2017 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 7

Wow! It took an entire week to get to our first two-for-Tuesday prompt. If you’re new to these challenges, you can pick either one prompt or the other. Or decide to do both. Your choice.

For today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt:

  1. Write a days of the week poem. Pick one day or work through them all. Have the poem about the days or just name drop a day (or days) of the week in the poem.
  2. Write a days of the weak poem. See what I did there with the spelling of “week” to “weak?” The poem could be about weakness in another, yourself, or objects that are weak.

Have at it!


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Here’s my attempt at a Days of the Week and/or Days of the Weak Poem:

“It was a Wednesday”

When I swung by the store
for some asparagus and
I came home with discounted
Halloween candy. I didn’t eat

the asparagus. And then,
on Thursday, I did buy red
potatoes, but I ate cookies.
The entire weekend (Friday,

Saturday, and Sunday) were
a blur of sugar and processed
foods. I admit that my intentions
are strong, but my body weak.

Until Monday, when I actually
ate my Brussels sprouts and
drank my smoothies. And today,
Tuesday, what will I do today?


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 has lost a lot of weight this year through healthy eating and exercise, but he admits that his sweet tooth derailed his October. Good thing it’s November, right?

Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.


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268 thoughts on “2017 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 7

  1. candy

    A Pretty Weak Week

    this poem is not a fancy Sunday poem
    using its best manners
    saying please and thank-you
    this poem is not a blue Monday poem
    moping around, grumbling about
    how much work it has to do
    this poem is not thoughtless Tuesday poem
    just hanging out waiting for something
    better to come along
    this poem is not a hump-day Wednesday poem
    counting down the hours until
    its work is done
    this poem is not a weak Thursday poem
    shrugging its shoulders and
    wondering how it fits in
    this poem is not even a flashy Friday poem
    breathing a huge sigh of relief
    that it managed to make this far
    THIS poem is a sparkly Saturday poem
    ready to play – to kick up its heels
    and laugh out loud kind of poem

  2. taylor graham


    It’s Tuesday, a week past Halloween.
    In this storefront window is a row
    of skulls, like others you may have seen
    to celebrate that season, although

    in this storefront window is a row
    of witching gear – past when it should be,
    to celebrate the season; although
    in the next shop there’s a Christmas tree.

    Of witching gear past when it should be,
    I find a lot still haunting, even while
    in the next shop there’s a Christmas tree –
    too soon, you’d say, for donning winter style.

    I find a lot still haunting even while
    Thanksgiving’s gearing up a pilgrim feast –
    too soon, you’d say. For donning winter style
    six more weeks, another month, at least.

    Thanksgiving’s gearing up a pilgrim feast
    to celebrate that season, although
    six more weeks, another month… at least
    it’s Tuesday, a week past Halloween.

  3. Bruce Niedt

    Days of the Weak


    This week has not been pretty,
    full of sadness, woe and regret.
    But I’ll climb from this hole of self-pity,
    and I’ll find a new calendar yet.

  4. Daniel Paicopulos

    Two for Tuesday

    Everything I do today
    affects the future,
    mine and everyone’s.



    On this first day of
    the rest of your life, be kind,
    please, be generous.


  5. Valkyri

    2nd posting, Bowdlerized version…


    Nobody knew the inside joke…
    Only that as we passed each other
    in those busy, grungy hallways
    we shouted out back and forth
    the sacred call and response
    “Thursday?” “Thursday!”
    and the bad boy with the dark curly hair,
    with his wrestling team muscles,
    and his silver-braces-smile,
    older, in a higher grade from me
    would smile that sh** eating grin
    (so typical of teenaged boys)
    and I smiled my “heart’s all aflutter”
    teenage girl smile, secure in the
    secret knowledge that on Thursday
    (at least for a little while)
    my world would all be okay…

  6. Holly

    Daze of the weak: a found poem

    Tomorrow creeps to the syllable
    of our yesterdays’ way. Life struts,
    then is heard, told, signifying.

    Tomorrow in this pace
    has lighted. Death, a shadow,
    frets–an idiot nothing.

    Tomorrow, from day to day
    times out. Poor player, hour
    no more full: candle of fury.

  7. Melanie

    Monday’s child is shallow and vain
    Tuesday’s child is such a pain
    Wednesday’s child is oh so sad
    Thursday’s child is obnoxious and bad
    Friday’s child is bitchy and mean
    Saturday’s child is a drama queen
    And the child that is born on the Sabbath Day
    Would probably be nicer if she, like all the others, would stop posting a million pouting pictures of herself on social media sites and
    Go out and play!

  8. Marie Elena

    Tuesday’s Pumpkin Pie

    Remembered to not add cloves,
    but not to not forget to add sugar.


    Scooped it out, added sugar, poured it back in. There’s more than one way to sugar a pie, punkin’!

  9. Earl Parsons

    Six Saturdays and a Sunday

    On Saturday 1 I look out and see
    Everyone on their way to work except me
    Memories of my time chained to a desk
    Have turned to pure pity for all of the rest

    Saturday 2 is the same for so many
    But I can sleep in and wake up at any
    Time that I want and stay in my jammies
    Watch TV, eat popcorn or PBJ sammies

    Number 3 Saturday is different a bit
    It used to be Hump Day; that no longer fits
    It’s a good day for laundry or cleaning the house
    Or get into the car and go see The Mouse

    Saturday 4 and the world is still spinning
    It feels like the week is only just beginning
    This schedule gives me a sense of great power
    As long as I don’t go out during rush hour

    Saturday 5 once meant the workweek was done
    Time for all to look forward to weekend fun
    The clock watchers long to punch out for the day
    I’m sure glad I no longer live life that way

    On Saturday 6 everyone’s out on the town
    It’s my time to relax and just lounge around
    For all that I wanted to do is all done
    While everyone worked, I was out having fun

    Then Sunday rolls in and the alarm clock rings
    It’s time to praise God with the songs that we sing
    And give Him His due for the blessings He gives
    And thank Him for the retirement life that I live

    © 2017 Earl Parsons

  10. Carmen Maldonado

    On Sunday Maria went to church.
    She spent that night swimming through concepts.

    On Monday she sounded dry, something
    smoldered beneath the city of her skin.

    On Tuesday Maria acknowledged that the thunder
    stays with you, centuries in.

    Wednesday brought wet sorrow, violet nakedness.
    Maria changed her name to Marie.

    On Thursday Marie saw winter come. Veins
    bitten by the cold. Lungs a flurry.

    Friday was when the ends began to give out.
    Marie lost her approach to holding children.

    On Saturday all Heaven broke loose and Marie
    knew nothing of nothingness.

  11. taylor graham


    It’s just an ordinary Tuesday but
    between the soda-works and Starbucks what
    could crash a Mazda on its roof athwart
    both lanes? Three cops are writing the report,
    their red-and-blues still flashing, traffic stopped,
    the broken glass unswept, the open shops unshopped.
    A two-block detour and we’re blocked again;
    our downtown’s all shut down – but why? till when?
    A crane attends the City conifer –
    oh, they’re stringing Xmas lights, or were
    but now it’s coffee break with time to spare.
    We’re just past Halloween, winter’s in the air.
    Our Main Street has no signals red and green,
    just the doggoned-est traffic ever seen.

  12. deringer1


    The days pass ever slower than before,
    expectations cruelly have been torn

    from my calendar of future plans.
    Oh how I loved to go out with my friends,

    but now I sit and languish in this chair.
    There’s only what is here, there is no there.

    It’s tempting now to linger in the past;
    yesterday’s joys have faded all too fast.

    But I am not hungry, nor do I live in fear,
    for I am blessed and in my faith find cheer.

  13. thunk2much

    Each day a gift

    Sunday was topped with a bow
    shiny silver paper inviting
    reflection and hope.

    Monday was behind the back
    a quick surprise no time to wrap
    while there were things to do.

    Tuesday was a gift card
    used without much thought
    for practical household goods.

    Wednesday was a flower
    presented matter-of-factly
    a small token of affection.

    Thursday was a promise
    more like an I-owe-you
    remember patience is a virtue.

    Friday was a red dress
    slipped over silky skin revealing
    at last it’s time to dance.

    Saturday was slippers
    friendly fuzzy fare
    a lovely snuggle shared.

  14. JRSimmang


    A crowd of people ruminating around
    the crumbling stone and pitted bronze
    remarking on the civilizations that were built on civilizations

    remarking on the hot steel and rivers of blood

    remarking on the trampling feet and clawing hands

    keeping silent on the white-tipped rapids of tight-lipped selective forgetfulness
    keeping silent on the softness amply applied to the next generation’s midsections
    keeping silent on keeping silence
    keeping silent on despising and blame

    keeping silent on the mirror hanging on Gustav Dore’s canvas,
    unaware that civilization falls when the hands left to rebuild are fingerless

    -JR Simmang

  15. MET

    Grey… sometimes Gray Days…

    I don’t know a day
    In the week
    I have not said goodbye
    To someone.
    The days should all be grey…
    Sometimes gray…
    The sun is there bright even
    Behind the clouds…
    Each day a journey to make…
    And if they happen to be
    Grey … sometimes Gray…
    The light is still falls on me.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 7, 2017

    1. MET

      I know that if you look it up you will find the common answer that Gray is the way the British spell it and Grey is the way Americans spell it… but that is not completely true… in the arena of color swatches… Grey is the lighter shades of that neutral color and Gray is the darker shades…. on FB a few years back… several of my college friends engaged in a discussion that went on for days concerning the subject of Grey and gray… and the differences between the British and the Americans was brought up early… but my ever resourceful friend Sybil found the answer…that they are actually different colors…and most of our discussion was more how to use Grey and Gray in the same sentence of story or describe one of Randy’s photos…

  16. Janet Rice Carnahan


    Any day there’s sunshine
    Just ask, I’ll be fine
    Look for me while I dance
    I do that often, every chance
    Search for me on any beach
    I’ll be there, within reach
    If not, I’ll be out for a walk
    Sun on my face, we’ll have a talk
    Perhaps I’ll be at the park
    Where children play and dogs bark
    As twilight comes, I’ll be there yet
    Waving away the day at sunset
    It isn’t weak to cherish the sun
    Each and every day it is easily done
    It isn’t a frailty to feel grateful
    With its warmth and light, I feel completely full
    In fact with such simple delight
    It keeps our true perspective light
    The sun gives us so much life
    A sunny day lifts any strife
    We won’t feel weak, we’ll feel strong
    Sun days have been with us all along
    Let’s dance away to it,
    Choose any song!

  17. thunk2much

    Rainy days and Mondays

    On Monday, it rained and I thought
    that’s what Mondays do best
    as I shook the beaded droplets
    from my new red boots,
    the ones with the twill at the back,
    and shivered my shoulders
    into my black Mister Rogers sweater,
    the one that’s unravelling slowly
    after so many rainy days.

  18. thunk2much


    On the weakdays,
    I wake up tired from
    the tweets of surprise that
    surprise me still because
    how can you be surprised after
    all this time and all our tears that
    people are prey and pawns and
    me too and me too and me too?

  19. Brandi Noelle

    Sunday, Blessed Sunday

    Mondays greet with a heavy gloom
    Listless bodies almost need a broom
    To sweep them out of the warmth of bed
    And into the routines they surely dread
    Coffee’s on, perhaps two cups
    Will be needed to clear the cobwebs up
    Kids to school, off to work
    Caffeine has given a little perk
    To your step as you go through the day
    Knowing that Tuesday will bring much the same
    And Wednesday, too, will follow the trend
    Will this week never end?
    Dance classes and karate for the little ones
    Don’t forget homework must be done
    Coffee on Thursday, better step it up
    Need four espresso shots in that cup
    To get through the home stretch, it’s almost there
    Casual Friday, what to wear?
    Watch the clock tick, it’s nearly time
    To kick up your feet with that glass of wine
    Don’t get too cozy, Saturday’s rush is the same
    Rising early for your son’s soccer game
    Groceries, errands, and chores galore
    Just when you’re done, you find something more
    Then it’s off to bed with a smile
    Knowing Sunday will arrive in awhile
    Sunday, blessed Sunday, a day to relax
    Your football team is leading in sacks
    Church time and Jesus are number one
    Then it’s time for family fun
    Sunday, oh, Sunday, you’re gone to soon
    For Monday arrives when dawn hides the moon

  20. MET

    Dream Days

    My teacher wrote notes
    Saying I was lazy or
    Daydreamed too much….
    I was telling myself stories
    Of caves and pirates and Viking ships.
    My work was finished
    Faster than most…
    I disputed the lazy part.
    She just did not capture my imagination.
    Just like my mother…
    My teachers thought I was a difficult child.

    A friend in college
    Used to air play foggy mountain breakdown
    He believed I was in a fog…
    I was thinking of a line to write,
    A drawing to make or
    A poem to construct.
    I stuck my tongue
    Out at my friend more than once,
    But mostly thought it was funny.
    My friends knew how I was…
    I heard music they couldn’t hear.

    The years I drove long miles…
    I told myself stories…
    It cut down on the boredom
    Driving the same miles.
    Sardis told me once
    As I was telling her story…
    Sardis is my front name…
    I drove by a street and she said…
    That is my back name.
    I liked knowing her name.
    It is difficult to explain
    The way my mind works…

    I found a journal
    Written by my father…
    I realized at the same age
    We each had fell asleep
    Watching the same moon
    Forty years apart.
    I wondered and then I knew
    Like me he wrote stories,
    And constructed poems
    For he built more than roads.
    He was called a dreamer, and his friends
    They knew he was different….
    And he understood how my mind worked…

    Knowing I was understood
    Washed away all the negatives…
    Like stepping into a Japanese bath…
    Cleaned before the bath…
    Restored by the warmth…
    Reborn in understanding.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 7, 2017

  21. Nancy Posey

    Thursday’s Child

    Could lore be built on simple rhyme
    or are predictions true? The heavy weight
    of woe on Wednesday’s child
    seems such a sad birthright.
    Surely Monday’s child would trade
    her fair face for grace, a loving and giving
    spirit. Such irony that the child
    born on Saturday is cursed—is it a curse?–
    to work for a living. Born on Thursday,
    I choose to accept my fate as blessing.
    You’ll go far, I tell myself. Like the glass
    half empty, half full, I see my journey
    on a path of endless possibilities.
    Each road I take can be retraced;
    I can return to every fork, choosing
    to try the other road.

  22. Linda Rhinehart Neas

    Monday to Thursday

    Some enter with greetings
    spoken loud and proud for the learning;
    others come over the threshold
    unsure, self-conscious, shy.
    Entering this small room
    is like entering a promise,
    like entering a sacred space
    where words hold the alchemy
    of knowledge and power.
    Reflecting on new sounds,
    new phrases, new ideas,
    they slowly grasp what was once
    like an unattainable star,
    shining brightly overhead,
    yet too far to comprehend.
    Their faces reflect their gains,
    shining from eyes that tell stories
    once only shared with those whose
    mouths formed the same sounds,
    but now understood by those living
    in this land, in this place they now
    call home.

  23. Eileen S

    Goodbye, Dad, Goodbye, Mother

    On a chilly, late-winter Saturday,
    we gathered at the cemetery.
    An American flag draped the casket.
    As we shivered, the priest eulogized Dad.
    Then the military gave a two-gun salute.
    One of the servicemen folded the flag
    and presented it to Mother.

    A few weeks later, on a Sunday,
    we visited Mother at her memory unit.
    Sitting on the veranda, outside her apartment
    her daughters, their husbands
    and a grandson conversed with her as.
    she shared stories of her childhood.
    Then she asked, “Where’s Dad?”
    All of us were aghast.
    We said, “Dad died.”
    She didn’t remember.

    We reminded her of the funeral.
    The priest’s eulogy,
    the graveside service
    the two-gun salute.
    How could she forget the two-gun salute?
    We told her of the flag that
    was in a case on her dresser
    and that it was presented to
    her by the military unit.
    She shook her head.

    That sobering visit
    I realized that
    I had lost both
    my parents.

  24. MET

    My Weak Knee

    I did not plan to tear my cartilage, but
    I did it anyway…
    Since then I limp
    Not every day, but most days
    There will be a moment I limp.

    I cannot dance anymore…
    I would come home from work…
    Then dance the dance of being me.
    I cannot dance anymore….
    A loss I regret…
    I cannot get my knee repaired…
    Just temporary adjustments,
    But I am thankful for the chicken’s comb
    That supplies their cartilage for my torn one.
    Every six months
    I get five shots…
    And I have a reprieve from the pain,
    Walking almost without a limp….

    I dream of dancing…
    Some jazz number…
    With the wooden cane
    That was my father’s
    Used as a prop and not
    To aid my walking….

    I dream of dancing
    Those moments- I am young
    Those moments the music is me
    And my heart spins in joy.

    I dream of dancing
    of waltzing around the room…

    I dream of dancing…

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 7, 2017

  25. MichelleMcEwen

    My Kind of Sunday

    My kind of Sunday
    you & me under a marquee
    you pick the movie

    My kind of Sunday
    you & me in the backseat
    you pick the backstreet

    1. De Jackson

      At Least She’s Got a Good Beat

      This poem is a Tuesday
      afternoon. She’s still m##ning
      over Monday. She’s got “someday”
      on her mind, and too many
      places to be.

      She would gladly pay you
      a farthing
      a starling
      a song
      to get on outta here,
      dodge this desk
      and ditch these shoes.

      She’d choose some blues,
      some distant shore
      where she feels like more
      and worries less
      and stresses
      her syllables
      with only salt
      and air.

      Give her a little something
      to make her feel strong,
      make her stop longing
      for distance,

      L0@n her Friday pockets,
                     Sunday’s smile.

  26. De Jackson

    cutting off your hair (and other unconventional uses for a sword)

    nobody knows she feels small
    in the wee hours of the morning,
    watching the moon fade
    in this world of magic mirrors and
    tower cages and identities tied
    to golden tresses

    nobody asked her if she wants
    to marry a prince or be a gleeful
    pauper or feel the dirt between
    her unslippered toes.

    nobody knows she dreams
    of dragons, armor,
    distant shores and un
    -furled sails, a place where
    nobody endlessly calls
    her name.

    nobody’s seen her
           since tuesday.


  27. Misky

    I’d Fall Over and Over

    Not a week goes by
    that I don’t think of that dog,
    I envied her urgent tail
    that was happy and happier.

    She was long-legged,
    faithful to biscuits, meat sticks,
    and long belly rubs, and

    I’d fall in love with her
    over and over again,
    go weak in the knees
    for her brown puppy eyes.

    She was the colour of mist,
    and distilled from sugar.
    She’s not forgotten —
    in a sunny corner of the garden.

  28. MET

    My Life after college

    First four years:
    I was a bum, did odd jobs..
    Painted rooms, decorated cakes and
    Sit with those that needed a sitter….
    Traveled some
    Always with my dulcimer…
    Wore old jeans and t-shirts
    Visited friends…life was great

    Then I got a job for twenty-eight years

    Monday through Friday
    Get up groggy and drink coffee before shower…
    Make sure parents were okay (for Da first nine years
    And Ma all the years).
    Let them where they can reach me that day if needed.
    Go to office… Tell them I need
    Coffee in my veins.
    Update Supervisor of case situations
    Sometimes worked late…
    Always did paperwork at home
    Sometimes to midnight…
    Because could not reach Ma
    In last years of Da’s life…
    Sometimes dementia
    Could be deadly, and
    We always hid the gun…
    Somewhere new each week.
    In Ma’s last years
    I called her three to four times a day…
    When I could not reach her…
    I panicked…
    Then would call cousin
    To go check on her.
    Ma would not be happy with me.

    Putting out fires
    From the last week,
    Paperwork if quiet…
    Local home visits if quiet.
    Da was on dialysis.
    He would be cold and shaking
    And my heart would break.

    Twice a month was court day…
    Prepare for court
    Check notes again…
    Make calls (always calls every day)
    Make more local home visits
    Da would be ill
    Because the poison was collecting
    In his body and his mind would begin to slip…
    He would vomit for hours.
    I took to smoking
    While walking outside.

    Foster Care Review Board day
    Twice a month…grilled
    By honest citizens
    Who wanted to help…
    Meet with parents
    Before and after the review board…
    Calm them down.
    Prepare for court the next day
    Do home visits
    Da is home like Monday
    Always cold.

    Court day every week.
    Negotiate in all day hearings…
    This is the day to look the most professional.
    When court is over,
    Go to office to see if problems
    That need dealing with right then
    And home visits
    Especially to foster homes
    Of children concerning the all-day hearing
    That day.
    While waiting for hearings
    I would do paperwork in a quiet place.
    Da was ill.

    Try to put out fires so there will be a quiet weekend.
    Get out of the office and do home visits.
    So was one of the days I made long trips.
    Da had Dialysis.


    Brothers sometime visited
    Until two of them died…
    Then it was only the artist who came.
    Ma cooked, and I had projects…
    And I took Ma around to visit her siblings.

    Church first
    Then maybe another brother would visit…
    Most time with family.
    I read or took a walk….
    Did paperwork…

    After my retirement

    First year cared for Ma,
    Second year, watched her leave us.
    Said goodbye to Ruby the possessed cat,
    Lost Twelve people including Ma,
    My favorite cat June and
    My last dog Clarabelle…
    Became the last member
    Of our family of six
    With no place to put the memories…
    Lost places I could
    No longer visit
    For the people there were gone…
    In the next two years…
    Wrote a book on my journey
    Through the field of grief to heal me….
    Struggled to keep the Inheritance
    And the Guardians and me fed…
    Learned how strong
    I really was…
    I may not look like a magnolia,
    But I certainly have its steel.
    Somehow… I found joy
    In each moment…
    My wicked humor returned…
    Read wonderful books…
    For a while rescued cats, and
    Discovered adventures
    In every day.
    Though immediate family is gone…
    I have cousins and nieces and nephews,
    And friends
    Whom I love and love me.

    It has been a good life so far…
    And here’s to the best to come…

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    November 7, 2017

      1. MET

        I did… but for the most part I confront myself to answer the hard questions… and writing that book on my journey thru grief…. helped a great deal… and recently I realized the houses I could no longer visit and was in in and out every week…it is crazy things you begin to miss when people die…by the way I wrote essays on each stage of grief and poetry for the emotion…I think it could help people… just haven’t been able to find a place to put it…

      2. MET

        Eileen S…. this was the first time I mentioned out loud about my father’s dementia… when my brothers came to visit… they often brought their guns…I don’t like guns… really despise them….and when my Da’s mind began to go…and he would see the guns and get in his head that he could not leave Ma and me alive when he died because we would not be safe…I would beg them not to bring them… but they thought I was being selfish cause I really despise guns…but mother had forbid me to tell them why… so I lived in constant fear that he would find where we hid the gun we had….sometimes it was hid in my underwear draw cause we knew he would not dare touch that drawer…He was such a good man that this was out of character of him… but dialysis has robbed him of much… I remember working in my office one night until 10 PM and after than night… Ma would call me and leave a message that they were going to one of her family that evening…

  29. Walter J Wojtanik


    Monday comes.
    mess of morose,
    a strong dose of reality.
    A new week begins
    draped in mundane banality.

    Tuesday’s child
    is neither wild or mild,
    she wears a slightly devious smile.
    It supersedes her previous smile.

    Wednesday is a bump in the road,
    a hump on a toad,
    half the load of a full ride.
    Tucked inside between
    beginning and end.

    Thor’s day.
    Bring the hammer down.

    Friday Fish Fries
    a Buffalo staple,
    brought to the table
    with slaw, and macaroni,
    fries and a slice of rye.
    Oh my!

    Saturday’s a happy dance,
    a chance to catch up
    with things left hanging.
    Banging away
    in the workshop shed.
    Peg board hooks and hangers,
    Wallbanger is no stranger
    than usual.

    Sunday & I slip away,
    no more work,
    not much play.
    Looking for just a quiet day,
    not waiting for Godot,
    no way!
    A song of praise
    for the past seven days.

  30. tripoet

    The Accident

    Later we checked his horoscope for Wednesday, January 10th,
    “Optimism and boundless energy fill your interactions today”,

    the weather report on Tuesday before–
    Blue skies ahead, expect sunny weather.

    We even cracked open a Fortune cookie
    left over from our Monday Chinese dinner,

    “ Soon you will be faced with a wonderful choice”
    and remembered being on our knees on Sunday.

    Next, someone checked the date of his Birth
    for clues, “Thursday’s child has far to go”

    It’s as though the biorhythms of Friday refused
    to help, leaving Saturday too weak to save him.

  31. Eileen S


    The day after the hurricane, life is upside down.
    The house has a hole in the wall and
    there is water everywhere but it is outside.
    At least it stopped raining.
    The kids don’t know what to make of it
    and it is up to me to explain.
    They are sympathetic and promise to help.
    I wonder how the neighbors are doing.
    I don’t see them anywhere.
    Since we don’t have electricity,
    we sit in the living room and play cards.
    I have a battery-operated radio
    which only broadcasts news of the storm.
    They don’t tell me anything I don’t already know.
    We just sit and wait.
    I hear a noise outside and see A FEMA rescue worker.
    I open my front door to get his attention.
    He comes up the front steps.
    “Ma’am, we’ll get you out of here.”
    The kids and I quickly pack and go with him.
    I hate to leave home but we will be safer in a shelter.

  32. Walter J Wojtanik


    This jolly little fly-by-night
    has just a couple weeks to Christmas Day!
    I’m ready to begin my flight,
    this jolly little fly-by-night.
    Pray there’s not a single cloud in sight,
    when the reindeer are harnessed to my sleigh.
    This jolly little fly-by-night
    has just a couple weeks to Christmas Day!

  33. ReathaThomasOakley

    My Week

    When retired
    the weeks
    often slide
    from one day
    into the next.
    We thank
    the stars and
    all things holy
    for Free Pie
    at Lula Belle’s
    down by the
    railroad tracks.

  34. annell

    Sunrise – Tuesday Morning

    the week began again    on monday     today is tuesday

    sun rise golden     the clouds gold leafed    brilliant display

    like a place where angels dwell     to welcome     another day

    Days of the Week

    the sky is threatening     clouds dark and heavy     layers of gray

    foretell change in the weather     each day of the week     has been sunny and dry

    indian summer golden but dry     the weather advisory     predicts snow

    last days of autumn      days of the week transformed      by winter white

    November 7, 2017

  35. Terry Jude Miller

    The Dissolution of Thursday
    by Terry Jude Miller

    a day of the week
    is missing
    it slipped
    from time’s coin purse
    spilled on the ground
    then rolled into the sea

    though it’s gone
    I can remember it
    quite clearly
    the way it shone
    with weekend anticipation
    its road signs
    pointing to together-times

    until the iteration
    that ruined it
    blasted it with black paint
    and ochre

    a phone call–
    he’s gone

    the floor
    that couldn’t keep me
    from falling

    but then I saw it
    rolling on its serrated side
    out into the sea

  36. SarahLeaSales

    A Life, in 7 Days

    Monday was recovering from the weekend,
    Tuesday, recovering from Monday.
    Wednesday got better as it got on.
    Thursday was looking forward to Friday,
    Friday being the day.
    Saturday was recovering from Friday night.
    Sunday was a day of rest–
    a day to brood about Monday.

  37. Jezzie


    Monday to Friday my life is okay:
    there’s plenty to do here in U3A
    but at weekends I’m bored, I have to say.
    I wish I had someone with whom to play.

    My kids live and work very far away
    and can’t very often come here to stay.
    Neighbours are out with families, I’d say,
    so what’s this OAP to do all day?

  38. PowerUnit

    By Thursday, most weeks
    I am too weak to function
    like a person, let alone as a writer.

    My head is down all right
    talking to God
    on the big white phone.

    Wednesday is my night out
    time for John
    away from home.

    I can make good
    anywhere in town
    but I choose the best brew.

    I honor my craft
    with a few too many draft
    a few too many laughs, too.

    I leave for home
    my overworked liver
    regretting in publican quiver.

    But I have solved
    all the world’s problems, loved
    all the world’s women.

    I hold no regrets
    for the aches and begets
    my sense of timing has purpose.

    While the world drinks
    away their weekend
    I write for a book end.

  39. Walter J Wojtanik


    It’s all inside her head, he said.
    But for crying out loud,
    she’s been in the clouds for weeks.
    She speaks in volumes,
    in decibels, not books.
    It looks like her hearing
    hangs in the balance,
    her equilibrium is shot.
    But she is not!

  40. Walter J Wojtanik


    Oh, there’s quite plenty here to do.
    We poets in our comfort zone,
    Sestina, Haiku, Clerihew –
    Oh, there’s quite plenty here to do.
    And we did so much in one week too,
    our rhyming skills to hone.
    Oh, there’s quite plenty here to do.
    We poets in our comfort zone.

    1. De Jackson

      When Wednesday Poets Write All Week {Month}

      We poets in our comfort zone,
      we poem on Wednesdays through the year.
      For this is our Poetic home,
      we poets in our comfort zone.
      Then April and November are their own
      challenges we take head-on, right here.
      We poets in our comfort zone,
      we poem on Wednesdays through the year.

      1. Walter J Wojtanik


        We poem on Wednesdays through the year
        for that is the way we’ve always rolled,
        And Tuesdays and Thursday when it is clear,
        we poem on Wednesdays through the year.
        Or Mondays and Fridays when they get here,
        (and Saturday and Sunday, I’m told)
        We poem on Wednesdays through the year
        for that is the way we’ve always rolled,

        1. De Jackson

          Friday Night Date

          That’s the way we’ve always rolled:
          Netflix and takeout, and a little couch time.
          Full disclosure, truth be told,
          that’s the way we’ve always rolled.
          It’s especially cozy when it’s cold,
          For me and hot hubby, it works just fine.
          That’s the way we’ve always rolled:
          Netflix and takeout and a little couch time.

          1. Walter J Wojtanik


            Netflix and takeout and a little couch time,
            I certainly don’t think they account for much.
            After a whole bloody week of rhyme,
            No Netflix or takeout or a little couch time
            can replace candlelight, music and wine
            (good for wining and dining and such)
            Netflix and takeout and a little couch time
            I certainly don’t think they account for much.

          2. De Jackson


            I certainly don’t think they account for much,
            the boxes on the calendar with a case of the “busies.”
            Always running and doing, and such.
            I certainly don’t think they account for much.
            Give me a Sunday with a gentle touch;
            these weak week days put me all up in a tizzy.
            I certainly don’t think they account for much,
            the boxes on the calendar with a case of the “busies.”

          3. Walter J Wojtanik


            Boxes on the calendar with a case of the nothing doings,
            promises of someday borrow from our stores of hope.
            Thumbs-down judgements and disapproving booing,
            and boxes on the calendar with a case of the nothing doings.
            But who has the time for negative boo-hooing?
            You don’t want to end up a forlorn dope.
            Boxes on the calendar with a case of the nothing doings,
            promises of someday borrow from our stores of hope.

          4. De Jackson

            It’s all in a Daze

            Promises of ‘someday’ borrow from our stores of hope.
            That glass is half empty, and we’re still thirsty.
            The world wants a yes, but we cry, NOPE!
            when promises of ‘someday’ borrow from our stores of hope.
            It’s all kind of hazy, and sometimes we can’t cope.
            (Wednesdays aren’t awesome, but Mondays are the worst-y.)
            Promises of ‘someday’ borrow from our stores of hope.
            That glass is half empty, and we’re still thirsty.


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