11 thoughts on “april_pad_challenge

  1. candy

    A Story Poem

    This poem is a once-upon-
    A time poem
    A ghost of a story poem

    A rather novel kind of poem
    Written in family secrets
    A whodunit mystery to solve poem

    It’s a crime solving, buried
    Treasure, eclectic detective,
    Good vs evil sort of poem

    This poem is a riding off into the sunset,
    All’s well that ends well,
    Happily ever after work of fiction –

    ~ Fini


    those who hear me cry
    but hide away
    I sit here while I hear your lie
    interesting you find a place
    I’m sick of it, I hope you die

    fine don’t listen
    your time will come
    nature will take its course
    to finish you off
    I warned you many times
    try to last
    I’d like
    see you try

  3. 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.


  4. Patricia A. Hawkenson


    I can’t float
    so let your fingers
    pull me close to you
    a lifesaving
    the memory
    of almost drowning
    in that darkened space
    with fear
    water in my lungs
    that makes me
    want to ride
    a sparkling wave
    a lovers embrace
    before giving up
    and sinking,
    as we merge

  5. Angie5804


    He sounds so ferocious
    Wearing armor and such
    But oh what a tickle
    Is his feathery touch

    Such a very large name
    For this fellow tiny
    A cheerful childhood friend
    On a day sunshiny

    With fourteen little legs
    Which he uses wholly
    Crawling in his burrow
    It’s the Roly Poly!

  6. Austin Hill

    Mom’s Fried Corn

    I celebrated your birth
    in such a different way;
    At first I didn’t notice
    it was your special day.

    Eight plump ears of corn lie waiting,
    checkerboard in yellows and in whites;
    A break in the clear wrap reveals
    familiar scents as well as known sight.

    Around your granddaughter’s kitchen
    I searched for one small knife;
    Serrated – kernels to be freed,
    thrust forward with no strife.

    Meanwhile, the smell of bacon
    permeates the air;
    Snapping and popping grease lands
    almost everywhere.

    And when the strips are fried
    glist’ning, hard and crisp;
    I check the pan to see
    if there’s one I’ve missed.

    I find that they’re all done,
    one-by-one I take them out;
    On paper tow’ls they lie
    as I verify the count.

    The hot drippings in the pan
    bid the kernels a quick adieu;
    Milk-covered they sizzle, squirm,
    and nestle in their moo juice stew.

    The flame I keep adjusting
    until it cooks down nice ‘n good;
    I crumble up the bacon,
    true magnum opus for this food.

    Now, the oohs and ahhs of your great grands,
    ones you never knew,
    brought that this was no coincidence
    clearly into view.

    I celebrated your birth
    in such a different way;
    I made fried corn just like you,
    on that, your special day.

    © August 2016/July 2017 Suzanne S. Austin-Hill

  7. ingridbruck

    Day 2 ~
    High Art of Helen Perez Garcia
    (in Hi-Fructose Magazine, 4-2-18)

    a child
    not yet woman
    slight and wiry
    looks partway to the side
    wanting to look out
    but indecisive
    she covers herself in nature
    the beauty of hoheria and red lily
    hands reach, fingers clasp at green leaves
    in hope and fear to know
    whatever is out there

  8. ingridbruck

    Day 1 ~ Secret

    “Why do so many boys in the park
    get off the bus at my stop?”
    That’s what I wonder.
    My sister breaks the secret
    our brother Kevin told her.
    Those boys go to Chrissy’s,
    each one paid her a quarter on the bus,
    they go to her house to collect.
    She enters the outhouse,
    takes off her bra as they watch
    through a crack in the wall.
    The boys pay to see
    her spectacular boobs,
    it’s a delight so enticing,
    they pay her to do it over and over.

  9. Jennifer

    A case of mistaken identity

    A case of mistaken identity:
    that’s not the button I thought it to be.
    I pressed the one clearly marked with “reply,”
    must have caused several poets to sigh,
    what can she be thinking, doesn’t she know
    that is not how we get a poem to show.
    Thanks for your kindness and pleasantry,
    RE case of mistaken identity.


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