2017 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 25

For today’s prompt, write a remix poem. I love how music artists will remix each other’s (and their own) songs. Do that today with one of your poems. For the chapbook challenge, try remixing one of your poems from earlier in the month.


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Here’s my attempt at a Remix Poem:

“& on repeat”

& she builds the tallest tower
before he knocks the tower down
because he wants to show power
over her & her new tower
as she celebrates the hour
after knocking his tower down
& she builds the tallest tower
before he knocks her tower down


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 remixed his day 21 poem about the constant struggle between a brother and a sister and building blocks.

Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.


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134 thoughts on “2017 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 25

    1. ingridbruck

      Remix. Day 25

      Sunlight bleaches the wicker chair,
      leaving strange patterns on the floor.
      light rays investigate the softness
      of her hair,
      hoping to carry away
      some of the sweet fragrance.
      her eyes rest on mine
      probing gently
      I feel a question answered.
      she smiles briefly
      before closing her eyes
      falling asleep
      leaving only her warm breath
      a tropical breeze across my chest. ©”

      Michael Peck

  1. JRSimmang


    What played that first sunrise?
    I would like to think,
    that which I am not accustomed to normally,
    that it was something from

    Knowing better,
    I’d assume
    it was nothing
    but the subtle sound
    of wind through trees,
    a bribery of birds and
    scores of softness.

    How the orchestra
    has died.

    the mission of the world
    is to
    keep us awake,
    requiring more of our attention
    than we have skin.

    it would not be Liszt,
    but a
    disruption of alchemy.

    How I long for the strings and brass.
    How I long for the hints of silence.

    -JR Simmang

  2. cobanionsmith

    So Far, an Erasure

    an escape hatch
    she doesn’t ask who are you
    he won’t stay
    as mothers have proven
    he emerged

    don’t give up on what you made
    decisions and grit
    full stop

    if death’s
    or love’s inexorable pull
    fall ever into
    the world
    I shouldn’t say
    I hate
    my matter of lack

    a constant
    coming up
    these words

    Courtney O’Banion Smith

    (Each line is a single line from each poem I’ve written and posted on this blog during this month’s challenge and altered like a blackout poem.)

  3. Janet Rice Carnahan


    Diamonds in the rough
    Clearly tough stuff
    Children trying to conform
    Being stil within the norm
    Sadness and sorrow
    Avoiding tomorrow
    Holding a person back
    Energy they lack
    A heavily clouded sky
    No idea why
    Depression, repression,
    Suppression, oppression
    All serve as an impetus
    Positive changes for us
    Starts to hum
    And does come
    Through the brilliance
    Maybe last-minute punts
    Through truth
    Found in youth
    Because what is ultimately
    Most subtly
    Golden and good
    Always arrives and should
    Always comes shining through
    Because it is always due
    Quite frankly, it is what we do

  4. Valkyri


    your hopes and fears
    your failures and dreams
    your knowledge and wisdom –
    share with each other

    find truths in others
    for in their reflections
    you will see yourself…
    this is what it
    means to be alive

    each other our world

  5. AFPrice

    Abundance or Something

    it was an abundance kind of day
    good for nothing
    filled with accomplishment – smiles
    in people
    talks with friends and strains of music
    no such thing
    a mellow – busy day

    it was a clicking kind of day
    good for nothing
    moving fluidly from one thing to the next
    in things
    find what was lost – lose what doesn’t matter
    in some countries
    a blessed – glowing day
    not a valid concept

    what made it so?
    can I order another day just like it
    take three steps forward
    touch the floor
    is good
    click my heels once
    for something
    for an abundant day

    (Mix of #18 and #19)

  6. Connie Peters

    One More to Go

    So far I’ve traveled to forty-nine states
    All but Hawaii left to discover
    I’m glad to say we have reserved the dates
    I’ll go with sisters, but not my lover
    And my daughter, too, but not her brother
    We will swim at the beach at Waikiki
    There will be so much to do and to see
    Touring and luaus will be so thrilling
    I might even buy a ukulele
    I sure do hope that the Lord is willing

    Zero to Go

    At last, I’ve traveled to all fifty states
    Lovely Hawaii, last to discover
    We went in October, those reserved dates
    I with my sisters, but not my lover
    And my daughter, too, but not her brother
    We all swam at the beach at Waikiki
    There was so much to do, enjoy, and see
    Touring and luaus were all so thrilling
    And I even bought a ukulele
    I am so glad that the Lord was willing

    1. ingridbruck

      Rise & Fall
      Remix of Day 21: Disposable People

      We’ve let machines displace dreams,
      we forget we once burrowed underground like moles seeking treasure.

      The first men studied animals and learned from them.
      Until humans invented machines.

      We lost connection with living earth
      once industry did our work for us.

      We lost reverence for nature
      once no work was left for people to do.

      We let machines deconstruct and flatten mountains,
      forget we once only aspired skyward to fly like birds we wanted to copy.

      The oceans are dying,
      we forget we once swam free over the seas like fish we netted,

      When no clean air is left to breathe, it won’t matter.
      Once machines have replaced humans, they don’t need it.

  7. Bruce Niedt

    This is a remix of two sonnets I wrote this month: “Clearing the Air” (Day 1) and “Stranger Universe” (Day 15). I interweaved lines from both poems, with only a few minor changes. It came out a little more surreal than the two original poems.

    Stranger Air

    A stranger universe could not be made –
    the sun rolls up to dominate the sky,
    to catch the particles that never fade –
    my rough escape, acknowledged with a sigh.
    Beneath my feet, the pebbles underscore
    that everything’s a cycle, taking forms.
    I’ll limber up and briskly walk the shore.
    Li Po or Charlemagne walked out in storms –
    The same rain soaked them too. And then it hits,
    the rain that pelts my head. They say that when
    these molecules and subatomic bits
    break down, we also breathe the oxygen.
    I disagree, beneath a windblown pine,
    and like the wind, I gently ring the chime.

  8. Melanie

    2nd and 15th – Remix – Disguise and Stranger

    Strange egg in my nest
    You weren’t there yesterday
    In every way you look like the others
    But there’s no out-of-my-bum vibe
    You smell of cuckoo
    I will love you anyway
    And I’ll name you “Fred”

  9. KM


    Are there reasons to be hopeful? The countdown on the self-destruct has sped up. We’re expecting the warning alarm any day. Tonight, after the ocean went quiet and all the music stopped in Helsinki, we listened for the siren in the distance. We listened between the worried mutterings of the people, and through the optimistic ‘Eureka!’ of someone who thought he’d figured out how to bring hope back. “You’re not listening hard enough,” he said, “or you’ve forgotten how to do it right. Just put your ear here.” And he held a purring cat to a microphone. Those magic vibrations, right in the 20 to 140 Hz range. Reminding us there’s comfort, power in the smallest of affections.

    * a “remix” of my Day 5 self-destruct poem

    – Kim Mannix

  10. Earl Parsons

    Going, Going, Gone (Remix)

    They packed for a week
    Three suitcases or more
    Loaded up the Escape
    And locked the front door
    Gassed up at the corner
    Headed West on I-10
    They’d waited so long for
    This vacation to begin
    No plans had been made
    They’d reserve on the run
    The last time they made plans
    It spoiled all the fun
    They drove in the sunlight
    Rested at roadside parks
    Ate where they wanted to
    And bedded down after dark
    The road took them places
    Some new and some old
    Some fun and some not
    Some warm and some cold
    But no matter the place
    They really didn’t care
    ‘Cause they were together
    Here, there, and everywhere
    The miles and days passed
    The week turned to weeks
    So much world to explore
    New adventures to seek
    At one point temptation
    Took a whole new face on
    With very little persuasion
    They’d be going, going, gone

  11. tripoet

    Remix memories #19 & #20 jo

    Summer day
    Whistle summons me home
    Dad stands at porch door
    Extending a spoon
    Just try it
    What is it?
    A taste of liquor from the monks
    I think,
    Poor Dad
    Desperate for anyone,
    Even me,
    To share this experience!

  12. tunesmiff

    G. Smith
    Shaping eAch line, word by word,
    Searching for The perfect rhyme,
    For the magic subtly heaRd.
    ShapIng each line, word by word,
    Steering clear Of the absurd;
    Looking for the beat, the time,
    Shaping Each line, word by word
    Searching for the perfecT rhyme.
    (A remix of an unused response to the 11/21 2-fer-Tuesday prompt)

  13. Walter J Wojtanik


    I have two friends
    once connected
    and now only one is connected.

    I’ve protected my heart
    for too long. The attraction
    is strong. One longs

    to engage in word pong,
    The other had a wrong sense
    of what we needed.

    Indeed, I heed to use my words,
    one for my friend and one for the birds.

    Day 10: Going Somewhere – from HEADING TO HENDERSON

  14. Sara McNulty

    New York City Redone

    This city’s skyline shines in blue and white,
    a perfect blend of lights for romance.
    Arm in arm, couples gather ’round
    to watch skaters glide on ice.
    They whirl in figure eights,
    as people await
    the grand lighting
    of blue spruce

  15. tunesmiff

    (REMIX – for ” PICK of the LITTER”)
    G. Smith
    Looking back just ten short years,
    I struggled for each line;
    Funny how the muse appears.

    I wrestled worries, wrangled fears,
    And feelings I could not define.
    Looking back just ten short years,

    Few sparks whispered in my ears;
    Nothing gave me any sign.
    Funny how the muse appears.

    When suddenly the darkness clears,
    Through no effort solely mine.
    Looking back just ten short years,

    I see when nothing interferes,
    I see when pen and passion entwine.
    Funny how the muse appears,

    With the music of the spheres,
    Changing vinegar to wine.
    Looking back just ten short years;
    Funny how the muse appears.

  16. MET

    Look to the wonders….

    The sun, a star
    The moon, a mirror,
    The earth moves around one,
    While the other moves around the earth.
    We humans need all three…
    The earth is our home…
    The sun gives us light…
    The moon feeds our souls.

    The earth
    Has seas, deserts, forests and
    Prairies, tundra, ice caps, mountains,
    Rocks and plates that move, but
    We do not see.

    The mirror moon
    Has light born of the sun…
    It pulls the waves of the seas,
    And pulls the hearts and minds
    Of those who live on earth…
    The moonlight sonata plays;
    My soul takes me to a hillside.
    The moon moves; my soul breaths deep…
    Romantic, mystic, and
    The stuff that poets write.

    The sun
    Is hot, electric, and
    Sends us light.
    It is the practical side;
    It is what we need, but
    We want the moon.

    Walks I take in the sunlight
    Have purpose and a goal.
    Walks I take in the moonlight
    Is a walk into the mystical unknown realm
    Filled with night creatures, and
    Matter which created the Moonlight Sonata.
    It is the wonder, and what a piece of work it is.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 16, 2017
    Rewrote November 25, 2017

      1. MET

        one of my favorite pieces of music…and I really cut out reworked what was left…

        Thank you… maybe I work in Rhapsody in Blue somewhere which to me is the most perfect piece of music written or Bolero which is interesting

  17. SarahLeaSales

    The Town that Cried Atonement

    She lived in this stranger world
    where a life, in 7 days,
    ended not with a day of rest,
    but in an atonement day.

    Everything would be closed,
    and everyone in the town of Cantonement
    would meet at the Universal Church,
    where the newest child sacrifice
    would be made—
    for all babies were born into sin,
    but the unborn were worshipped
    as little angels.

    For they saw this as not only saving their souls,
    but saving the planet,
    their stem cells saving
    those who saved the planet.

    These little beings had no voice,
    but were the property
    of the vessels in which they gestated.

    But then Vera Donna
    chose to be selfish, they said,
    and retain her property rights—
    so that her property
    would grow,
    and perhaps yield more
    after its own kind
    after her kind—
    the closest thing to
    on earth.

    And when she told them the story
    of That Final Atonement,
    there was joy in the limitless grace
    that released this town
    from these bloody offerings,
    reminiscent Old Testament times.

  18. lsteadly

    Name Shift (a remix from my Day 2’s poem into a Cyrch a chwta poem)

    If I were to change my name
    could I shed all of the shame
    that twists my soul, makes me blame
    myself for having no aim
    or always walking the same
    road, never feeding the flame-
    could I instead hope to be
    a new me, renamed, unframed?

  19. PowerUnit

    They sailed from Halifax packed into targets
    to save their own people, the forefathers not laid to rest
    the starving lands, the king of the seas an ocean prison
    kindreds and sons of the steadfast ones
    standing firm, a steadfastness not enough
    the will of a nation enthusiastic for relief
    resolute ovations, face to face with the enemy
    loyalty to the crown, loyalty to freedom
    kneeling to the barbarians with a sword in his fist
    refusing to go down, never yielding will
    standing tall under falling steeples
    to relieve the glorious term of defense
    and prepare to march on continental earth

  20. Janet Rice Carnahan


    A taste of good fortune
    Ongoing exposing
    Without it
    A loveless sonnet
    See beyond
    Underneath it all
    Or good for nothing
    Not always returned
    A reliable response
    Deconstruct and create
    Construct a new day
    Abundant lessons learned
    Words to live by
    I’ll always remember

  21. cbwentworth

    a dim sunset
    the sound of change
    urban sprawl

    cobbled streets
    brace for rain
    Grafton Street

    horns howl
    buskers play
    to glowing brake lights

    and pub lights
    the sound of rain

    – – –

    Remixed from 11/13/17 poems (city):

    coyotes howl
    at brake lights and horns
    urban sprawl

    barely dry
    brace for more rain

    buskers play
    the sound of change
    Grafton Street

    a dim sunset
    darkens cobbled streets
    pub lights glow

  22. tripoet


    There is a saying that goes something like this: #24

    How we teach our sons, #19

    if we could say just what we meant to say is, #17

    “The angels will protect each step you take #1

    so explore and keep on exploring throughout your life.” #24

  23. Sally Jadlow

    What I Hope You’ve Learned

    Remake of What I Learned on 11/20/17

    Granddaughter dear,
    as I send you off to California
    from Kansas,
    I hope you’ve learned,
    not to forget your roots,
    whose you are,
    and to keep the world
    from pressing you
    into its mold.

    To show kindness to others,
    but also, to draw boundaries,
    keep good accounts,
    and remember the way home.

  24. thunk2much

    Meet me at the Scarecrow Saloon
    (Emerald City remix)

    If you look you can find me
    at the Scarecrow Saloon
    where they still play the blues
    and you can’t see the moon
    I’m drinking and hoping
    to dissolve in a puddle,
    stupid girl, stupid shoes,
    that ridiculous muddle
    left me hiding my skin
    and surrounded by junkies
    but I have to survive
    to look after my monkeys

  25. robinamelia

    Remix (from a number of the month’s poems, with some additions).

    Thanksgiving Battle

    Ready to split, I’m not optimistic.
    Madness replicates in variant forms.
    Sense leaks from words like a meteor’s tail.

    In an instant, the day was spoiled,
    my rage uncontrollable.

    Ready to split, I’m not optimistic.
    Though we insulate with potatoes.
    Dress ourselves in citrus peels.

    Ten minutes of destruction—
    he could have stopped it. I could have.

    Madness replicates in variant forms.
    This is Zeno’s paradox: keep cutting the distance
    in half and you’ll never get to the finish line:

    Joy drained away, the shining clean house
    might as well have been rubble.

    Sense leaks from words like a meteor’s tail.
    Make a scene if no one is paying attention.
    Sleep when you can’t fight any longer.

  26. MichelleMcEwen

    (After Ntozake Shange)

    Mucho beaucoup blues and never enough you. I
    buy mucho beaucoup fruit to replace you— survive
    on the skin, on the juice, on
    the pulp too. Bite chew suck swallow— intimacy
    on-the-go. Nothin like you, tho, although mango and
    pineapple come close— tide me over until tomorrow.

    *This is a remix of the “abundant” prompt poem from day 19. I remixed it using the golden shovel poetic form.

  27. headintheclouds87

    Reality (Remixed)

    I live life on shuffle
    With no set order
    To choice or action,
    Seeking a shake-up
    Of the same old songs –
    An exciting remix
    Of an overplayed routine –
    I scan through my selection
    To prepare a new playlist
    Pleasing to my peculiarity,
    Far removed from reality.
    I wish to move like the music,
    Floating through life mysteriously
    Light-headed and fancy-free.

  28. MET

    World Wood Web

    The forest has a secret life
    Beneath the earth’s surface.
    Trees send messages to their kin
    Via the fungus telegraph system.
    They have done this since the beginning.
    Scientists were excited
    At a discovery the old trees knew existed.
    The elder trees tell the young,
    “Save the water back;
    Do not be too greedy;
    You will need it later.”
    The young frivolous trees
    Will learn the hard way, but
    The elders will preserve the moisture
    To quench the thirst of all.

    I saw trees clear cut
    Along a road I often drive.
    There a week ago
    A forest so like my own.
    Trees bulldozed and pushed to the side…
    I wonder what message the elders sent…
    As they saw their own kind die.
    I wondered about their panic and
    Their despair of the dying forest.
    I wondered again,
    If young and old trees cry.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 8, 2017
    Rewrote November 25, 2017

    1. bmorrison9

      Oh, yes! It happened here too, just in the last couple of weeks, unexpected and shocking. I thought first of the homes exposed to the highway, but second–like you–of the cries on the trees’ telegraph. You capture the helpless sorrow and despair.

      1. MET

        There is a wonderful nonfiction book “The Hidden Life of Trees” which answered some of my questions… and the World Wood Web was discovered in 1995 and fungi carries messages between the trees of the same family.

  29. De Jackson

    Poem Re:Mix

    This poem is a redux,
    all things
    reworked and
    twerked into some new

    She’s the be
    -ning, all scotch
    (guarded) and rum
    -bled heart. She’ll start
    with farthings, starlings,
        and smoke.

    She’s a crum
    -bling mask of isosceles breeze,
    cobbled wordstone syllables
    headed for nothing
    (some podunk place just north
                                           of here.)

    She’s a rebel, a scoundrel,
    a schizophrenic strophe spondee
    sea-swooner who’d sooner
    ditch the shoes
    and let her hair down
    than drown in her own un
    -ambic sprite, and sparkle.

    She’s a preamble sigh,
    a breath of ample song,
    a wallflower shrinking violet
    cocooned in moon and longing
    for the slightest posse
    -bility of plowing inky crow
    through snow.

    She’s a Poe
    -umm. Telltale heart. Drink
    of Blue, unquiet start. Once
    bitten, twice shy and
    abundant in both

    Remixed from all of ’em.

  30. taylor graham

    from day 1


    Wind is the desire that blows across
    Native bedrock mortars, ages ago.
    A fall of acorns for the wind to toss –
    wind is the desire that blows across
    lovers holding hands, sensing coming loss,
    the grinding work of hands as seasons flow.
    Wind is the desire that blows across
    Native bedrock mortars ages ago.

  31. ReathaThomasOakley

    Remix from Day 11 Unlucky

    Hunkered over
    tables in casinos
    on streets Wild Bill
    once walked, free
    drinks at hand,
    hunched on stools,
    oxygen in tow,
    temporary citizens,
    some older than I,
    trust luck to bring
    life to their eyes.

  32. De Jackson

    This Is Just {Remixed} To Say

    There were never
    any plums
    in that damn

    in the
    first place to save
    for breakfast
    or otherwise

    Forgive me
    but you forgot
    to put them
    on the list

    Remixed from Day 17, and of course, William Carlos Williams’ original.

  33. tripoet

    A Sonnet Touches His Pen

    He knew to start every day (Day 24)
    with a sonnet touching his pen (Day 14)
    ready to celebrate (Day 1)
    the ways to enter a daydream (Day 22)

  34. Anthony94

    Hawk Remix (from the original /But the Hawk/)

    Pink fills inversions
    the angled arms of naked
    trees, the corners of pallets
    stacked from their use as
    cantaloupe beds, the cedar
    arms of the glider rocked
    by unseen hand.

    Today was a bet on twenty five
    hawks for the going, the last
    daringly perched above the traffic
    on 31st street in the heart of town,
    then twenty six coming home in
    growing dusk, their fluffed feathers
    almost blending with the fading
    light of a November sky.

    News of sales rumbled from every
    venue, radio, TV, billboard, sidewalk
    but together with the abundant deer
    we ignored it all, breathed in the wet
    of creek and river rising into mist,
    the dust of soybeans drifting from the
    grinding gears of the combines.

    I’ve learned hawks here nest in January,
    do the penguin thing in the bitter cold high
    up in trees above the slough ditches, or
    within the safer confines of the wildlife refuge,
    But again, if no one sees them, are they there?

  35. MET

    Today is Mine
    (Previously New Day)

    Today is mine…
    I used to sing a song
    From a musical about
    Throwing away the day
    That was before me
    Nine times out of ten, and
    I did, and did not know it.

    Today is mine…
    I got up in denial…
    Looking in the mirror
    I lied…
    As I kept getting
    A whiter shade of pale…
    Each breath I took
    Brought me life
    Each breath I took
    I bled, and took my life
    Until all I had
    Was counted as two point eight.
    That day was also mine
    The day they raced blood
    Back into me
    While each breath
    I took I died.

    Today is mine
    Since that day I almost died,
    I wake up knowing
    That this is a day I almost
    Did not have, and
    As a gift…
    I can’t very well throw the day
    Away anymore;
    Can I?

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 1, 2017
    Rewrote November 25, 2017

    The song is from Goodbye Mr. Chips… my voice teacher had me sing lots of songs from Musicals… the song is short and is called Today

    “Today is mine
    What shall I do with it
    Throw it way
    That’s what I do with it
    Nine Times out of ten

    The sun will shine
    Am I a friend of it
    You wouldn’t say
    I was a friend of it
    Nine Times out of Ten
    What shall I do with Today?”

    1. MET

      I had a hiatal hernia that was up in my diaphragm and each time I breathed … I bled… The doctors were all surprised when they found out my problem…they treated it with meds for a year and then I had surgery to remove…thus the ugly scar that I wear now, but I am alive.

      1. MET

        thank you…and I knew it had to be reworked…something was missing…the others I reworked today… I removed much… but this one had to have some removed but had more to be added… I am very pleased with the outcome…

  36. De Jackson

    Triolet Remix

    I’m truly not a big man, to be sure
    (no prelude to remember, nor “blank” day to build.)
    Throw it all in a poem-bucket, and one thing’s pure:
    I’m truly not a big man, to be sure.
    But poem-soup has its own special allure,
    so come on over and drink your fill.
    I’m truly not a big man, to be sure
    (no prelude to remember, nor “blank” day to build.)

    1. Walter J Wojtanik


      There’s no prelude to remember, nor “blank” day to build.
      I will not self-destruct or disrespect my city.
      There is no other poetry blog that will be shilled.
      No prelude to remember, nor “blank” day to build.
      I do not dare to be going somewhere, I’d be chilled
      to the bone, it won’t be pretty!
      There’s no prelude to remember, nor “blank” day to build.
      I will not self-destruct or disrespect my city.

      1. De Jackson

        Poetic Rash

        I will not self-destruct or disrespect my city
        or wonder how I’m remembered, or forget to learn.
        I’ll be good for nothing, and abundant in this ditty,
        but I will not self-destruct or disrespect my city.
        I’ll say what I mean; get down to the nitty-gritty,
        when stranger things have all been spurned.
        I will not self-destruct or disrespect my city
        or wonder how I’m remembered, or forget to learn.

        1. Walter J Wojtanik


          Oh, how I wonder if I’m remembered, or I forgot to learn.
          When I’m lost in verse, it’s never worst than this.
          it’s a festering itch that needs a scratch as I discern,
          Oh, how I wonder if I’m remembered, or I forgot to learn.
          But it needs attention, it’s starting to burn
          and I yearn for relief, a moment of bliss.
          Oh, how I wonder if I’m remembered, or I forgot to learn.
          When I’m lost in verse, it’s never worst than this.

          1. De Jackson

            Redux Shun

            When I’m lost in verse, it’s never worse than this.
            (But all praise the triangles, and the disguises.)
            When we’re remixed here, in our sacred bliss
            I’m lost in verse, and it’s never worse than this.
            With a flick of our pens and a twist of the wrist,
            we’ll take our chances, and surprises.
            When I’m lost in verse, it’s never worse than this.
            (But all praise the triangles, and the disguises.)

  37. taylor graham

    from day 14


    There was that fly in the workshop room
    only I could see, but how it flicked
    and twicked the corner of an eye and, soon,
    the very words we wrote out loud. A tick –
    a dash – it turned bright sun to gloom.

    A pause – then buzz and then a somersault
    a shot of iridescent wings just to
    send a verse off-kilter – the fly’s fault –
    inspiration transformed to a stew –
    bellringer flat or sharp. Just let it fall.

    Let silence. Bug is how to wreck “goodbye” –
    sunstruck oak leaves falling dull to dust.
    The insect buzz-saw murders rhyme.
    Fly turns an autumn breeze to rot and rust.
    What we can’t swat we leave. It’s time.

  38. annell

    This is from day two.

    Mirror, Mirror on the Wall II
    Mirror, mirror on the wall
    Ask the mirror who is fairest
    Mirror, mirror who am i…
    Am I someone else

    Young not old
    Walked through fire
    Living days
    Tied in a bow
    Wrapped in colorful paper

    The mirror gestures
    You are who you are
    Do you think you can step out of you
    Be someone else
    All the others are taken


    mirror, mirror on the wall      the wicked stepmother     began each day

    asking the mirror if she was the fairest    and today      i consult the mirror

    mirror, mirror who am i…     really       am i who i have always been

    are am i someone else     or am i a different me     tall and slim

    young not old    a woman     or still a girl

    who has walked through fire     broken and repaired     dying slowly

    living days     as if they were gifts     wrapped in colorful paper

    tied with a bow     that cannot be bought      a treasure given

    the mirror gestures…     chuckles     it is not a question of importance

    you are who you are     no questions asked      non answered

    do you think you can step out of you     become someone else     after all

    all the others have been taken     you are perfectly you     your wishes granted

    November 2, 2017

  39. Kiri

    First Day Jitters (Writer’s Block Party Mix) (Remixing PAD Day 1 “A New Day Poem”)

    Three times I muttered resolution
    wrote transcripted silence ineffectively
    until nothing seemed notable
    poetically defeated by tomorrow and tomorrow
    by paper and keystrokes both
    broken and tomorrow is another day.

  40. bmorrison9

    My Old Cat (remix)

    My old cat pees
    more than any cat
    I’ve ever known,
    a seven-pound factory
    for used heavy litter.

    This old girl
    has found her spot
    in the new house:
    lying on the heat register,
    hot sun on her back.

    She finds her way
    onto my lap while I type,
    into my bed at night,
    around my ankles
    at mealtime.

    While I sit and center,
    try to tame the chaos,
    and be quite simply
    here, now,
    in my own body.

  41. Eileen S

    Black Friday

    There are those in the world who don’t have enough to eat while most people in our country have plenty. We run out on the day after Thanksgiving, a day that merchandizers call Black Friday for something we don’t need and complain that someone else got to the store first and we lost out. The day before we were gathering with families and friends hopefully being thankful for our many blessings. I wonder if those who are dashing through the mall even understand what Thanksgiving means.

    Original poem–Abundance November 19

  42. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    A New Day – The Remix (original from 11/1/17)

    Silence screamed –
    Sounds swirling –
    El Sol painted
    Freedom’s colors
    Across the wall –

    Fear was banished
    To a corner –
    Dark, forgotten –

    Possibility perfumed
    A new day –
    A new country –
    A new life.

  43. PressOn


    The little things —
    the bread, the wine, the Latin phrase —
    the little things
    combine to give the Mass broad wings
    that salve the heart and nurture days.
    My soul is never loath to praise
    the little things.

    NB: rondelet remix of triolet submitted on 12 November

  44. Pat Walsh

    Triangular: the Remix
    by Patrick J. Walsh

    [a remix of my post from 11/03]

    a difference
    of opinion
    with a multiple
    of four

    would seem
    a likely way
    to stay away
    from getting sore

    but argument
    from which
    basic logic
    anger elides

    just ends up
    one more way
    of choosing
    up sides

  45. Jezzie


    My patient neighbour
    who creeps quietly about
    so my sensitive dog won’t bark
    although he blocks my gateway to the car park

    My lovely daughter
    who comes here to help me out
    and takes my dog for a walk
    but how I wish I could get a word in when we talk

    Her handy brother
    whose strength I can’t do without,
    and thanks to him my things work
    but his untidiness, boy how that does irk

    My late dear mother
    whom I take after, no doubt,
    and to whom I still daily chat
    despite how we used to argue like dog and cat


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