always exacted a promise
    we’d keep coming back, even after
    she was gone. Hush, we told her,
    unwilling the entertain the thought.

  4. MHR

    Windy Day

    I was walking somewhere,
    & the wind tried to shove me aside.
    I swear, it’s what happened-
    incredible, cold, bitter:
    it must be on the bad end of a nasty divorce.
    Summer storms left my area,
    & took away it’s piece of mind.

    There’s victims besides myself, of course-
    I’m not special or anything:
    they scatter up & down the street,
    red, yellow, purple, orange, and some are still in their metamorphosis-
    but they are willing slaves to the raping of their branch:
    and they continue to wander around until they find a spot no one can find them-
    you’ll never see them again.
    You wouldn’t realize even if you did,
    they’d be so mud crusted and decomposed;
    b/c they went where the wind wanted them to.


  5. MET

    Thanksgiving Day

    Growing up
    Thanksgiving Dinner
    Was not only a feast of food, but
    There was a buffet of conversation.
    Ma would invite…
    The strict Baptist couple whose
    Children were coming for Christmas.
    Da invited the beatnik couple
    Who made candles.
    I loved both couples, and
    Was excited that both were coming.
    I heard Ma whisper to Da…
    Do you think this was wise, and
    He said maybe not, but it might be fun.
    Then they both smiled…
    Ma was the perfect hostess, and
    Made sure no one was uncomfortable.
    Da talked to his stoic friend…
    The only one more stoic than Ma.
    Ma, the Baptist, and the beatnik ladies
    Worked to get the food on the table.
    The stoic man blessed it, and
    I sat beside the beatnik couple
    Cause their stories were exciting.
    Everyone laughed, and I even sang
    And at the end of the day
    We celebrated our lives
    Blessed by people so different.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 22, 2017

  6. lsteadly

    Call It a Day

    In a matter of moments
    the sky blushes with night’s
    shedding, dawn creeps in
    quietly for a magenta moment
    marveled until feet drop to the floor
    barely ready to dance through
    the day, hardly time to look
    skyward after that drive in
    to work, the window there
    beckoning adventure outside
    but the boss buries any
    chance for outbreak
    until the allotted hour
    too late to walk in afternoon’s last
    light when the sun suddenly falls
    calling lamps to be lit and supper
    served bills paid afterward
    hardly a breath fully inhaled
    before the bed beckons again

  7. De Jackson

    This Day

    This poem has 24 hours
    to prove herself, remove
    herself from the naughty list.

    She’s just in time for a seize
    -the-rhyme (Carpe De-um)
    sort of day (oh. You say day

    you say day you say day?
    Give her this day her
    daily bed

    of roses. Her supposes and
    her what ifs and her posse
    -bilities. For

    -give her for her lack
    of rhyme, of time, of
    diamond in the rough stuff.

    Then smile, and let
    her know she’s just


  8. Sara McNulty

    Peace Day

    How nice to wake up to Peace Day,
    harmony riding on coattails.
    Humanity balancing scales
    of justice, none left in the fray.

    Sick of war, we demand a say.
    Intolerance is doomed to fail.
    How nice to wake up to Peace Day,
    harmony riding on coattails.

    When we stay divided, we pay.
    Shake hands, light candles, and set sail
    weapons and hate; clear a new trail
    to rebuild this world and display,
    how nice to wake up to Peace Day.

  9. cbwentworth

    the dog sleeps
    tucked in blankets
    first cold day

    the ballot box
    stuffed with ire
    voting day

    each passing day
    thoughts of you
    leave smaller wounds

    boxes stacked
    the u-haul truck rumbles
    moving day

  10. MichelleMcEwen

    Every Day

    We be at the corner store
    every day

    Me and my sons there
    every day

    Spending money there
    every day

    Sometimes we in there
    twice a day

    Sometimes be in there
    thrice a day

    Buying something
    each time

    every day

    And still be getting followed
    when we in there

    every day

  11. MET

    What a sorrowful day

    It was Friday.
    I was playing jackstones
    And winning I might add
    On a rainy school day
    In the sixth grade…
    An eighth grader came
    In the room, and announced
    “The President is dead.”
    We denied it possible
    Presidents don’t die, but
    Our crying teacher said
    It was true.
    Someone said the Russians did it, and
    Some wondered if the bomb
    Would soon be hitting us.
    Instead we learned an unknown man
    Had shot him dead.
    The world seemed to go all grey,
    And sometimes darken into night.
    We sat around the black and white television
    Glued not wanting to miss a word,
    And hoping that it was all a lie.
    Everyone I have met since then
    Can tell you the spot they were
    When they heard the news
    That JFK was dead, and
    How they just couldn’t believe it.
    I remember the next week
    Was Thanksgiving, and
    No one was celebrating.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 22, 2017

      1. MET

        yeah 9/11 did it for many or I should say most… but this really shocked the nation… I read somewhere that during that week… there was not one suicide in the nation because everyone was in grief..

    1. lsteadly

      So beautifully written, Mary. My parents tell me in great detail where they were that day and it haunts me in a way- my mom was pregnant with me at the time-so maybe the shock and sadness of that day resides in me from my experience in utero?… Such a horrible day in our history.

      1. MET

        thank you and we did not have school the next week…it really was a dark time… He was so young… his children were so young…and his wife was so lovely… things like that don’t happen to people like that … but they did…

  12. tunesmiff

    G. Smith
    Just the smile in your eyes,
    Makes my day, makes my day.
    Just like every morning’s surprise,
    Just the smile in your eyes,
    Lights my world like a sunrise.
    There’s nothing else that’s left to say:
    Just the smile in your eyes,
    Makes my day, makes my day.

  13. MET

    A Day in the Wilderwood

    Midnight moon waning
    Clear dark night blue skies
    Stars scattered on the quilt of velvet…
    Cold because it is late fall.
    As the sun shows light
    Over the sphere…
    The night sky darkens
    For the moon has drifted
    To the west.
    Through the trees the sun
    Spreads light between
    Limbs, branches, leaves and trunks…
    It is morning
    A new beginning.
    Deer and wild hogs
    Raccoons and Possums
    Have found their bed
    For the day…
    They roam the night.
    The golden leaves of hickory, maple,
    Poplar have begun to fall
    The crazy quilt of leaves cover
    The dirt road to the house.
    The white camellia
    Blooms delicate with a touch of pink
    The flower that rules the winter.
    The sky blue in early morn
    Becomes grey as clouds
    Move in of a change in the weather.
    Evening falls
    The peach streaked sky
    With the sun setting,
    And in twilight
    The black lace trees
    Against the sky
    Beckons birds to go to roost.
    The deer and other night creatures
    Begin their nightly roam, and
    The moon comes first
    Then the planets, and
    Then as if a light was turned on
    The stars gleam all at once
    Through a sky that
    Has angel hair clouds.
    Beauty is its own gift…
    It is the ordinary
    Simple things
    That sanctify us daily.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 22, 2017

  14. tunesmiff

    G. Smith (BMI)
    Woke up early this morning,
    But somehow clocked in late;
    Usually there by seven-forty-five,
    But today is was after eight.

    Poured a hot cuppa coffee,
    Spilled it all over the floor;
    Slipped while trying to clean it up;
    Ran my knee into the door.

    Brand new pile of paper,
    Had to work through lunch,
    Quitting time came and it felt like,
    I was the one getting punched.

    Made it out to the parking lot,
    Found flat tire on my truck;
    Bumper to bumper all the way home,
    Just my luck, just my luck.

    Today was not my day,
    Didn’t anything go right,
    Till I got home and you turned it into,
    Our kind of night;
    Till I got home and you turned it into,
    Our kind of night.

    Bills in the mailbox?
    Who cares?
    Just as long as,
    You’re there.

    So, today was not my day,
    Didn’t anything go right,
    Till I got home and you turned it into,
    Our kind of night;
    Till I got home and you turned it into,
    Our kind of night.

  15. candy


    yesterday was not
    not note worthy

    of no exception
    at all

    I woke, not too early
    I ate three meals
    (and some snacks)
    I read a book
    wrote a poem

    I listened to the cat

    yesterday was

    yesterday I had clothes
    to wear
    a warm house
    safety –


    I am grateful for

  16. Janet Rice Carnahan


    When expectations go awry
    Why sit and think or only cry

    See it as a new beginning?
    Fresh approach, a deeper winning

    Bring out a different version of you
    Let it find something to do

    Let it relax, take a simple action
    Divide time into another fraction

    Feel joy in letting go
    See what else you can feel and know

    Go for a walk, see things anew
    Check the grass, see if it grew

    Smell flowers outside your window
    Appreciate the clouds, let them go

    Be grateful for plans that worked before
    If this one didn’t, don’t close the door

    Put it in a bigger context
    Maybe just call or text

    Give up any sadness or distress
    Go beyond the unhappy mess

    Search out another road to tread
    Give up the old idea or dread

    Be just happy being you
    Maybe just fresh air will do

    Use your own creative thoughts
    Let yourself live outside the box

    Embrace this new opportunity
    To be happy now, and let it be

    Other chances will come on through
    Its who we are, it’s what we do

    Give yourself the chance to breathe in
    Once you’re passed this, then you’ll win

  17. Bruce Niedt

    Someone else here tried a “golden shovel” today, so I thought I’d do the same. My source poem is William Carlos Williams’ “The Red Wheelbarrow”. Each line ends with each consecutive word of that short poem.

    Preparation Day

    It begins the day before – up with the sun, so
    we can tackle the to-do list – so much
    to get ready for Thanksgiving. The family depends
    on us, and the guest list goes on and on,
    getting bigger every year. We’ll peel potatoes, assemble a
    green bean casserole, make pumpkin pie , stew some red
    cranberries, dress a turkey that needs a wheelbarrow
    to move around, vacuum and dust, prepare glazed
    carrots, set the tables, cube loaves of bread with
    chopped celery for stuffing. There’s rain
    in the forecast, but that doesn’t matter – a little water
    won’t stop this family, as they park so many cars beside
    our house that we might need a valet. I can’t believe the
    holiday has got so big. Next year, I swear: four guests, with white
    boiled potatoes, broccoli, and a couple of roasted chickens.

  18. Nancy Posey

    The Day After

    Why spend hours, maybe days,
    shopping, prepping, cleaning,
    cooking all the standard fare
    and a ham
    Granny’s dressing
    cranberry relish
    corn pudding
    deviled eggs
    heavenly carrots
    green bean and sweet potato
    stuffed celery
    yeast rolls
    mashed potatoes
    and a tableful
    of cakes and pies?

    The answer’s easy.
    Once everyone leaves,
    heading back
    to their own homes,
    the leftovers—
    the best part of Thanksgiving—
    are mine.

  19. Sally Jadlow

    Day Before Thanksgiving Day


    Up early at six.
    Wrap the turkey in aluminum foil.
    Set it to bake at 450 for three hours.

    Boil the sweet potatoes,
    make crust for five pies.

    When the turkey is done,
    sprinkle chocolate chips on the bottom of two crusts
    to make black-bottom pecan.
    Divide pecan batter between three pie pans.
    Pop in hot oven for fifty minutes.
    Take out when knife stuck in middle
    comes out clean.

    Meanwhile, stir ingredients
    for one pumpkin pie.
    Peel and slice apples.
    Add butter, sugar, and cinnamon
    to the apples.
    Plop on the top crust
    and crimp edges together.

    Cook the apple and pumpkin pies
    while peeling cooled sweet potatoes.
    Slice them into a casserole dish
    and add butter, brown sugar,
    and orange juice.

    When all pies are done,
    switch sweet potatoes
    with pies.
    Remember to baste them often
    while chopping onions,
    celery, mushrooms, and water chestnuts
    for the dressing.
    Add juice from turkey and give the dressing
    a turn in the oven
    while carving the bird
    placing slices in a glass casserole
    to heat tomorrow.

    Sweep and scrub the floor,
    fill the relish and jelly dishes,
    set the table for a buffet
    to feed twenty-five,
    more or less depending
    on how many friends
    the grandkids drag in.

    Sit to write a poem before fixing supper tonight
    with anticipation of tomorrow’s gathering.

    After dinner dishes are done
    measure out ingredients for dinner rolls
    and wash fifteen pounds of potatoes
    to mash tomorrow while rolls cook
    and food heats before the onslaught
    arrives at ten—if no one is late.

  20. JanetRuth

    Happy Day Before Thanksgiving Day!

    Tis November-twenty-something and all through the store
    Dash shoppers with carts filled with goodies galore
    The stuffing, the taters, bread, cheese, munchies, booze
    A new tablecloth, gaudy balls, spike-heeled shoes

    Quick glances at cell-phones then frantic ‘oh mys’
    Clean the house-decorate-make-and-bake-pumpkin-pies
    Make sure we all have clean shirts-skirts-pants etcetera
    ‘Make a memory’ by doing at least one thing together-yeah!

    Hurry home, unload stuff, hang up laundry to dry
    Flip out at little Tommy who has no idea why
    Blast into the bedroom, chuck junk in a corner
    Zip into the closet for the vacuum cleaner

    Down the stairs, up the stairs, phone rings…she can’t…
    On second thought, she better; it might be important
    What, What?! You forgot to order the turkey?!
    Well kids, looks like dinner will be good old beef-jerky

    Nope. Back-track to Walmart for a frozen bird
    Crowds crowd every aisle, dazed yet undeterred
    Looking for things lists have not seen before
    A big orange whopple-glop to hang on the door

    A glitzy itsy-bitsy filled with ‘stale crunch’ to eat
    A centerpiece too big to fit in the back seat
    And branches from a sort of pine-treeish-looking thing
    Tortured with fake holly berries and red and green string

    It’s nudge-push-shove , yes, I blush now just to tell it
    People clinging to crushed ads of You-Want-It-We-Sell-It
    Only to hear at the end of their wild-goose trek
    …sorry, we’re sold out until next year; rain-check?

    Now the weary get wearier, the greedy, greedier
    While the spenders get spendier and the needy, needier
    And tempers are quickened and nerves put on edge
    Mother trips on the carpet, Dad backs into the hedge

    And out on the streets voices are raised in anger
    Because someone caught texting caused a fender-bender
    And now everybody is worked up and riled
    They pocket their phones ‘yes, it coulda been a child’

    Meanwhile, mentally reaffirming while they’re still alive
    That today was the last day they would text and drive
    …then its back to the house but straight out the back door
    Better stay clear of this yearly kitchen uproar

    I, baffled beyond logical explanation
    Decided to find out just ‘what in ‘tarnation’
    In a world of quick-stops, on line shops, self-check-outs
    What is all this frenzied, hyper-rush about?

    …and you could have heard a pin drop when this Canadian asked it
    Jaws fell, so did apples from a dropped apple basket
    Why, have you not heard, someone turned to say
    You better hurry for tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day

  21. thunk2much

    Judgement Day

    If you knew me,
    how I end every day
    lying in the dark
    beside the best laid plans,
    and good intentions,
    how I outline each mistake
    I made that day
    and add it to my list,
    you’d know for sure
    that every day
    is Judgement Day.

  22. JanetRuth

    Thank-you-To-Old-Poets Day!

    …the way you whisper through me, we of centuries apart
    Where tick of clock mutes quick of pen beneath thought’s breathless touch
    Ah, I am no philosopher of life or love and such
    But panoramic-printed page can steal one’s very heart

    The way that you articulate the new in age-old script
    Convinces me life’s best things never change while most things do
    How could you know, lifetimes ago, the throes poet’s pass through
    Unless these thing are not susceptible to Bygone’s crypt

    …and how could you, lifetimes ago, surmise a poem’s span
    Of words stirred in the dark of night that dared to face the day
    Then bared to worlds you’d never meet on streets far, far away
    Ah, this rouses profoundest pleasure in modern-day man

    …to meet on common ground thy verses centuries-immersed
    The power of the printed word exceeding wildest dreams
    Because Hope snared through half-shut eyes from visionary streams
    A few small drops of ink to quench a far-off poet’s thirst

  23. Eileen S

    Rainy, Windy Day

    Today is the day before Thanksgiving
    and it is a rainy, windy day. It was
    challenging navigating to the grocery
    store to pick up the turkey and all the
    trimmings. Finally, I got out of the
    crowded store and continued on to
    the bakery to pick up a few baked goods.
    It was still raining and the wind was still
    blowing, but I was making progress.
    I came back home and made my signature
    apple pie. As I was peeling the apples,
    the rain was still coming down and the wind
    was blowing the rust brown leaves off the
    trees. I’m looking forward to tomorrow
    which is forecasted to be mostly sunny.
    I have many things to be grateful for
    including being able to accomplish
    so much on a rainy, windy day.

  24. ReathaThomasOakley

    Day before Thanksgiving Day

    Once I planned,
    now I bring what’s
    assigned, take my
    place, give thanks
    for memories of
    other tables, other
    faces, hold fast to today,
    soon to be a memory.

  25. headintheclouds87

    Duvet Day

    As the rain drizzles outside
    Coffee is sipped while under
    Warm softness of bed covers,
    Bodies snug and boldly prepared
    For not doing very much at all
    Besides taking a precious respite
    From this relentless thing called life.

    A day to gaze longingly at each other,
    Without eyes and minds drifting
    To worries demanding and persistent
    Draining time and energy from us
    Leaving little to give for another,
    And instead for once focused
    On the one we hold dearest and closest.

  26. JanetRuth

    Cleaning Day

    Tis wise to take the time sometimes to clean out nooks and crooks
    To chase the drowsing bunnies from do-dads and brick-a-brac
    To leaf through closets, cupboards like the pages of old books
    And wrest with cloth-broom-mop stayed dust from crevice-corner-crack

    Tis wise sometimes to take the time to swallow our pride
    And tackle ‘drawers’ oh horrors, we keep hid from outside folk
    Its strange, what human nature can ignore, excuse and hide
    Until some unsuspecting ‘oops, oh my!’ gives it a poke

    Then shake and scrub, rub-a-dub-dub, sweep out the ‘shame on me’
    To keep a house in order requires old-fashioned grit
    But hard work will return the ‘rooms’ to what they ought to be
    The sparkle worth the effort that it took to polish it

  27. deringer1

    so long ago, but
    the pictures stay
    always in her mind
    a child wearing a navy coat
    climbing into the cab of
    a yellow moving van
    one last look
    a man standing forlornly
    in the doorway
    a wave goodbye
    lives changed forever.

  28. tripoet

    What A Day For A Day Dream
    Hum to Lovin’ Spoonful song, “Day Dream”

    What a day for a daydream
    what a day for a poet to write
    Find myself in a daydream
    Writing helps keeps the goodness in sight
    And even if I’m busy and have lots to do
    It’s good to take a moment and assess what’s true
    This means I’m ’bout ready to pick up my pen and say
    Look at the world around you and have a beau-ti-ful day.

  29. Walter J Wojtanik


    I awaken to the alarm clock’s incessant tug,
    a daily bug up my @ss that tells me it’s time
    to start over and face the world anew.
    It’s just me (it’s always just me)
    who begins the day the exact same way:
    brewing a pot of liquid motivation,
    dressing for my twisted dreams of success,
    and holding hope that expressing my heart
    in the guise of poetic ponderance
    will exorcize the demons buried deeply
    in the center of my tired psyche.
    I sometimes feel I might be too old for this sh!t,
    but it beats the alternative, so I live
    one day at a time and never mind the burden.
    Some days are like that; some days are better.
    Let her dictate the dance and I’ll take my chances
    while I still have the gumption. My major
    malfunction is that I wouldn’t be in this position
    if I didn’t have the heart for it. I’ll use my poet
    words to both curse the darkness and shed a solitary light
    on unsuspecting souls. It’ll be I who controls the emotion,
    this iambic devotion to the process gives me
    strength to battle the elements that surround us;
    should it confound me, than I’ll be no worse
    than the rest of the populice. A cathartic release,
    a “do as I please” attitude that will serve me well.
    What the heII, I were built for days such as these.

  30. Jezzie


    Under the cliffs and down on the sand,
    round the harbour and up on the strand,
    yesterday I was out walking with my crowd
    listening to seagulls screaming loud.
    The weather was mild, there was a gentle breeze
    and we could see seals playing in the seas.

    Today on my dog walk I hurried round
    as raindrops started falling to the ground,
    Tall trees are swaying in the gales
    and my plants are blowing about like sails.
    Now it’s bucketing down with rain
    and I’m confined to quarters again.

  31. ReathaThomasOakley

    For my beloved husband

    Close of the day
    care slips away
    soon it will be night
    candles too bright?
    Lips to my ear. . .
    what did I hear?
    Big basketball game?
    Mister, that’s a shame
    no matter how they do
    the biggest loser is you.

  32. Kiri

    First Order of the Day

I take my waking
    sublingually, small
    dissolving future in blue
    with capillary action
    to every clay cell
    reshaping blood and skin
    and oil-slicked brain
    I am cracked pottery
    in a still-life picture
    of a thousand words
    unfolding in poems
    and prayers for worthiness
    to these opened eyes
    and awakened state
    still strange and lonely
    pieced together human
    getting up to fight
    and win the day
    that says I should not be
    whole or true.

  33. Walter J Wojtanik


    Life is rife with important days, no one more important than the one we’re living in. And instead of giving in, we strive to survive. The days lately revolve around a big day a month away. My youngest daughter’s wedding day. And while I’ll accompany her down the aisle, I’ll take a back seat and not compete; it is her day all the way. Proud and sad, this sappy old Dad is caught up in the preparations. Mom and I are full of elation and a touch of trepidation. But, we’ve done a decent job raising two fine daughters. And I ought to savor these times and tears. Besides, this should be old hat. I’ve done that a few years back.

  34. annell

    The Day I Choose is “Someday”

    you asked about a day    and this time of year     so many wonderful days

    to choose from    my birthday/just passed     my father’s birthday/today

    thanksgiving/tomorrow    each day of the week    all wonderful days

    the sun shines brightly    temperatures mild     they say

    the winter will be     warm and dry this year    i do miss snow

    the beauty of its transformation     all sparkly white/silent     is it global warming

    or just a fluke of nature     one warm winter     in a long line of perfectly

    normal winters      perhaps a warning     of things to come

    the day i choose     is “someday”     a day i long for

    a day of understanding    things will be    as they have always been

    misunderstandings forgotten     i wonder    is that “someday” possible

    have things gone too far     feelings hurt beyond repair     maybe better to choose

    today     this present moment     as it is the only day we really have

    November 22, 2017

    1. dittman

      I’m really interested by your style annell. I read the piece normally (left to right) but then also down the “rivers” (“you asked about a day/to chose from/thanksgiving…”) Is that what you had in mind with the unusual form? I have to admit, even if it’s not what you meant, I love the way it reads both ways!

  35. Terry Jude Miller

    Break of Day
    by Terry Jude Miller

    while it is not unusual
    to find deer in this suburban park
    it is unique for this lone buck
    to not dart to the dark protection
    of the pre-dawn woods

    we have met before
    in his first year
    when he came upon me
    on the walking path
    to deliver a message
    from my brother
    about the duration
    of grief

    both the buck
    and I turn to the east
    as the sun slips
    into splendor
    above the distant

    he turns to face me
    to tell me he is happy
    to see I’m doing alright

  36. tripoet

    I love this stanza:
    My grandmother clucked her tongue
    when she found out how much they cos
    So much for plants that can only live outside for two months
    Such a waste, she complained and I
    could see the smoke from a Pall Mall whisper
    through her receiver and arrive here, 158 miles away.

  37. taylor graham

    a Golden Shovel on Wendell Berry’s “Thrush song, stream song, holy love”
    Tendon, ligament, unseen fibers embroider
    my arm. Mis-stitched threads ground
    me, cramp easy motion and
    free sailing between earth and air.
    He found the quirk, the knots that lead
    shoulder to hand,
    that bind me.
    This band knotted to door beside
    me: he showed how to reach across the
    healing space
    rework the weave, the muscle field –
    how many reps per set, a rote that
    releases; the free-hand design that waits.

  38. Anthony94

    On the Wednesday Before

    Winds have blown on
    to the south leaving an
    eerie stillness, freezing
    the stubble on foxtail
    and zebra grass into
    dabbled lines like those
    on some still life downtown
    in the bank lobby.

    Reality is that the vole
    races waning daylight in
    and out of their tiny
    tunnels, the falcon
    returns by memory
    to where feeders should
    hang replete with snow
    birds for the plucking.

    We will wend eastward
    and unlock heavy doors
    on a tiny church to prep
    for the Thanksgiving Service
    tomorrow, singing of harvest
    although soybeans are still in
    combine against next rain,
    elevators brimful and farmers

    heading farther north and west
    to dump their loads. Deer dare
    full daylight to nibble gleanings
    and there is a certain lightness
    waiting in anticipation of hands
    clasped together or grasping
    another’s, earth pausing in this
    act we call gratitude, thanks giving.

  39. dittman

    This one is still clunky as all get out, but I wanted to get the habit back after two days off. It’s Medea as Earth Mother. 😉
    On Moving Day’s Eve

    It’s moving day inside
    but I am out
    Face down in
    my beautiful loamy earth
    In the garden are my delicate plants

    Their names were strange and warmly exotic
    to my mouth as I ordered them
    from Shepard’s Seeds


    My grandmother clucked her tongue
    when she found out how much they cos
    So much for plants that can only live outside for two months
    Such a waste, she complained and I
    could see the smoke from a Pall Mall whisper
    through her receiver and arrive here, 158 miles away.

    I kept the plants in a neighbor’s hothouse until July.
    The tomatillos
    turned yellow and wilted and hung loosely from peat moss and potting soil.
    It took two weeks of love and Bartok
    and KoolAid blue Miracle Gro to bring them back.

    I stand up from the embrace of the Earth
    and look at my beautiful children.
    I have raised them and soon
    will leave them but refuse to leave them for the hands of others.
    Brushing dirt from my chest, I walk to the shed.

    The tools glow ghostly here at night.
    Saws and trowels speaking their secret destructive language.
    Here, beside my bicycle
    is the old hand held scythe taken from
    my grandfather’s barn after his death,
    because I liked the look of it.

    Without pause and with no discretion of time.
    I walk back to the garden
    and like a mother, like a god,
    cut them down where they grow.

    The smell of dead fruit cuts through my nose and fills the air.
    Inside the boxes hum with the anticipation of tomorrow.

  40. Walter J Wojtanik


    Here’s how it will go…

    The clock will crow,
    the horns and noise makers
    will shake, rattle and roll
    and I will have settled into a simple
    “celebration” for the new year.
    Here, all will be quiet and still.
    My oldest girl and my daughter bride
    will call to extend their New Year wishes.
    We’ll have eaten our pickled fishes
    (a good luck endeavor
    I’ve never understood), but
    it is good my wife and I
    will still keep to these traditions.

    Speaking of which, this is
    the way the year begins every time.
    I am on the recliner in
    Twilight Zone Marathon overload,
    and the cold has her bundled
    on the couch deep in slumber.
    The ball falls as the countdown
    resounds. The calendar flips
    and it’s a blip on our radar…

    We will be set to begin all over.
    A new day. A fresh start.
    Our hearts set for another
    quiet morning in a new light.
    The nest truly empty save for
    two spring chicken wannabes anew!

  41. Walter J Wojtanik


    Build a bridge out to where it reaches
    to every corner of the world.
    Make every day a day that teaches
    to build a bridge out to where it reaches
    every man, woman and child. It beseeches
    to let love’s banner be unfurled.
    Every day, build a bridge out to where it reaches
    to every corner of the world.

    1. De Jackson

      One Day

      To every corner of the world
      we’ll hum a peaceful little tune.
      With happy hearts and wings unfurled,
      in every corner of the world
      we’ll spread some love and share a word.
      (After all, we all live under one moon.)
      To every corner of the world
      we’ll hum a peaceful little tune.

      1. Walter J Wojtanik


        We’ll hum a peaceful little tune,
        a Finnegan for our head.
        We can whistle ‘neath the moon,
        or we’ll hum a peaceful little tune.
        The joy of song will fill the room
        or we can whistle it instead.
        We’ll hum a peaceful little tune,
        a Finnegan for our head.

        1. De Jackson

          Love the Day Away

          A Finnegan for our heads,
          a rainbow for our souls.
          To drive away the dread,
          a Finnegan for our heads.
          A smile just before bed,
          a piece of hope to hold.
          A Finnegan for our heads,
          a rainbow for our souls.

  42. Walter J Wojtanik


    Christmas Day approaches quick,
    I can hardly wait.
    Still, the nice list grows so thick,
    and I think that’s great.

    Almost time for my big ride,
    in this Christmas cause,
    with my sack of toys in stride,
    I am Santa Claus!

    Reindeer chomping at the bit,
    packages prepared,
    naughty ones are having fits
    they’re a little scared.

    ‘Tis the season to believe,
    youthful hearts take pause,
    counting down to Christmas Eve,
    I am Santa Claus!


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