2017 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 27

It’s funny how much difference one little letter can make in a poetry prompt. For instance, take day 9’s “(blank) of (blank)” prompt. What if we made just one small adjustment?

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) Of (blank),” replace the blanks with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Gangster of Love,” “Lee of the Stone,” “Eclipse of the Moon,” and my personal favorite “Kicker of Elves.”

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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.

This e-book covers more than 40 poetic forms and shares examples to illustrate how each form works.

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

Click to continue.

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Here’s my attempt at a Blank Of Blank Poem:

“Maker of Prompts”

They don’t always come
as easy as the poems–

just as building a trampoline
is more complicated than jumping–

and yet, there’s a satisfaction
in finding a point of discovery

that spreads in a multitude
of destinations yet to be written.

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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 writing poems, of course, but he also loves seeing what poets do with his prompts–often taking them in directions he never anticipated.

Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.

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152 thoughts on “2017 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 27

  1. Walter J Wojtanik

    PIT OF MISERY

    The choice was yours to make
    but it has taken you too long.
    And apparently your choice was wrong.
    So now you’re punished fully,
    you’re banished and you’re sullied.
    Be glad they didn’t slap you silly.
    Off to the pit with you now.
    Dilly! Dilly!

  2. Jane Shlensky

    Deck of Cards

    I think we get a deck of cards at birth;
    not just a hand, we get all fifty-two,
    and then we’re placed somewhere upon the earth
    and asked to grow up, play as we must do.

    That’s why a baby can exert a will,
    amazing, stubborn—how can we explain?—
    to do and be, what we did not instill,
    and we can hear cards shuffled once again.

    Across the years, I’ve played some winning hands
    or learned to lose with grace and dignity.
    I like to think I’ve grown to understand
    how quickly luck can change, how easily.

    Perhaps I always got my just rewards.
    I didn’t know that you were in my cards.

  3. tunesmiff

    LIFE OF THE PARTY
    (BUT THE DEATH OF ME)
    G. Smith (BMI)
    :=:≠:=:
    I saw you across the room last night,
    The music was loud and the neon was bright.
    Hanging on your new love’s arm,
    Big and strong and full of charm.

    You were the,
    Life of the party,
    But the,
    Death of me;
    Wearing my heartache right there on my sleeve.
    I guess you hide it better, and that’s the way it’ll be;
    You’re the,
    Life of the party,
    But the long, slow death of me.

    I sat in the corner, a beer in my hand,
    Trying not to be that kind of man.
    I looked away every chance that I could,
    But I knew the whole time right where I stood.

    You were the,
    Life of the party,
    But the,
    Death of me;
    Wearing my heartache right there on my sleeve,
    I hope you hide it better, and that’s the way it will be;
    You were the,
    Life of the party,
    But the long, slow death of me.

    The lights went down,
    The music slowed,
    And then it was time,
    For me to go.

    You were the life of the party,
    And the long, slow death of me.

  4. Sara McNulty

    Lover Of Books On A Summer Morning

    On summer morning in backyard breeze, my chair
    calls out to me, as I hold my mug of coffee.
    A bracing black liquid to start my day in fresh air
    where I am serenaded by finches in tree.
    The sun awakens slowly, a lemon hue
    that throws a light across the book I view.
    Imagine lounging all day long, and reading
    to your heart’s content, with only birdsong for company.
    Indulge yourself in a classic or perhaps a mystery.
    How sweet that morning air, and a book that is intriguing.

  5. tunesmiff

    OUT OF THE BOX
    (OUT OF MY MIND)
    G. Smith
    +++:+++
    Out of the box, out of my mind,
    Out of control and excuses;
    No ideas, now it’s a grind.
    Out of the box, out of my mind.
    Take a deep breath, here’s what I find,
    I’ve got to amuse the muses.
    Out of the box, out of my mind,
    Out of control and excuses.

  6. De Jackson

    North of This

    This poem has slid
    just a little too far
    south. She’s got a
    mouth on her, but
    not enough to say.

    Point her true
                      {north}
    ,
    and she’ll tell you
    a thing or two about
    the weight of water,
    the slant of sky.

    Sigh at her, maybe;
    she’ll sing you a tune
    cobbled together of
    dragon scales and rose
    -mary breeze. She’ll
    ask the trees to spill
    their secrets, pine only
    for her. She’ll purr. She’ll
    stir herself sane.

    She’ll do the things she
               knows to do
    until the needle once
    again points
          her true.

    ::

  7. robinamelia

    Museum of Failure

    Welcome to our little enterprise, the museum
    of failures, all forgettable, I assure you, like
    the structure itself: you could walk right past
    it and never realize the entertainment it contains.
    Right here is the wing (no pun intended)
    where we house aircraft that never got off the ground,
    not so much as an inch: such absurd designs.
    Please move quickly past that door
    —cover your ears—or you will hear a voice
    repeating itself, endlessly: it’s a loop, you see,
    of a thought that never untangled itself,
    but just wound around and around
    in circles. No one can make it stop.
    Listening to it has driven some of our patrons
    mad, so come along quickly to more
    diverting entertainments. These were games,
    with cards and dice and all the usual items,
    but no way to determine the goal or winner.
    These were machines that were meant to help us
    communicate, but instead, we fell in love with them
    and soon no one spoke to anyone…
    have you got an object to contribute? We are always
    grateful for donations, though visitors are becoming
    rare. Is there anyone left out there?

  8. MET

    Beginning of Winter

    Autumn foretells
    The coming of winter…
    With cool crisp days-
    The taste of the harvested apples
    That carry the smell of apple blossoms, and
    The taste of summer sun…
    Wrapped up for storage
    Cool and dark for the winter to come.
    Autumn warns
    The coming of winter…
    With cold winds
    Blowing down from the north
    With the smell of ice and snow, and
    Jack frost visits in the night
    Icing windows, and
    Freezing the fields
    Soon to be covered in snow
    When winter finally comes.
    Autumn heralds
    The coming winter
    With clear night skies and
    Stars that dance
    In some ancient distant dance,
    And each day bundle up more…
    Knowing that winter
    Is at her beginning.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 27, 2017

  9. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    Hope of Many

    Gentle
    Light bearer,
    Guardian of dreams.
    You welcome weary wanderers,
    whether returning finally from afar,
    or arriving as pioneers seeking refuge.
    First sight of you often prompts cheers,
    or free-falling tears, much like when family is greeted.
    However,
    like family,
    as years pass,
    those closest to you,
    forget how you nurtured them.
    They forget how you embraced them.
    They forget the bond that connects them –
    each to the other – until, that moment when
    their freedom is threatened, then, they turn to you –
    Gentle
    Light bearer,
    Guardian of dreams.
    Lift high your lantern,
    light the darkened path back
    to freedom and justice for all.
    Forgive our apathy – our inability to see
    how we hurt ourselves when turning our backs
    on those whom you have gathered to your side.

  10. MET

    Light of Darkness

    “In the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.” St. John of the Cross

    Darkness engulfed and
    Flowed crushing the soul,
    And night consumed it.

    Fractured like rocks
    Falling across the land
    I landed.

    Broken shattered glass
    After a thief entered, and
    Stole me.

    The dark night of the soul
    And I was lost
    In the darkness.

    There rolling and tumbling
    A waterfall of joy
    Glimmered through the darkness.

    In the wasteland of my life
    I stood, and
    There I smelled the sweetness

    Of the river of God
    Flowing bright,
    Towards me in the night.

    I stepped into brightness,
    Washed my stained soul, and
    Stepped out into brightness of the day.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 27, 2017

  11. Sally Jadlow

    End of Summer

    Signals shorter days,
    the undressing of trees and shrubs,
    and chilly nights.

    All too soon autumn will end,
    give way to winter winds,
    snowdrifts, and ice-laden streets.

    I long for spring thaw,
    baby buds,
    and colorful flowers, signaling earth’s renewal.

  12. Anthony94

    Breath of Air

    Almost 80/20 nitrogen
    and oxygen that The Hollies
    got right in 1973, discovering
    all that’s needed plus
    some loving of another
    the outward beyond
    the inward the exhale
    beyond the inhale

    I come home after a day
    on the road and think
    I need to catch my breath
    take a breath, breathe,
    just breathe before I
    press the juice of a lime
    onto ice and sip away
    the traffic and noise

    but all the while I’m pulling
    air in and out, inflating lungs,
    oxygenating my entire body
    with what I can’t see or smell
    but can’t live without, in that
    tiny yet momentous action
    somehow having all that I need
    in order to love you.

  13. JRSimmang

    THE BLISS OF IGNORANCE

    People clung to their curtains,
    agape at the crumbling sky,
    aware that the night would be
    rent open, and through the cracks
    annihilation would seep.

    We’d weep at the sounds on the radio,
    turn ourselves inside out at the
    voices telling us

    “’This isn’t a war.
    “It never was a war,
    any more than there’s war between
    man and ants.’”

    We found the drastic calamity
    was the realization that we,
    for all our pomp,
    were the ants.

    I’d like to say that we’ve
    learned in the decades since,
    but
    I still cling to the curtains
    when the sun settles
    and the moonhowlers
    scratch upon the night sky.

    Am I different?

    -JR Simmang

  14. Janet Rice Carnahan

    DREAMER OF DREAMS

    Anything beautiful
    Makes my life full
    Avoiding what’s dull

    Anything white
    I fill with delight
    Don’t like dark of night

    Adore young children
    How they play, create and run
    Hate to clean up when they’re done

    Creating a lovely room
    So, enjoy a flower in bloom
    Please take away any doom

    Wonderful to make a great meal
    Love it when life allows me to heal
    Don’t appreciate any bad deal

    Just let me dream of all that’s good
    Maybe it will happen, at least it should
    Ok, ok, knock on wood!

    Because if I just focus on reality
    Sadness can easily overwhelm me
    In joyful imagining, I’d rather be

    So, go away dinner dishes
    Leave me to my glorious wishes
    I’d rather watch the colorful fishes

    I’ll get to the duties and my roles
    I know I must attend to my goals
    Don’t puncture any imaginary holes

    I know life needs to be a balance
    Even though I’ll dream, every chance
    For now, in the moonlight, just let me dance.

  15. thunk2much

    Ship of fools
    (Grateful Dead golden shovel using Robert Hunter’s lyrics)

    sometimes you struggle and sometimes you don’t
    sometimes you borrow and sometimes you lend
    either way, your happiness depends on your
    gentle willingness to play the hand
    you’re dealt and when in doubt, to
    ignore the call or check and fearlessly raise
    instead, because adventures don’t begin with no
    so it’s time you hoist your own flag
    set sail aboard your own ship atop
    waves of yes, avoiding each maybe or no
    steadily steering yourself and your ship
    far away from the land of
    naysayers and fools

  16. Walter J Wojtanik

    A HARD LUMP OF COAL FOR THE NAUGHTY SOUL

    Good is as good as good can be,
    yet naughty goes down to the bone.
    If you are good you get your desserts,
    but I’ll leave all the bad ones alone.

    Good takes much effort to walk that line,
    and bad is the easier choice.
    You can’t be so good at being that bad,
    so please heed the sound of my voice.

    Brightly wrapped packages tied up with bows,
    are the gifts for the goodness I seek.
    But chunks of bituminous fill your stocking
    for the times your demeanor looks bleak.

    Redemption should come without regret,
    a chance to erase your slate clean.
    Good is as good as good can get,
    but naughty can be a bad scene.

    So, take control and save your soul,
    and if you feel naughty, just pause.
    Goodness pays better than being bad does,
    take it from me, Santa Claus.

  17. Walter J Wojtanik

    THE SOUND OF WIDE-EYED WONDER

    I see you looking,
    sneaking a peek at the man
    up there in the gilded chair.

    You are there hiding,
    deciding whether you should bother
    to go on much further.

    For what it’s worth, here is what I see.
    You are a child taught to be wary of strangers
    and the dangers that could ensue,

    and yet you seem to trust me.
    You see goodness and caring
    as you are daring to come closer.

    Your mother or father or maybe both
    are with you. There is safety in their arms,
    and all the charms of the season

    seem to embrace you as well.
    I can always tell by your eyes, it is the prize
    I seek. There is wonder there, a magic

    that brings a smile to my face, and yours
    guarded and almost hidden as if
    forbidden to show it. But I know it!

    Our eyes meet for a second; a brief eternity.
    And in that while, I sense your smile starting to form
    from a warm feeling within. And then I hear it,

    the anthem of Christmas spirit. A chorus of that
    grin burst from within; a joyful noise that
    every good girl and boy expresses. The sound of joy.

    And then there it is again. I see another looking,
    sneaking a peek at the man in the gilded chair.
    I am there because, I am Santa Claus.

  18. Walter J Wojtanik

    THE SNOWS OF TIME

    Mr. Pellom has a special space.
    A place where time stands still,
    or springs to life. He’s made a life
    of keeping things marching on.
    A small shop in the center of town,
    he is Caribou Corner’s “timesmith”.
    Chronographs and pocket watches,
    swatches for fobs and gobs of timepieces.
    Sundials elicit smiles and aisles
    and aisles of LED watches. No one
    buys many of those, but Pellom chose
    to keep those instead of closing his doors.
    Pellom has hourglasses filled with sand,
    and one special piece that’s been handed
    down through generations of Clauses.
    I currently have my ancient snow clock in
    for a cleaning and minor repairs.
    Every September, I remember so as
    to have it working well deep into December.
    My clock, it never slows and never pauses.
    Thanks to Mr. Pellom, a friend of Santa Claus’!

  19. KM

    27.

    This year it’s complicit, and haven’t we all been? Not crimes — we’re good citizens. Pay our taxes. Don’t steal, or kill, or grab what we shouldn’t. But wrongdoing? Certainly. We’re all guilty. The difference, maybe, is a desire to change, but not so much that we tergiversate because then we’ll all just be in a bluster, spinning in our own indecision. It’s probably wrong to want it all — personal privacy, public exposure. Stripped and flayed. Secrets open like wounds. It’s part of our identity to take comfort in what we know, mistrust what we don’t. But xenophobia? It’s a learned fear. An unreasonable one. And I keep thinking of a word on my daughter’s French spelling test this week: étranger. Stranger. A noun and an adjective. Word of the year in a world I thought I understood, at least en petit peu. But I am guilty too, complicit and complacent. Je ne suis pas d’ici.

    * Saw that Dictionary.com had named “complicit” as the word of the year for 2017, then went back to check previous years, and tried to incorporate them into the poem. Came out clunky, but was fun to try! Here are the words: Change- 2010, Tergiversate – 2011, Bluster – 2012, Privacy – 2013, Exposure – 2014, Identity – 2015, Xenophobia, 2016.

    – Kim Mannix
    http://www.makesmesodigress.com

  20. MichelleMcEwen

    Movers of Mountains

    Mothers be makers of miracles
    Mothers be movers of mountains

    Mothers be weavers of wonder
    Mothers be workers of wile

    Mothers be handlers of heartache
    Mothers be healers of hurting

    Mothers be hunters
    Mothers be gatherers

    Mothers be runners of households
    Mothers be rulers of planets

    Daddies be ruiners of pancakes

  21. tripoet

    Unsure of What To Say

    There are times
    when I want to
    smile, unfiltered
    and just say
    what I really think.
    Before this happens
    I often struggle
    to extract
    the proper words
    that won’t cause
    a loss of breath
    a questioning uncertain
    look, or hurt feelings.
    The bus comes,
    the driver waits
    at the the stop
    for a moment,
    offering me a fair chance,
    before giving up on me.

  22. MET

    String of Pearls

    Ma never owned
    A strand of real pearls;
    Hers were always fake.

    Da never gave her a strand
    For she was the most real
    Person he had ever known.

    He gave her a gold bracelet
    Etched with pretty flowers
    For she was the best gold he had found.

    He brought her an amber necklace
    That glowed against her skin;
    He knew within her glowed a heart of love.

    He brought to her a turquoise pin
    For she loved the earth like him, and
    Together they tried to save it.

    Ma never had a string of pearls
    For a truer person there has never been
    Than she who never owned them.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 27, 2017

      1. MET

        thank you very much… and after her death I gave those three pieces of jewelry to her granddaughter that fit them the most… MA once got in the news for fighting a fighting a power plant in her early 70s

  23. ReathaThomasOakley

    Lamentations of late November

    When wind speed and
    temperatures match, my
    husband declares, we
    should head South, but

    we sold that place last
    year. I watch as early snow
    surrenders its place and
    yellowed grass is exposed.

    Defiant leaves on rose
    bushes we planted close
    to the ground dance to
    howling gale force music.

    Rain is predicted. I
    need more coffee.

  24. De Jackson

    Dance of Lights

    Dancing on the lake like refracted moonbeams,
    the stars hold a cotillion for a rising moon.
    A swirl of wishes, hopes and dreams,
    dancing on the lake like refracted moonbeams,
    these celestial wonders burst at their seams.
    They sparkle with excitement – she’ll be here soon!
    Dancing on the lake like refracted moonbeams,
    the stars hold a cotillion for a rising moon.

    1. Walter J Wojtanik

      FIREFLY BALLET

      The stars hold a cotillion for a rising moon,
      a spotlight that illuminates the night sky.
      Fireflies in tight choreography swoon,
      as the stars hold a cotillion for a rising moon.
      So it is late November as it had been in june,
      as sprites and water fowl rest nearby.
      The stars hold a cotillion for a rising moon,
      a spotlight that illuminates the night sky.

      1. De Jackson

        Plenty of Time

        It’s a spotlight that illuminates the night sky
        as we try to get to each other again.
        The moon’s a flashlight between you and I;
        it’s a spotlight that illuminates the night sky.
        It may not work out, but we’re sure gonna try
        and another eve’s just around the bend.
        It’s a spotlight that illuminates the night sky
        as we try to get to each other again.

        1. Walter J Wojtanik

          NO REPROACH OF DISTANCE

          As we try to get to each other again,
          memories fill my heart and make me miss you
          more. You are the opus to my score, my friend
          and we try to get to each other again.
          So, in this note i will gladly send
          Words deep from my soul, through and through.
          As we try to get to each other again,
          memories fill my heart and make me miss you

          1. De Jackson

            Nona of Love

            Memories fill my heart and make me miss you,
            taken too soon so heaven could smile.
            So many times, the pain is brand new
            when memories fill my heart and make me miss you.
            This world’s got a hole, through and through
            and I wish just sit and talk with you awhile.
            Memories fill my heart and make me miss you,
            taken too soon so heaven could smile.

          2. Walter J Wojtanik

            ONE NONA OF MY OWN

            You were taken too soon so heaven could smile.
            And you shine down upon us with your love.
            Even though you’ve been gone a while,
            you were taken too soon so heaven could smile.
            So many time I’ve wanted to call. I’d dial
            your number hoping you’d answer from above.
            You were taken too soon so heaven could smile.
            And you shine down upon us with your love.

          3. De Jackson

            Mother {of} Moon

            You shine down upon us with your love,
            and sometimes it’s a little cheesy.
            We can always tell what you’re made of,
            when you shine down on us with your love
            from your star-crumbled place above.
            And sometimes lovin’ us ain’t that easy.
            You shine down upon us with your love,
            and sometimes it’s a little cheesy.

  25. MET

    The Keeper of the Trees

    I don’t know when it was
    I became the keeper of the trees-
    Born to it I guess.
    My older brothers sat me on a limb
    When I was three, and
    Taught me how to wrap my bare feet
    Over it to hold myself steady.
    Before long, I was climbing to the top.
    I never saw the danger.

    Maybe it happened when I was four.
    I remember stepping out on a limb high in a tree
    And holding onto nothing except with my toes…
    Walked out into the leaves, and
    I was in love.

    Trees gave me comfort.
    I found strength and answers
    And did not feel alone
    As I often did elsewhere, and sometimes
    They were just fun…
    Like when a fellow I know
    Was afraid to walk amid them in the dark, and
    Once I dropped myself upside down hanging
    On a limb while I said hello to a professor I knew.
    He laughed with me because he knew
    I was just different, and
    Did not judge.

    It was to the trees on my hill
    I went for comfort
    Each time someone I loved died, but
    Seeing people clear cut their forests,
    I knew I could not save them all, but
    While I live I will save these entrusted to me.

    I live in the Wilderwood
    So, named by me…
    And these trees
    In the deep hollow
    Should have no fear of me
    For over time
    I became the keeper of the trees.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 27, 2017

  26. carolemt87

    On the brink of dusk…

    across a moonlight bay I sail
    on this dark side, a criminal
    trespass in the sound of breaking
    surf, where the play of demented
    children hide their power
    each time the wind stiffens
    like the rasp of breathing
    over closed amber
    windows. I feel a touch of scorn
    blown like weeds and a coincidental
    eruption because I realize that white petals
    of smoke do not cry and the drums
    of judgement cannot bandage wounds.

    Carol J Carpenter 2017

  27. JanetRuth

    Gravity of Gravity

    We fly, take nose-dives and survive
    and learn to laugh after the fact
    and oftentimes it slips our minds
    the gravity of the impact
    of yes or no or maybe so
    and none of us should be so bold
    as to ignore what we’re here for
    …far more than simply growing old

    We leap and land on derrieres
    then get back up, brush off the dirt
    We demand more than we deserve
    We have, we hold, we hug, we hurt
    and often wonder at the wonder
    that steals our very breath
    with a mystical, holy hunger
    For we are born for more than death

    We wake and take the day at hand
    in hand and oftentimes forget
    The gravity of gravity
    Its scientific pirouette
    Harbors vast scores of ashes thrust
    Into cold cups of sea and sod
    Where flesh succumbs to dust-to-dust
    But soul always returns to God

  28. rlk67

    Sir Artie of Quillstone

    Sir Artie had a challenge:
    Write every day and night.
    A poem set in perfect prose,
    to sadden or delight.

    A prompt would be provided,
    To chip his writer’s block,
    He couldn’t wait, was super psyched,
    He played his favorite Bach.

    Oh, so relaxed, he let his mind
    be clear of any static,
    and took a breath, picked up his pen,
    his hand on automatic.

    “Let’s see what Mr. Poem-host
    Demands of us today!”
    “Please write about an animal
    that’s found in Paraguay.”

    Artie put his pen down,
    His head between his knees.
    He’d hoped to write a poem
    about love or Spring or trees.

    All right, he’ll pass. Tomorrow
    he’ll know just what to write.
    A prompt so deep he wanted,
    To whet his appetite.

    When waking up the next day,
    He glanced in disbelief.
    “Please write about a parasite
    who suffers massive grief.”

    He decided one more day was all,
    He sat tight in his place.
    “Please choose a Tanzanian tribe
    and write about its grace.”

    Sir Artie moved from Quillstone,
    and settled in Japan.
    He’s now a Sumo wrestler.
    Oh, woe, the fall of man.

  29. annell

    Singer of Sad Songs

    i hum    the notes of the song  &bsp;    play over and over in my head

    the words to the song   &nbspare unknown to me     there is much sadness

    in the world     loss, loneliness, and disease     ageing can bring with it sadness

    often, a loss of choices   &nbsppeople locked away     from family and friends

    loss of freedom     many different forms of prison     sometime we are prisoners

    in our own bodies     no longer can do     what we love

    like a lost pet    we can only sit and wait     for what is to come

    of course, it is death     we are waiting for    the final change

    i have made peace with death     and know her to be kind     releasing everything

    man or beast    from the cage     that held it bound

    November, 27, 2017

  30. dittman

    Saint Gobnait, Woman of the Bees, Addresses the Girls in Oil City Middle School’s 7th Grade Health Class

    The boys are sent away; the lights dimmed.
    The guest with the honey blonde hair rises and speaks low.
    “Girls, bad things happen in life.
    Potential queens are turned into workers.
    A worker’s organs of love dissolve
    to be replaced by a poison sac.
    Winters are rough; food won’t always be available.
    Sickness and invaders arrive; workers give themselves up.

    And love, like a stinger, pulls out your belly,
    but no one heals herself by wounding another.

    The saint finishes. A girl stands unsteadily.
    Her eyes swim; she faints and cracks her head.
    The others gather around and watch the thin blood
    trickle from her brow onto the tile.

  31. taylor graham

    WINTER BLOOM OF BEES

    Mists of November
    in the swale, the hills are gray
    with last summer’s dead
    grasses. Look, coyote-bush
    stands as if powdered with snow.

    Poufs of flower-crystal
    in full blossom for winter.
    Bush of strange seasons.
    This bush of bees. Just wait, they’re
    waking from their autumn nap.

    In midst of waste land –
    a Christmas-morning sparkle,
    sun on soft white bloom.
    And it happens every year,
    no need for us to notice….

    Blossoms call the bees,
    a buzz and hum of workers,
    the gift of nectar,
    of Nature’s winter bounty
    while our earth pretends to sleep.

  32. headintheclouds87

    Change of Plans

    And so comes the dreaded call:
    ‘We apologise for the disruption’
    A statement vague enough
    To appease any form of frustration;
    They’d also appreciate your co-operation,
    As they fumble for an explanation
    For the source of your vexation;
    Or they’ll be sorry for the inconvenience
    In a desperate plea for lenience
    From you for this maddening experience.
    They do so hope you’ll understand
    As after all, ‘The best laid plans…
    Of mice and men
    So often go down the pan’.
    Well, that might not be it exactly,
    But they’ve simply assumed
    (Perhaps a little offensively)
    You won’t know a fancy word like ‘awry’…
    But whatever words they might use
    Thinking of all calming tactics they can,
    They’ll merely continue to anger and confuse
    Those intolerant to changes of plan.

  33. PowerUnit

    Taster of Beers

    I’ll take an Indian pale ale
    any day of the week
    a bronze English bitter
    when I need to speak

    I’ll choose a heavy nut brown ale
    for when I’m feeling blue
    or a light blueberry beer
    when I’m thinking of you

    I prefer Belgian beer
    with my pork or lamb
    make it a trappist ale
    when she cooks a ham

    A Guinness stout
    simply can’t be beat
    but a McAuslan cream ale
    really beats the heat

    I’ll drink American beer
    if there’s no other choice
    but a Czechoslovakian pilsner
    really makes me rejoice

  34. Walter J Wojtanik

    FATHER OF THE BRIDE

    The days dwindle down,
    and this half smile/half frown
    has been lacing my face of late.
    It is great that I get to escort my girl
    down the aisle to change her world
    and that of her chosen mister.
    Her sister stands as matron of honor,
    and on her sleeve she wears the heart
    of her mother where no other can reside.
    Me and the bride, side by side for a brief while
    longer. The emotions get stronger and the frown
    is internal, this infernal feeling that she is stealing away
    to play wife to the joy of her life. But that smile
    takes over as I hand her over knowing her young man
    made the right choice and the voice in my head
    says what I need it to say. “She’s on her way!”
    Way to go, Dad!

  35. Eileen S

    Sister of Mine

    She is a capable woman but we don’t always see eye to eye.
    Certain topics we don’t speak of lest our relationship go awry.
    I have many friends and acquaintances that I talk comfortably to.
    She is my sister, my only sister and I do not want a coup.

  36. JanetRuth

    Life of Seasons or Seasons of Life…

    We walk through rooms
    The glory-plumes that fuel wonder
    bloom and fade
    Soon earth is strewn
    with fragments of an afternoon
    and love we made

    We plow through wars
    The shores, when we look back
    Don’t tell the whole
    where ebb and flow
    of dawn to dusk’s hello-farewell
    wash and cajole

    We wade waist-deep
    through fields of flowered grass
    soon felled and dead
    and peer ahead
    with dread and hope toward the slopes
    not clambered yet

  37. Terry Jude Miller

    ORIGINAL

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

    NEW POEM

    Cup of Coffee
    by Terry Jude Miller

    where I come from
    all talks begin with a cup
    of coffee

    that first cup of the day
    to plan the agenda
    that mid-morning cup
    to talk about weekends
    (either last or next)

    that afternoon cup
    to mark the point
    before quitting time

    but the cup that comes
    with compromises
    is drunk black
    a little bitterness
    for both at the table

  38. JanetRuth

    awesome poem, Robert! Can be applied to so much in life! Thank-you for another month of enjoyable, challenging prompts. Wasn’t able to ‘play here’ as much as I would choose but still enjoyed them greatly!

  39. Walter J Wojtanik

    SMILES OF A SUMMER NIGHT

    I walked along the shoreline. Evening had lowered her veil showing her sumptuous soft features laced by her endearing charms. Darkness swept the horizon as if her arms had become heavy and had fallen slowly to her side. I slid my hand into hers when she would allow it and we would steal soft whispers and the most delicious tender kisses, a bliss that had been unknown to us to that point. And as the stars found their spaces, our faces were graced by a glow so bright it was seen for miles and miles of smiles of a summer night!

    waves had washed away
    the harshness of summer days
    as the last night smiled

  40. Pat Walsh

    a thing of petals
    by Patrick J. Walsh

    roots in dirt
    an engine
    of constantly
    transforming
    nutrition
    yet all we see
    are petals

    sired by
    seasons of
    circumstance
    and passing
    time
    yet all we see
    are petals

    given short
    days to
    make way
    for new
    miracles
    yet all we see
    are petals

  41. Jezzie

    LIFE OF LEISURE

    How I wished for a day all to myself
    when working full time with a family.
    To sleep late would be enough in itself
    with a bit of time to look after me.

    Be very careful what you wish for though:
    retirement comes much sooner than you know.

    Now I wish for something useful to do
    other than sleep late, write a bit and play.
    These days I say when I feel a bit blue
    “What on Earth can I do to fill this day?”

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