2018 April PAD Challenge: Day 24

Closing in on the finish line of another April Poem-A-Day Challenge, so today I’m upping the stakes for anyone who wants an extra challenge!

For today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt:

  1. Write a roundelay. Guidelines here. Or…
  2. Write an anti-form poem.

*****

Re-create Your Poetry!

Revision doesn’t have to be a chore–something that should be done after the excitement of composing the first draft. Rather, it’s an extension of the creation process!

In the 48-minute tutorial video Re-creating Poetry: How to Revise Poems, poets will be inspired with several ways to re-create their poems with the help of seven revision filters that they can turn to again and again.

Click to continue.

*****

Here’s my attempt at a Roundelay:

“two wrongs to write”

because my faith in you is true
& i’m a moth drawn to your light
i’ll do what the others won’t do
& i’ll sing love instead of fight
after all the love i’ve been through
i know two wrongs don’t make a right

i’ll do what the others won’t do
& i’ll sing love instead of fight
though it might not make sense to you
it’s what helps me get through the night
after all the love i’ve been through
i know two wrongs don’t make a right

though it might not make sense to you
it’s what helps me get through the night
singing for the ekphrastic few
who understand the words i write
after all the love i’ve been through
i know two wrongs don’t make a right

singing for the ekphrastic few
who understand the words i write
i confess that you are the glue
that holds me to this place so tight
after all the love i’ve been through
i know two wrongs don’t make a right

*****

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). He can’t believe there won’t be any more two-for-Tuesday prompts until November.

Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.

*****

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261 thoughts on “2018 April PAD Challenge: Day 24

  1. taylor graham

    THE FORM THAT BINDS

    By my iPad’s trick kaleidoscopic lens,
    a bench at the edge of pine forest
    is transformed to a shield of wood-grain
    bent to spokes repeated in techno-
    mirrors. An arrangement meant to tease
    the mind. The trail that brought me here –
    and should continue forward – becomes
    a compass-coin with six paths joined
    at the I-am-here point. Beyond, a self-
    replicating forest, the same pines carbon-
    copied like a coiled fan unfolding,
    held in place. I’m at the unmoving center,
    perfect image of a lost man’s mind.
    Every direction is the same, conjoined
    tree-roots beneath a trail that can’t
    unwind, as boots keep tracing the same
    extent of path that promises at last to find
    a way out of what’s never left behind.

  2. Michelle Hed

    Finding Love

    She had a daydream
    of a connection that would never end
    and it happened in a dream
    as she told her friend
    her eyes had a beautiful gleam
    and her words had a melodic blend

    and it happened in a dream
    as she told her friend
    their love gathered steam
    as she read the letters they penned
    her eyes had a beautiful gleam
    and her words had a melodic blend

    their love gathered steam
    as she read the letters they penned
    her hair a halo in the sunbeam
    as she began to comprehend,
    her eyes had a beautiful gleam
    and her words had a melodic blend

    her hair a halo in the sunbeam
    as she began to comprehend,
    she had a daydream
    of a connection that would never end
    her eyes had a beautiful gleam
    and her words had a melodic blend.

  3. MaggieIrene

    Dear, Robert Lee Brewer!

    You want me to write what?
    I can barely spell roundelay, much less
    trudge and sludge my way through the muck
    of twenty-four lines of A’s and B’s, 1-2-3’s!
    Right off, I’m plagued with contriving an A2-B2
    pair of fabulous lilting lines to carry me on
    to a masterful finale, no pressure there!
    I do have this in me, you know, RLB,
    but you’ve pushed my rebellion button!
    Yeh, I know, you gave me an out,
    but that alternative makes me look,
    well, rebellious, uncooperative,
    inflexible, bad-ass attitudinal—
    all the above. See?
    What your summarily tossed-out
    Tuesday prompt has caused?
    My blood pressure is off the charts!
    I’ve used up my non-existent energy
    supply telling you what for!
    Feel the love?
    Now, you’re thinking: Maggieirene,
    you could have been done with a roundelay
    long ago, had you channeled your thoughts
    on a team-player poetry pathway! Got it, RLB,
    I’m in my corner, all dunce capped
    and roundelay-shamed!

    I promise to try harder come tomorrow.
    I promise to try harder come tomorrow.

    Love, Maggieirene

  4. mlibra

    Standards

    You tell me to not conform and it gets me thinking
    So do it however I want to? No guidelines you say.
    I’d much rather do that with my whole life instead
    Not to have to conform to society’s standards, ha.
    Wouldn’t that be nice. I could be however I want
    I could act however I want, but that isn’t okay
    They want you a certain way, and it’s bad if you aren’t
    Well, to them it is. It would be nice to be free from it
    Free from the expectations, not having criticism
    I have it constantly, as if I don’t have everything right
    Then that means that I’m not wrong. But you know what?
    I think it would be better to be wrong in their eyes.

  5. taylor graham

    THIS DAY

    This wild-growing spring bursting
    out of bounds, blossoms of every flower-
    color speckling annual grasses
    not yet formed to seed-heads, soft and
    lush, not yet spiked and barbed –
    this brief lovely season green as Oz,
    as wildwood of a child’s fairytale book
    still opening its mysteries –
    tomorrow it may all be changed;
    neighbors mowing fields, neatening
    their side-yards; I with my weed-eater
    whacking the right-of-way.
    This April morning I have this day.

  6. Gigglette

    A What?
    What is an anti form ?
    Do I
    no longer
    have to
    fill out forms?
    Oh , YAY!!
    No Medical forms?
    Endless
    Psychological testing pre-employment forms?
    Can I
    form my own
    Identity??
    Wait!! I am
    Who I
    Am.
    As I write this silly poem
    Anda
    Nother
    Tip
    Is

    Freedom
    Occasionally
    Resembles
    Maturity
    But
    not
    Often.

    1. Gigglette

      Crap!!!! The spacing didnt work on this. it looked a lot cooler on paper spaced the way i had it. So i guess your comment submission section is. Anti form the way i wanted it also.

  7. drwasy

    Monday morning on the way to work

    spring skies let loose their tepid rain
    that fails to erase the urban dirt
    as we scurry to the train
    we step over those we have hurt.
    And who have we to blame?
    What justice do we skirt?

    As we scurry to the train
    we step over those we have hurt
    we shut our eyes to keep us sane
    lose our thoughts in kids and work.
    And who have we to blame?
    What justice do we skirt?

    We shut our eyes to keep us sane
    lose our thoughts in kids and work,
    dinner, bills, and video games.
    By closing up we make life worse.
    And who have we to blame?
    What justice do we skirt?

    Dinner, bills, video games—
    by closing up we make life worse.
    Spring skies let loose their tepid rain
    that fails to erase the urban dirt.
    And who have we to blame?
    What justice do we skirt?

  8. SymannthaRenn

    There are supposed to be spaces in between the letters of words, as this is a shape poem. Since the comments don’t cooperate, I used the underscores for spaces.

    _Giving In_

    The thought
    __E X P A N D S
    Inside of mE
    __like a h o l l o w point bullet
    ripping
    the FORTITUDE
    ______from my flesh.
    Discipline
    dissolves like paper iN tHe RaIn.
    Any hope for me
    floats
    __down
    ____the
    ______drain.

    april 26, 2018

  9. MargoL

    Cinderella

    Cinderella, Cinderella,
    Was not the name your mother gave you.
    At your birth she called you Ella.
    She taught you what was good and true.
    Dance with your prince Cinderella,
    after all the hurt you’ve been through.

    Your mean stepmother Cruella
    and stepsisters who tormented you.
    Until you met your charming fella,
    He who helped restore your vertu
    Dance with your prince Cinderella,
    after all the hurt you’ve been through.

    Pumpkin into carriage for Ella
    Mice, like magic, now horses flew
    late into the night like Gazella,
    at the Ball without further ado.
    Dance with your prince Cinderella,
    after all the hurt you’ve been through.

    T’was at midnight Cinderella
    in haste leaving her fine glass shoe.
    The prince would find his Lovella
    and together they would pull through.
    Dance with your prince Cinderella,
    after all the hurt you’ve been through.

    © April 2018 Margo LeBlanc

  10. Matt

    One of these days will be his last.

    His mind is a claustrophobic
    place, today.
    People
    taking what they want
    what they want is his and not
    theirs.
    children
    that do not belong to him,
    that he did not help to create
    using, destroying his yard as if it was theirs
    as if, they were at their own home.
    His family
    his children
    oblivious to the warning signs,
    the compressed silence
    the blood flooded arteries
    throbbing out of the top of his shirt.

    One of these days will be his last.

  11. goldmiel

    2018 April PAD Challenge Day 24

    Closing in on the finish line of another April Poem-A-Day Challenge, so today I’m upping the stakes for anyone who wants an extra challenge! For today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt: Write a roundelay.

    I LOVED YOU ONCE
    I loved you once in youthful innocence
    and looked toward the start of every day.
    I offered love ephemeral, intense,
    but you sought everlasting permanence
    requiring impossible display.

    I loved you once.

    In all my guileless youthful innocence
    I thought that I had given evidence:
    selfless devotion, my auto-de-fe.
    I offered honest love with no pretense
    but you rejected it to my dismay.

    I loved you once

    But you began to show me reticence
    which I could not condone. You did repay
    the guileless youthful innocence
    that’s offered only once in life, then sense
    turns blunt. And yet I do not rue the way

    I loved you once

  12. bethwk

    O Seeker, you must simply start,
    and follow the road toward the sun.
    No sign, no map, no guide, no chart
    will tell you where your road begins.
    You must enter the forest of your heart
    to find your way to the Wildest One.

    No sign or map, no guide or chart
    will tell you when you have begun
    the search is inward, no science or art
    can tell you when the journey’s done.
    You just enter the forest of your heart
    and find your way to the Wildest One.

    The inner search is both science and art.
    No one will tell you when the journey’s done.
    In solitude, you’ll wander apart
    from the village where tales are spun.
    You must enter the forest of the heart
    if you seek to find the Wildest One.

    In solitude, you’ll wander apart
    from the shining village, where tales are spun,
    but you’ll return to take up your part
    when the journey’s over, the race is run.
    You’ll walk through the forest of the heart,
    seeking always the Wildest One.

    (www. farmpoem.wordpress.com)

  13. Pat Walsh

    doubt and delay
    by Patrick J. Walsh

    today brought delay
    that kept me away
    from attempting to write
    a roundelay

    with the WiFi in doubt
    the prompt was out
    for a considerable while
    so I just couldn’t get sonnet

  14. JoMae

    Small Steps

    Spring air and a walk around the block
    put a spring into my step; move me
    forward on my journey to discover
    who I am to be, now on my own

    Small steps, slow steps, clear my foggy head steps
    Small steps, slow steps bring me back to me

    Warm sun and the promise of more
    melt the cobwebs of the winter
    invite this sedentary soul to
    step out doors and breath

    Small steps, slow steps, clear my foggy head steps
    Small steps, slow steps bring me back to me

    Catching up with friends next door
    walking to the avenue for lunch
    laughing over nothing in the
    rain, make me whole again

    Small steps, slow steps, clear my foggy head steps
    Small steps, slow steps bring me back to me

    JoMae
    4/24/18
    #aprpad

  15. Bill Kirk

    No Roundelay For Me Today!
    By Bill Kirk

    There are those who might think
    That one who writes poetry
    Would never
    Be stumped
    By either form
    Or substance
    Or otherwise become averse
    To the very idea of verse itself
    Much less to properly punctuating
    This or that thing,
    With commas, ellipses or worse!

    Yet, when it comes to finding words
    To capture a feeling
    Or express an idea, no matter how strange….
    I suppose, it can happen
    To the best of bards
    Or those who hope to be.

    I mean, is form over substance
    Even a thing?
    Especially one requiring the wasting of endless hours
    Simply to settle a bet?
    Perhaps dueling would be a better course.

    Well, to that and to all things related to form,
    I simply say balderdash!
    Instead, our clarion call should be
    To break free of the shackles
    Of structure
    And meter
    And
    All of that stuff!
    After all, some who have struggled
    With rhyme,
    May at times
    Give it up all together,
    Especially when cornered.
    Indeed, they might even say,
    Finding same-sounding line endings
    Can really be rough—
    Or even mind bending—and leave it at that.

    Then, out of nowhere,
    Something initially totally misshapen—
    Nay, even without form or meaning—
    Suddenly and unexpectedly
    In the very midst of the creative process,
    Actually
    Seems
    To
    Make
    Sense.

    Who knew it all could be this easy?

  16. Carla Cherry

    Endangered: A Roundelay

    Another video showed me I truly have no home.
    No place safe for my soul to roam.
    Seems like every month, every year,
    Black man/woman dead from white or blue fear.
    Used to think my manners or schooling would be targe
    against arrest for a minor charge.
    Seems like every month, every year,
    Black man/woman dead from white or blue fear.
    All it takes is suspicion or a call to 911,
    Willing finger on trigger, black life is done.
    Used to think my manners or schooling would be targe,
    against arrest for a minor charge.
    All it takes is suspicion or a call to 911,
    Willing finger on trigger, black life is done.
    Restaurants, stores, parking lots. Safety not guaranteed.
    Black lives mourned throughout my newsfeed.
    Used to think my manners or schooling would be targe,
    against arrest for a minor charge.
    Restaurants, stores, parking lots. Safety not guaranteed.
    Black lives mourned throughout my newsfeed.
    Another video showed me I truly have no home.
    No place safe for my soul to roam.
    Used to think my manners or schooling would be targe,
    against arrest for a minor charge.

  17. Nick

    Oranges
    Oranges are safe
    Because nothing
    Really rhymes
    With them-or so I am
    Told. Though I
    Remember a knock
    Knock joke that
    Ended with” Oren’t
    You glad I didn’t say
    Oranges again-Oren’t
    Really isn’t a word-
    REALLY its’ just for fun
    and not very
    Punny but a little more
    Funner then a Roundalay
    Which sounds like a
    Merry go round in Hawaii=
    Just haven some fun in
    The sun.
    Grrrr.

  18. lsteadly

    Love and Larkspur

    I pray the day that winds will blow
    away this weary winter
    to hear the babbling rivers flow
    free from dire December
    as shadows fall ‘midst sunset’s glow
    I wait for spring’s sweet splendor

    To hear the babbling rivers flow
    free from dire December
    they wash away all heavy sorrow
    and send my loneliness further
    as shadows fall ‘midst sunset’s glow
    I wait for spring’s sweet splendor

    They wash away all heavy sorrow
    and send my loneliness further
    my heart takes flight with the sparrow
    in search of love and larkspur
    as shadows fall ‘midst sunset’s glow
    I wait for spring’s sweet splendor

    My heart takes flight with the sparrow
    in search of love and larkspur
    and should my wish not reach tomorrow
    I hope you will remember
    as shadows fall ‘midst sunset’s glow
    I wait for spring’s sweet splendor

  19. Bruce Niedt

    I’m happy to see that my roundelay “Category 5”, which won Robert’s form challenge recently, will be featured in the new issue of Writer’s Digest. Meanwhile, here’s a new one – the NaPoWriMo prompt was to write an elegy, preferably one with some positive aspect to it.

    Midnight Rider

    Oh Gregg, you’ve left the worldly band,
    and joined your brother’s early lead.
    With Southern Rock at your command,
    your voice and keyboard sowed the seed.
    With bluesy riffs you took a stand,
    impassioned jams that filled our need.

    With Southern Rock at your command,
    your voice and keyboard sowed the seed.
    Admittedly, the flames were fanned
    with talent, and with booze and weed.
    With bluesy riffs you took a stand,
    Impassioned jams that filled our need.

    Admittedly, the flames were fanned
    with talent, and with booze and weed.
    From “Whipping Post” to “Ramblin’ Man”,
    “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed,”
    with bluesy riffs you took a stand,
    impassioned jams that filled our need.

    From “Whipping Post” to “Ramblin’ Man”,
    “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed”,
    you Midnight Rider in that land
    where Duane will welcome you indeed.
    With bluesy riffs you took a stand,
    impassioned jams that filled our need.

  20. LCaramanna

    Moonshine Buffet

    Tonight by half moon light
    Brazen bunnies dine
    Munch to their great delight
    Oh, tender tulips so fine
    Without a formal invite
    Feast on blossoms of mine

    Munch to their great delight
    Oh, tender tulips so fine
    Hippity hoppity bunnies sight
    Spring blooms in buffet line
    Without a formal invite
    Feast on blossoms of mine

    Hippity hoppity bunnies sight
    Spring blooms in buffet line
    Take pleasure in moonshine bright
    Never fear the woof of canine
    Without a formal invite
    Feast on blossoms of mine

    Take pleasure in moonshine bright
    Never fear the woof of canine
    Tonight by half moon light
    Brazen bunnies dine
    Without a formal invite
    Feast on blossoms of mine

    Lorraine Caramanna

  21. Nick

    Ink Stains

    To find a poet, look for ink stains on the sheets
    As though someone bled a little through the night
    In iambic pentameter the poet’s heart beats
    The poet will not find sleep or ignore a fight
    Could write a poem a day which is no easy feat
    In the morning eyes are tired and quite a site.

    In Iambic pentameter the poet’s heart beats
    The poet will not find sleep or ignore a fight
    On open mic night we the audience take our seats
    The poet will share a PAD with heavenly might-
    Could write a poem a day which is no easy feat
    In the morning eyes are tired and quite a site.

    On open mic night we the audience take our seats
    The poet will share a PAD with heavenly might
    Some will reply some will respond to the heat
    Inspired by other and a prompt somehow we write
    Could write a poem a day which is no easy feat
    In the morning eyes are tired and quite a site.

    Some will reply some will respond to the heat
    Inspired by others and a prompt somehow we write
    To find a poet, look for ink stains on the sheets
    As though someone bled a little through the night
    Could write a poem a day which is no easy feat
    In the morning eyes are tired and quite a site.

  22. Linda Voit

    As Our Neighbors are Shown the Door

    I am filled with consternation
    Starting right here at the core
    With the state of our mighty nation
    And what we have in store
    There is widespread trepidation
    As our neighbors are shown the door

    With the state of our mighty nation
    And what we have in store
    How can we forget elation
    In our own ancestor’s lore
    There is widespread consternation
    As our neighbors are shown the door

    How can we forget elation
    In our own ancestor’s lore
    Our strength is not from elimination
    And elitism we abhor
    There is widespread trepidation
    As our neighbors are shown the door

    Our strength is not from elimination
    And elitism we abhor
    I am filled with consternation
    Starting right here at the core
    There is widespread trepidation
    As our neighbors are shown the door

    Linda Voit

  23. MET

    Clear as Light of Day

    Life has been marooned in the quay.
    Never meant to be one who became stray.
    But here am I caught in the fray
    Of a soul tattered too tired to pray…
    Deep in the night with light gray
    Lamplights dimly mark my way.
    Nothing seems clear as light of day.

    Valleys are hard filled with shadows play…
    I want sometimes to be a castaway
    Lost forgotten … a runaway…
    Seeking light so not to pine away.
    Lamplights dimly mark my way.
    Nothing seems clear as light of day.

    I believed once in my independence day…
    The dragons I would slay;
    There was that would betray
    The lies, my own heart, fell prey
    Lamplights dimly mark my way.
    Nothing seems clear as light of day.

    Yet in this darkness, I will not stay
    It will lift and will sway,
    For I believe in decoration day
    For I am made of potter’s clay.
    Lamplights dimly mark my way.
    Nothing seems clear as light of day.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    April 24, 2018

    1. MET

      Decoration Day to me what I call Memorial Day… In East Tennessee the tradition was on what most of you call Memorial day was the day they went to clean the graveyards and place flowers on their loved ones graves…. IT seemed to fit!

  24. mschied

    The room

    She has been waiting weeks
    Charged with urgent mission
    As falling tear from eyelid leaks
    Which quick obscures her vision
    When silent courage speaks
    Fear will quiet and listen

    As falling tear from eyelid leaks
    Which quick obscures her vision
    She glances through with desperate peeks
    Two hopeful orbs which glisten
    When silent courage speaks
    Fear will quiet and listen

    She glances through with desperate peeks
    Two hopeful orbs which glisten
    An everlasting lifeline seeks
    To break her from her prison
    When silent courage speaks
    Fear will quiet and listen

    An everlasting lifeline seeks
    To break her from her prison
    She has been waiting weeks
    Charged with urgent mission
    When silent courage speaks
    Fear will quiet and listen

  25. mschied

    She has been waiting weeks
    Charged with urgent mission
    As falling tear from eyelid leaks
    Which quick obscures her vision
    When silent courage speaks
    Fear will quiet and listen

    As falling tear from eyelid leaks
    Which quick obscures her vision
    She glances through with desperate peeks
    Two hopeful orbs which glisten
    When silent courage speaks
    Fear will quiet and listen

    She glances through with desperate peeks
    Two hopeful orbs which glisten
    An everlasting lifeline seeks
    To break her from her prison
    When silent courage speaks
    Fear will quiet and listen

    An everlasting lifeline seeks
    To break her from her prison
    She has been waiting weeks
    Charged with urgent mission
    When silent courage speaks
    Fear will quiet and listen

  26. LeeAnne Ellyett

    Robert…really…a roundelay,
    I’ve been busy all day,

    first stop, car repair shop,
    went in for a tune up,
    1 1/2 hours labour + parts = $170.00 bucks
    UGG

    Robert…really…a roundelay,
    starting to haunt me today,

    second thought, I’m caught
    in doing household chores,
    laundry + dishes + the cat box
    UGG

    Robert…really…a roundelay,
    I’m just to tired to play.

  27. mapoet

    The Passerby

    All the birds that fly
    put on a show for free.
    The sun up in the sky
    creates shadows for me.
    Everyday, I pass by
    things I don’t see.

    The sun up in the sky
    creates shadows for me.
    I don’t know why
    I ignore flowers and bees.
    Everyday, I pass by
    things I don’t see.

    I don’t know why
    I ignore flowers and bees.
    I should modify
    my routine to some degree.
    Everyday, I pass by
    things I don’t see.

    I should modify
    my routine to some degree.
    Tomorrow I will try
    to gaze at a tree.
    Everyday, I pass by
    things I don’t see.

    By Michelle Pond

  28. Janet Rice Carnahan

    FORMLESS AS THE WIND

    Swirls
    Curls
    Hurls
    Free form words

    Swishes
    Wishes
    Fishes
    Free flying birds

    Floating feather
    Untied tether
    Turbulent weather
    A released colorful kite

    Uprising smoke
    Uncontrolled choke
    Hysterics, too dirty a joke
    High winds late at night

    A butterfly trapped inside
    A secret one can’t hide
    Known gossip one shouldn’t confide
    Sprinklers caught in the wind

    A dust devil around a broom
    A flower that just won’t bloom
    A child racing around a room
    A hat blown around the bend

    Some things just won’t conform
    They naturally go against the norm
    A raging, unpredictable storm
    Many things refuse to be tamed

    So with that
    We must adapt
    Not try to cap
    Like this poet,
    . . . who shall not be named
    🙂

  29. tunesmiff

    READY
    G. Smith
    –·–·–·–
    Like never before,
    I had a shock:
    I expected more;
    Yet all I hear is the clock.
    He stands at the door,
    Ready to knock.

    I expected more,
    Yet all I hear is the clock.
    It goes right to my core.
    I’m part of His flock.
    He stands at the door,
    Ready to knock.

    It goes right to my core:
    I’m part of His flock.
    Will I open wide? Or
    Will I throw the lock?
    He stands at the door,
    Ready to knock.

    Will I open wide? Or
    Will I throw the lock?
    I fall to the floor:
    He is my rock!
    He stands at the door,
    Ready to knock.

  30. Sara McNulty

    Before Humans Ruled The Earth

    Once upon a time, long ago
    before humans ruled the earth,
    animals roamed freely you know.
    Each four-legged creature had worth.
    No one minded if you were slow
    or fast–that was determined at birth.

    Animals roamed freely you know.
    Each four-legged creature had worth.
    Banana Runners raced to and fro,
    Moosemice never cared who was first.
    No one minded if you were slow
    or fast–that was determined at birth.

    Banana Runners raced to and fro,
    Moosemice never cared who was first.
    Porcupigs kept pace with their toes,
    Girrafins loved being immersed.
    No one minded if you were slow
    or fast–that was determined at birth.

    Porcupigs kept pace with their toes,
    Girrafins loved being immersed.
    In a land of moonlit rainbows,
    rang the bells of enduring mirth.
    No one minded if you were slow
    or fast–that was determined at birth.

  31. Marie Elena

    St. Thomas Island’s Caret Bay (“Someday” Comes)

    Exploring life on new frontiers,
    Today my luvs move far away.
    Our seasons come in waves and tiers
    As drizzle falls from sky of gray
    I hug them tight, yet curb my tears.
    I have to hold my heart at Bay.

    Our seasons come in waves and tiers.
    As drizzle falls from sky of gray.
    Attentive to the fleeting years,
    I want for them sun’s ray. Son’s ray.
    I hug them tight, yet curb my tears.
    I have to hold my heart at Bay.

    Acquainted with life’s fleeting years,
    I want for them sun’s ray. Son’s ray.
    May God’s vast grasp be crystal clear,
    And richly sensed on Caret Bay.
    I hug them tight, yet curb my tears.
    I have to hold my heart at Bay.

    May God’s vast grasp be crystal clear,
    And richly sensed on Caret Bay.
    Goodbyes are said, and it appears
    The time is now, and not “someday.”
    I hug them tight, yet curb my tears.
    I have to hold my heart at Bay.

    © Marie Elena Good, 2018

    1. De Jackson

      Oh, Marie. This is so incredibly beautiful. So well crafted, form-wise, and so heartfelt.
      This line did me in:
      “I want for them sun’s ray. Son’s ray.”

      I knew your loves were moving, recently, but had no idea it was so far away. Praying over them today, and YOU.

  32. De Jackson

    Un(in)formed Poem

    I want no feet.
    No beat.
    No stanza’d streets to stomp
    or romp in name of rhythm,
    rhyme or silly-abic time.

    Iamb what iamb. Un
    -versed,
    unrehearsed, un
    -refrained. I’m trynna start a re
    -volta. Wanna come?

    Oh, hai
    -ku to you, too.
    (And Got bless you.)

    Hey, can I get a ride?
    I’m a little (un)stressed;
    I have missed all trains
    (qua- and otherwise).

    Oops. Gotta go; my meter’s
                                   expired.

    ::

  33. Anthony94

    After Hanging the Hummingbird Feeders

    I’ve spent the day upon my knees
    replacing last year’s winter goods
    beneath the overarching trees
    where pasture enters into woods
    where wild things blown in on a breeze
    take root where only nature could

    beneath the overarching trees
    where pasture enters into woods
    Bluestem undulates like seas
    fossils showing oceans’ floods
    where wild things blown in on a breeze
    take root where only nature could

    Bluestem undulates like seas
    fossils showing oceans’ floods
    between shale cliffs that seem to squeeze
    white draping arms of cottonwoods
    where wild things blown in on a breeze
    take root where only nature could

    between shale cliffs that seem to squeeze
    white draping arms of cottonwoods
    I’ve spent the day upon my knees
    replacing last year’s winter goods
    where wild things blown in on a breeze
    take root where only nature could

  34. Austin Hill

    Form is Like a Training Bra

    Not always needed at the moment,
    but your Mom says “It’s time.”

    You leave for school.
    Your breathing, like your thoughts,
    restricted.

    As soon as you can
    you steal away to the Girls’ Room,
    arms arched behind,
    a contorted, unfamiliar pose.

    You unhook it.
    You sigh.
    You breathe.
    You write free verse.

    © April 2018 Suzanne S. Austin-Hill

  35. jennfel

    The Charade

    Flawed angels fall from grace
    Wings don’t hold the same
    Amount of cosmic space
    To keep them in the game
    In turmoil they turn face
    And masquerade their shame

    Amount of cosmic space
    To keep them in the game
    Creates a void in place
    Wounds without a name
    In turmoil they turn face
    And masquerade their shame

    Creates a void in place
    Wounds without a name
    Adorned in tattered lace
    Singed by fervent flame
    In turmoil they turn face
    And masquerade their shame

    Adorned in tattered lace
    Singed by fervent flame
    Flawed angels fall from grace
    Wings don’t hold the same
    In turmoil they turn face
    And masquerade their shame

    1. k weber

      -adorned in tattered lace
      -fervent flame
      -cosmic space

      …these images and more work so well in this roundelay/revealing much yet keeping a hint of mystery/leaving the reader guessing.

    2. jennfel

      Thanks to you both. This is a form/structure I have never attempted before, so I am grateful that I pulled it off. I mostly write Haiku and Senryu, so I stretched myself way out of my comfort zone with this one.

  36. Eileen S

    Edna Dean Proctor

    Poetess, Edna Dean Proctor took on a humanitarian chore.
    Seeing the end of slavery and its abuses was her desire.
    She wrote about the peculiar institution that many abhorred.
    Her interviews of mistreated slaves generated ire.
    Born in New Hampshire, near the Contoocook River shore,
    She wrote of a cause which caused a national fire.

    She wrote about the peculiar institution that many abhorred.
    Her interviews of mistreated slaves generated ire.
    Among strident abolitionists Edna Dean Proctor was adored.
    While greedy plantation owners wanted her exposed as a liar.
    Born in New Hampshire, near the Contoocook River shore,
    She wrote of a cause which caused a national fire.

    Among strident abolitionists Edna Dean Proctor was adored.
    While greedy plantation owners wanted her exposed as a liar.
    Her published poetry was well-read during the Civil War.
    Preachers lauded her to their congregants as well as their choirs.
    Born in New Hampshire, near the Contoocook River shore,
    She wrote of a cause which caused a national fire.

    Her published poetry was well-read during the Civil War.
    Preachers lauded her to their congregants as well as their choirs.
    Poetess, Edna Dean Proctor took on a humanitarian chore.
    Seeing the end of slavery and its abuses was her desire.
    Born in New Hampshire, near the Contoocook River shore,
    She wrote of a cause which caused a national fire.

    Author note: I have been working on this for a while. This is the latest rewrite.

    1. k weber

      such a labor of love. i enjoy the use of longer lines for this subject… we as readers are given a much wider understanding and picture of this poet and it gives you as the writer more room to play with the form and rhyme scheme. excellent!

  37. Angie5804

    Not Sure

    It’s in the wind I’m blowing
    With a gust that is unseen
    Yet it’s love that you are showing
    When the morning birds convene
    Not sure just where I’m going
    Can’t remember where I’ve been

    Yet it’s the love that you are showing
    When the morning birds convene
    And your hands are always sewing
    Like a gentle time machine
    Not sure just where I’m going
    Can’t remember where I’ve been

    And your hands are always sewing
    Like a gentle time machine
    While sometimes I’m still unknowing
    Of exactly what it means
    Not sure just where I’m going
    Can’t remember where I’ve been

    While sometimes I’m still unknowing
    Of exactly what it means
    It’s in the wind I’m blowing
    With a gust that is unseen
    Not sure just where I’m going
    Can’t remember where I’ve been

  38. Kateland

    Forget-Me-Not 4-24-18

    Tiny buds are burst with blue
    The sun, their center-piece
    They only hold one message dear
    Request, Forget-Me-Not

    Kateland Smith

    My attempt at an anti-form poem, if that is possible…Every poem has some form, some methodology that helps it fall pleasantly on the ear, and in the mind.

  39. Cam Yee

    Bullet Points

    Her body is a question curled on the ground: whywhywhywhywhywhywhy
    why
    Another one lies straight, an exclamation:
    Do something

    Do
    Something

    1. MET

      wow…..when I was eight my brother was shot… he survived but three of his fingers did…this brought up the image of his fingers in a bowl….I fear it will always haunt me…

  40. Cam Yee

    #neveragain

    Marjory Stoneman Douglas High
    halls echo as her students run
    to hide in classrooms, where they try
    to block the bullets, silent, stunned,
    I don’t want any more to die,
    give up your gun, I’m done, I’m done.

    to hide in classrooms, where they try
    to block the bullets, silent, stunned,
    whispers, shhh, a stifled sigh…
    some may survive but death claims some,
    I don’t want any more to die,
    give up your gun, I’m done, I’m done

    whispers, shhh, a stifled sigh…
    some may survive but death claims some,
    hear them, their heartbroken cry,
    their friends won’t see another sun,
    I don’t want any more to die,
    guve up your gun, I’m done, I’m done.

    hear them, their heartbroken cry,
    their friends wont see another sun,
    eagle spirits fill the sky,
    so many lives cut short by one.
    I dont want any more to die.
    Give up your gun. I’m done. I’m done.

    1. pcm

      The anti-form juxtaposed with your roundelay are a powerful duo. In the Roundelay, each couplet pair is compelling and poignant — and from the final stanza “eagle spirits fill the sky,/so many lives cut short by one” – perfect crescendo with the assonance of the long ‘i’ sound in ‘lives’ and. sky.

  41. Jane Shlensky

    Awakening

    When life is batting us around,
    adventure fills us to the core.
    We never know where we are bound
    or what our bravest thoughts are for.
    It’s then that mystery is found,
    and breathing doesn’t seem a chore.

    We never know where we are bound
    or what our bravest thoughts are for.
    Perhaps as budding hopes resound,
    we find a new thing to adore.
    It’s then that mystery is found,
    and breathing doesn’t seem a chore.

    Perhaps as budding hopes resound,
    we find a new thing to adore.
    Some inner urgency profound
    leads to horizons and new shores.
    It’s then that mystery is found,
    and breathing doesn’t seem a chore.

    Some inner urgency profound
    leads to horizons and new shores.
    Some essence of unknown unbound
    gives us a taste of wanting more.
    It’s then that mystery is found,
    and breathing doesn’t seem a chore.

  42. Jane Shlensky

    Together

    The coffee’s hot; our friends are here
    waiting for storms to move away.
    The wind’s a horizontal shear,
    and water rises through the day.
    We know the odds, we feel the fear,
    beneath the face of holiday.

    The wind’s a horizontal shear,
    and water rises though the day.
    Our lowered voices make it clear
    that danger causes nerves to fray.
    We know the odds, we feel the fear,
    beneath the face of holiday.

    Our lowered voices make it clear
    that danger causes nerves to fray.
    We sort belongings, ready gear,
    if waters rise without delay.
    We know the odds, we feel the fear,
    beneath the face of holiday.

    We sort belongings, ready gear,
    if waters rise without delay.
    We look at faces we hold dear;
    longing for storms to move away.
    We know the odds, we feel the fear,
    beneath the face of holiday.

  43. Ann M

    She raised her brothers
    on a sugarcane farm
    and helped her father
    chase the roosters
    and her mother sew
    her own dress.

    Later she hiked
    the mountains of
    Oahu and sold high-rise
    condos in Honolulu
    before the crash.

    She was unafraid
    to fly a small plane over
    the volcano,
    travel alone
    to Australia,
    and ride the waves
    without knowing
    how to swim.

    When there was
    nothing else to be done
    and even food and drink
    were memories,
    you asked if she wanted
    to go to the beach,
    the mountains,
    the museum
    one more time.

    She said, “Sure, let’s go.”

  44. Asha1000

    The Queen of Form

    Don’t call me the Queen of Form. Why?
    Because it sounds like a dirty
    phrase, like I’m working hard to try
    to be a poetic smarty.
    So, I beg you to say goodbye
    and leave me be with my sharpie.

    A phrase, I’m working on to try
    to be a poetic smarty.
    I don’t want you to be a spy
    as I prepare for your party.
    So, I beg you to say goodbye
    and leave me be with my sharpie.

    I don’t want you to be a spy
    as I prepare for your party.
    A Roundelay you will decry.
    You’ll prefer something more arty.
    So, I beg you to say goodbye
    and leave me be with my sharpie.

    A Roundelay you will decry.
    You’ll prefer something more arty –
    just let free verses spill and fly
    into white space, like confetti.
    So, I beg you to say goodbye
    and leave me be with my sharpie.

    – Lelawattee Manoo-Rahming

  45. thunk2much

    the lesson

    common sense is in the shortest supply
    and most sentiments feel pretty fake
    we hurt one another without caring why
    just enjoying the sound of the break
    and no matter how many years go by
    there’s a lesson that don’t seem to take

    we hurt one another without caring why
    just enjoying the sound of the break
    so it’s all about me and myself and I
    we pretend we don’t feel that old ache
    and no matter how many years go by
    there’s a lesson that don’t seem to take

    so it’s all about me and myself and I
    we pretend we don’t feel that old ache
    we drink and drink and still feel dry
    and hungry in spite of the cake
    and no matter how many years go by
    there’s a lesson that don’t seem to take

    we drink and drink and still feel dry
    and hungry in spite of the cake
    common sense is in the shortest supply
    and most sentiments feel pretty fake
    and no matter how many years go by
    there’s a lesson that don’t seem to take

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