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Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 197

Categories: Poetry Prompts, Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog, What's New.

For today’s poetry prompt, write an answer poem. That is, imagine a question (or think of a question you’ve been asked recently) and use your poem to answer that question.

Here’s my attempt:

“Where are you now?”

I’m lost in the line
breaks, creeping among
the metaphors,
dancing with reason,
and trying to capture
the moment…

*****

Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

*****

Learn how to master the most important moments in your stories.

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About Robert Lee Brewer

Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

181 Responses to Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 197

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

    feral cats
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    where are my feral cats?
    they’re usually here every morning,
    their scared but hungry faces hunkered down at my back door
    knowing food and sympathy need be only minutes away,
    well worth the inconvenience of wind & rain
    and perhaps a touch of humbleness
    to fill these otherwise clean but
    empty bowls.

    © 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. tunesmiff says:

    THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE HER
    G. Smith (BMI)
    ———————————————
    At the far end of the bar,
    Half-watching the playoff game,
    Sits a guy who comes in most nights,
    (I ought to know his name).
    He only orders up a beer;
    He rarely drinks it all,
    And he always nods on his way out,
    As I close up at last call.

    One evening here, I think last week,
    Things were pretty slow;
    So I struck up a conversation,
    Not tryin’ to pry, you know.
    I found out that he lived alone,
    Though that hadn’t always been the case,
    When I asked him what had happened,
    A sad smile crossed his face.

    And he said,
    “This is how you loser her:
    A little at a time,
    Through silly little simple things,
    Without reason; without rhyme.

    Come home late, forget to call,
    Spend Saturdays watching college ball.
    Too much golf; too much fishin’,
    Too much pretending that you listen.
    Nights out with the boys, though you’re not a boozer;
    Follow these steps, and,
    This is how you lose her.”

    Well I screwed up my courage,
    As I unscrewed a cap,
    (He’d rather have a long neck
    Than what I have on tap).
    And I asked if there was anything else,
    That he’d be willing to share;
    Well he looked into his fresh-filled glass,
    And found this answer there.

    He said,
    “This is how you loser her,
    A little at a time,
    Through silly little simple things,
    Without reason; without rhyme.

    Forget to say I love you, or good night,
    Or make up after a nasty fight,
    Or insist that you are always right,
    Or fail to hold her good and tight.
    You don’t have to be an abuser…
    Just follow these steps, and,
    This is how you lose her.

    “The little things become big things,
    And the next thing that you know,
    There’s a tear in her eye as she says good-bye,
    And tells you she must go…

    “Yes, this is how you lose her;
    A little at a time;
    Through silly little simple things,
    Without reason; without rhyme.”

  3. miss josh says:

    “Why Did My Mother Hate Me?”

    28
    Southern Baptist woman
    Married an alcoholic
    Golden girl
    Blonde hair, blue eyes, college bound

    42
    Almost free to divorce
    Menopause
    Surprise!
    1940s
    Back alley abortions
    Death
    No choice
    Ugly girl
    Mousey brown hair, brown eyes, disabled
    No divorce

    63
    Freedom achieved
    Died.

    miss josh emmett
    copyright 2012

  4. Ann M says:

    Why are there so many leaves this year?

    Even with the snowless winter
    and rain-dry spring,
    the trees grew like weeds,
    rooting deeper underground,
    disturbing pipes and pavement,

    In October, the trees’ brown leaves
    are like the specks in my mother’s eyes,
    darkening cloud and sun alike,
    waiting for the chill and day’s wind
    to lay a blanket on us all.

  5. my hearts love songs says:

    fascinating poetry this week!!! wonderful prompt!

    A WORLD APART

    why must we be a world apart?

    how cruel the reality of our existence
    that tore you from my embrace!
    cannot life be kind this once?

    time betrays us, too
    each minute stretching into days
    whilst we endure our forced separation

    what Gods determined that this should be so
    what terrible deed did we commit to offend them
    or could it simply be that they are jealous of our love?

    no matter how long it takes
    i will be waiting for the moment
    when once again i shall be in your arms

    i am forever yours, my Love

  6. Marjory MT says:

    I am just another poet whose ‘commenting tooooooo fast” that is what I am told.
    Guess that my last post (couple days ago) did not post either! :(
    I give it another go.

    IF YOU COULD FLY? Triolet

    If I could but fly upon a wing
    Just to and fro I think I’d go
    Perhaps to fly with birds that sing
    If I could but fly upon a wing
    Then gather treasure to homeward bring
    From lands that no one else can know
    If I could but fly upon a wing
    Just to and fro I think I’d go.

  7. bluerabbit47 says:

    They come
    unbidden,
    pouring through
    cracks in consciousness,
    spilling into quiet
    afternoons.
    breaking down
    dams of resolve,
    dripping like
    springs
    down mossy
    corners at the back
    of my mind.
    They wet
    my hair and leave
    me shivering
    in the middle
    of the night.
    No towel
    can absorb
    their insistence
    until I sit down
    and let them
    flow into
    form.
    Where do
    I get them?
    I wish
    I knew.

  8. Michelle Hed says:

    Robert – I loved your question and idea so much that I “stole” it. :) I was painting on Wednesday and it seemed to fit. Thanks.

    Where are you now?

    Lost…
    Lost in a forest of english ivy
    and burnt sienna
    searching for an owl
    whose shape won’t quite form
    but he watches me with intense eyes
    as I try to sculpt his shape with my brush
    and a bit of autumn brown.

    *****Having a horrible time trying to post – will add my other poem to the same post on the off chance I actually get through. ****

    When will you arrive? (Sonnet)

    When will you arrive mon petit bebe?
    Will your hair be dark or fair as spun gold?
    Blue eyes or brown or something new maybe?
    I long to meet you and in my arms hold.

    The days are longer, the nights ever short
    as you grow and move, keeping me awake;
    Preparing me for when you will hold court
    knowing the life before, I will forsake.

    They say that I glow with inner smiles,
    little lullabies are heard as I hum
    as I sit folding clothes into piles
    dreaming of the little one yet to come.

    For now I sit here rocking my tummy,
    dreaming of the day when I’m your Mummy.

  9. Misky says:

    WHEN YOU LEAVE I SHALL NOT…

    Fall to pieces, a tumbling heart of cards,
    Nor shall I weep, not a trickle, I’ll
    Dance as you walk away.
    Nor shall I deprive myself
    Of sleep – yet be me
    Saddened, stricken,
    And smutted lowly with grief. No, I’ll
    dance as you walk away.

  10. PKP says:

    ARRRGGGHHHHHHHH so completely frustrated – tried posting comments earlier yesterday afternoon – now find myself at nearly 3AM trying to comment only to meet with the ROBOT-EDITOR (not to be confused with the Robert Editor) and told even when posting in slo-mo that I AM POSTING TOO QUICKLY! Example: I tried posting nine times to one poem before the reply posted! I surrender. Some truly wonderful poems … Yole, Jane, Julie, Sharon, Marie, Dan, Mike, Taylor …actually too many to mention without the ROBOT EDITOR I was looking forward to giving so very many poems their deserved individual praise. Thanks to one and all for this terrific reads! With a surrendered wave – I bid all a goodnight (or goodmorning as the case may be!)

  11. WHAT LIES BEYOND?
    for a certain 10-week-old puppy

    What’s beyond the doorstep?
    the bamboo-jungle hedge. Beyond
    that, the driveway.

    Don’t turn your back, she’s
    headed at a puppy-trot for who knows
    where. She’s got a wanderlust

    we never taught her.
    Beyond the front-yard fence, the roar
    of traffic. Catch her quick!

    She’s gone already past the edge
    of shrubbery. There’s
    a world out there. She means

    to measure it by puppy-stride
    and eye and nose, to taste it, roll in it;
    to know the shade of redwood,

    poison sumac, tarweed, tamarind;
    to run from one earth’s end
    until its other. To become the wind.

  12. JRSimmang says:

    “How big is the universe?”

    He says to me
    while his blue eyes search the ceiling,
    as if the answer is painted there.
    I don’t have the heart to tell him
    he’s staring at the ceiling
    and the universe is
    swimming just outside of his reach.
    He’s here,
    on my lap,
    in my heart,
    tracing a star
    in the shape of the couch.
    “It’s as big as you can imagine.”
    And I wonder what it was I just said.
    What he can imagine.
    The universe is as big as the
    monsters under his bed,
    the elephants he sees at the zoo,
    the sleeping man
    on the park bench
    we pass every day,
    his smile,
    his mother’s short brown hair,
    and the universe
    changes every day.
    But, how can I say that?
    How can I say that the universe
    is just one short breath
    from being brought to its knees?

    “Really?”
    He asks,
    not quite believing his old man.

    “Well, maybe not that big.”
    But I smile,
    and he smiles.
    And I know that tonight
    he will dream of elephants.

  13. SharoninDallas says:

    “How Old Are You?”

    “Old enough, I say.”
    To keep prying thoughts away. . .
    Of course, you can’t tell my age
    All your days are not enough yet
    No comparisons can you make
    Unless I am the one who is fooled
    But I see your days ahead
    I see your young faces now
    Some days I want to strangle you,
    And then I think,
    You are so cute.

  14. Mike Bayles says:

    When Will You Let Me Out?

    I just let you out,
    then you asked me to let you in
    after you took care of business.
    I’ll let you out again
    when I get back
    from what I have to do.
    Remember I have left food
    in your dish.
    So just be good,
    and watch the house.
    Don’t stare out the window at me,
    don’t give me that pathetic look,
    and don’t paw at the glass.
    Okay, I’ll let you out
    once more,
    and I swear
    this will be the last time.

  15. Bruce Niedt says:

    Who Reads Books Anymore?

    Apparently, everyone who has congregated
    on a brisk October day to this downtown festival,
    a four-block party cordoned off and transformed
    to a long promenade stacked with new and used books,
    authors and publishers who proudly display their “babies”,
    on whose front page they will gladly scribble
    their names for posterity. The air is filled
    with poetry and music, pizza and funnel cake,
    and face-painted children careen from curb to curb,
    jumping and clapping to a kid-rock band.
    They bounce up to the displays, wanting this book
    and that book, and their parents mostly oblige.
    Later they tote home bags full of their new prizes,
    each one a new world of letters and pictures
    sandwiched between two covers, souvenirs
    of this tribute to the printed word.

  16. zevd2001 says:

    ARS LONGA VITA BREVIS
    My body tells me, stay, you need the rest,
    they’ll be forgiving if you explain that it’s
    problematic ambulating , your foot quits,
    on strike, don’t move, yet the very best
    of me resides among this company . . .
    hobbling ably, finding the higher chair
    the therapist poet, gloats, “I think that there
    ought to be something to mitigate the knee,

    the tender muscle above it, all in flames
    the more you ignore it, that tissue tells you how
    abused it is, traveling from distances, and now
    stepping upon it, please respect its claims
    upon you,” He’s right, I know, that they all say
    the body knows what’s good for it. It tells
    you ouch, reminds you as the rash it grows, regales
    upon your skin, do something quick, pray,

    here, my words cannot wait, they must be told,
    they pine inside me, their meanings to enfold
    into the light of day, “Don’t you agree,
    life’s too short to fret over physical pain
    you have to call its bluff . . . to let the mind
    flow into a visceral mode, albeit resigned
    to leave the ache in a corner.” I remain
    listen carefully to the voices as we read
    our lines, wrap around our sorrows, joys,
    what we love, how our healing power employs
    to end the suffering around us. Planting the seed,
    as the deep medicinal roots pull down and reach
    everything alive—life’s isn’t all that short
    as those ancient sages tout. Slowly we court
    whatever is good for our mortality beseech.

    Zev Davis

  17. Marie Elena says:

    If you have a moment, hop on over to Poetic Bloomings to catch an interview with P.A.’s own Andrea Heiberg. You’ll be delighted to learn more about her.

    http://poeticbloomings.com/2012/10/18/poet-interview-andrea-heiberg/

  18. DanielAri says:

    HEADS OR TAILS, RICHARD?
    By FangO

    and Alice’s artist friend, Kurt, flipped
    and worried a silver dollar the whole time
    we ambled around Manhattan, bumblebeeing
    into art galleries and revolutionary bookstores.
    Coming out of one, Kurt chatted up
    a Texan woman who was picking up her rejected
    charcoal nudes. She was a flat-out nut,
    I reckoned, though Kurt and Alice
    enjoyed splashing in the flow of her quick
    drawl of scandalous international narrative.
    Had she been local, richer and only
    slightly more balanced, Kurt could have
    stacked another possible crash pad
    on the three he has standing by. Spiv,
    that’s a Scrabble word I love. One who
    lives by his or her wits. One day, Kurt,
    your figures will be billboard sized.
    They may as well be, but will you be
    heads up or tails up by then?

  19. Nancy Posey says:

    I am sorry for the double post. I was fighting the “You’re posting too fast demon.” He won.

  20. nitapita says:

    Great poetry today. Thanks to all of you for sharing. I’m fairly new and learning as I go.

    So, here is mine.

    The Answer

    In my quest for answers about the family tree
    I stumbled upon bewildering history
    Researching my mother’s and my father’s line
    I discovered how closely they intertwine
    My mother’s mom was his grandmother’s sister
    Follow along carefully, it’s a brain twister
    So,they were cousins, and this being the case
    I searched the charts and found my place
    What shocking development did I find?
    Well, it explained much, but blew my mind
    Upon this union of two thusly related
    An interesting kinship had been created
    If one’s Great Great Grandmother
    Is another’s Great Grandmother
    And this is a fact that can’t be disproved
    I’m my own second cousin once removed
    In conclusion the answer is quite clear
    My cousin and I both deserve a beer

  21. Nancy Posey says:

    Where Do You Get Your Ideas?
    (“. . . if he knew where his poems came from, he would go there and never come back.”—Billy Collins)

    Winding down the reading,
    “Just a couple more poems,”
    we always say—a warning
    or a promise—we open the floor
    for questions. Unnerved
    by silence, someone always asks
    “Where do you get your ideas?”

    Anticipating the question,
    we bite our tongues, knowing
    better than to risk humor,
    to offer insult to anyone
    willing to spend an hour
    or two listening to us read.

    We who wield words
    fail to find the right ones
    to explain how miracles happen
    only as we take out paper,
    sit with pen in hand,
    and believe.

  22. Nancy Posey says:

    Which Was Better—the Movie or the Book?

    Even reluctant readers know the truth—
    regardless of the book, the film.
    Whole lives fit tucked between the covers
    small enough to carry anywhere,
    capable of painting portraits, landscapes
    in Technicolor on the dull grey matter,
    embroidered in threads of conversation,
    illuminating fears unspoken, thoughts
    invisible on any silver screen.

    The printed word transforms the reader–
    alchemist, conjuror, casting director–
    each encounter singular, each return
    to its pages as fresh as the first time,
    and like a traveler, each reader steps in,
    lives days and years in hours, stopping,
    starting again, retracing steps, unbound
    by time or place, moved as soon
    to unchecked laughter as to tears
    saltier than hot buttered popcorn.

  23. seingraham says:

    Being Admitted

    What? No, I uh, don’t know
    No, no – I can’t, I don’t …
    Yes, I think so, but I don’t …
    No, I haven’t taken too many
    No, I’m not sure … no, wait
    I am, I am … I think, I am
    What? Sorry … what?
    Yes. Yes. I don’t want to feel
    No. No. I’m sorry.
    Maybe – I’m not sure …
    No. No. No.

  24. livvyrose8 says:

    Can you take me to my appointment next Tuesday?

    Give me a minute I’ll check my book
    Let me put you on hold while I have a look
    So far it seems I’m free that day
    But anything can happen it’s so far away
    I’ll give you a yes and jot it down
    Unless something better comes around

  25. Mike Bayles says:

    When will You Let Me out?

    I just let you out,
    then you asked to let you in
    after you take care of business.
    I’ll let you out next
    when I get back
    from what I have to do,
    and remember I have left food
    in your bowl.
    So just be good,
    and watch the house.
    Don’t stare out the window at me,
    don’t give me that pathetic look
    and don’t paw at the glass.
    Okay I’ll let you out
    once more,
    and I swear
    this time will be the last.

  26. Ber says:

    Set me Free?

    Let me in
    giving up his fight
    wanting much more now
    wanting to realise his own light

    He once walked with his head
    held down
    he was never allowed
    to keep it up
    all he did was frown

    Correcting him was what she liked
    to do
    obeying her
    was all
    that he ever knew

    When he realised
    there was so much more to him
    his emtyness and lonelyness
    was discarded in the bin

    Making a place
    in the back of his mind
    now his eyes were open
    how could of he been so blind

    A world full of laughter
    a world full of hope
    making a pathway for him
    his life through a telescope

    Now he was not under it
    but seeing himself for the first time
    knowing he was independant
    and that was just fine

    Her shackles he removed
    and placed them to the side
    his open mind and heart
    were fianally free to glide

    Catching a shadow of himself
    a reflection coming from within
    he was so much stronger now
    his old self left now living

  27. Marie Elena says:

    The site is acting up, and so I’m just going to post a few comments here. I hope you poets find them.

    My favorites of the day so far:

    Walt (LOL!!!)
    Laurie (whoa nelly!  )
    Andrew
    Yolee
    RJ
    Nancy (GREAT voice, SO not your own!)
    Pearls’ “Why?”
    JWLaviguer (amusing take on the prompt)
    Taylor

  28. Linda Hatton says:

    Sorry, the day got away from me and I have to go pick up my kids or I would be commenting on everyone else’s wonderful work! I will get the hang of this soon. :-)

    +++++

    Questions I Hear From My Kids

    Can I
    do my homework
    later, have a snack,
    go to my friend’s house, skip
    taking a shower, stay
    up late?

    Can we
    eat out tonight, go
    for a bike ride, see
    a movie, take
    a walk, play
    badminton, buy
    a book, have
    chocolate, stay
    up late?

    Can you
    make breakfast
    for dinner, buy ice
    cream, make cookies,
    wash my socks, make
    soup, bake brownies,
    curl my hair, sign this form,
    get me some water,
    come here, get
    my medicine, let me
    stay up late?

  29. VOYAGER
    a Canzonetta

    Where do we travel in our dreams, when dark
    holds us fast in sleep? Last night I watched you
    caught in a long trajectory – not an arc,
    but aimed past one o’clock through space, a zone
    far beyond anything I’ve named or known.
    I called. You looked back once. And then you flew
    as if each star became your leaping-stone

    beyond the planet-orbits of our sun,
    outbursting telescope and mind. A dream.
    You traveled past the outer star-webs spun
    of time; beyond, extending the short sight
    that’s bound by mortal’s morning, evening, night.
    Did you pass the heliopause, a seam
    among stars unraveling in your flight?

    But this is dream. Tonight I’ll stay awake.
    Walking in the dark, might I sense a star
    is watching with its distant eye? Mistake
    or vision? just imagination? Eye
    of light that seems to gather the on-high
    into its own design; a door ajar;
    a blink. Now look again – the endless sky.

  30. Sara McNulty says:

    Will someone tell me why I constantly have to log in, even though I am registered on this site?

    Robert, I love your poem for today. Here’s mine:

    How Are You Coping?

    Luring lullabies drift
    as soothing steam
    calling out from my sofa.
    These days, being down
    with a cold provides
    perfect excuse to snuggle
    under a large throw,
    flanked by heat and heart-
    beats of two loyal dogs,
    into closed eyes of escape.

  31. PKP says:

    apologies writing in between (my other hat) working – haven’t had time to read – will look forward to later and what I am sure will be some wonderful questions and answers.

  32. PKP says:

    Who You Lookin At

    Not me
    you ain’t
    cause if you
    is
    you not
    goin be
    seein much-a
    anythin
    when I
    put ya lights out
    even if ya is
    luggin that Oxy
    pump
    no matter ta me
    ya hear me now

  33. claudsy says:

    Do You Need Anything?

    An innocent question
    From one wanting to help;
    An answer buried deep
    Within passages of mind,
    Inside rooms built of heart’s
    Desires and wishes unfulfilled.

    Do I need anything?

    I need regular inspiration,
    Requiring only inner vision.

    I need time to stand still,
    Allowing me to explore all.

    I need adequate will power
    To accomplish all my plans.

    All else requires the help
    Of those with resolutions
    To grant me a world without
    Strife, where humankind lives
    In peace, without want for needs
    Fulfilled that serenity can satisfy.

  34. Jane Shlensky says:

    This question has amused me for 39 years of teaching.

    Did I miss anything when I was absent?

    Don’t be ridiculous.
    When you’re not here,
    we sit around stymied,
    folding class handouts
    into origami animals,
    waiting, wondering
    what You must be doing
    wherever you are,
    missing you.

  35. Unrequited Disturbance says:

    “What do you want to do before you die?”

    Live life as if it were a poem. Appreciate every breath of word and every silence of syllables. Feel the heartfelt, jaw-dropping effects of reading between the lines and make connections of how everything and anything is important. Fall in love with words while slowdancing on top of the world. Then freefall from the skies as if I was Peter Pan reborn into the earth. Just so I can point and laugh in the face of failed fears like HA! Then safely land in my motherland, get blessed by waters of my ancestors knowledge like teardrops on the page. So wherever I am, it is home and promised, “Never forget”. Write every translucent story half-dreamt and publish like a maniac. Learn to swim in the flow of my own beat, treading against the waters. Swim through tsunamis of scribbles with no resolutions and find the anime colors of truth. Once I memorize my piece, jump up the biggest stage as one of my city’s finest and put up my soul of art for judgement. Chase my dreams of abstract spirituality rather than flammable papers. Love with as much knowledge of the word as I possibly can. Finally, at the end of my days, let go of tired habits and heartaches and move on today.

  36. Jane Shlensky says:

    Holding Pattern

    “Can you hold?”
    “I can’t–“ I’m on hold.
    Time passes
    to muzak
    throbbing in my burning ears,
    thinking “will” not “can”.

    Answers slash
    through my mind as I
    hold my phone,
    tongue, temper,
    my head in my hands, waiting,
    life reduced to breath.

  37. JWLaviguer says:

    “Stating the Obvious”

    You guys playing cards?
    Shuffling, dealing, ignoring.
    Really? Can’t think of anything
    better to break the ice?

    Did that hurt?
    No I just like bleeding and crying.
    And this bone sticking out of my arm
    is just preparation for Halloween.

    There are no stupid questions.
    Just stupid people.

  38. Marianv says:

    Again?

    Yes, we are John is just so delighted
    That we are having a big family because
    We have all this room here for them to run
    Around and the woods and the big pond
    And hills for sledding, John and I still
    Love to do that outdoor kind of stuff, too
    We have the gardens and the chickens and
    Dogs and cats,

    Now that we have indoor plumbing, I bought
    an automatic washing machine and I’m
    Looking for a second hand clothes dryer, though
    I do like to hang things outside when it’s nice.
    Of course I still sew all the girls’ clothes
    – yes, they like blue jeans, too. Naturally
    the Sisters insist all the girls wear dresses.
    Oh yes, I agree, sainthood should be granted
    To who-ever it was invented permanent press.
    We do have life so much easier than our mothers.

    Isn’t it wonderful? Kennedy will be even better
    Than Roosevelt. He’s one of us. Now, if they
    Can just get those communists out of Viet Nam –
    Oh, JoEllen’s boy is going over there? That’s
    Terrible. Yes, of course we’ll pray. With Kennedy
    As president, we should have peace over there by
    Next spring, don’t you think?

  39. PKP says:

    Why can’t you freeze little ones for just a little while longer

    When they throw their velvet arms around your neck
    fall on the floor at your jokes
    and laugh with the mystical chimes of angel bells
    in every Wonderful Life combined
    When you inhale the perfume of their skin and
    swoon with a primal intoxication
    When….
    Well it just goes on
    and that is why
    If you could stay the unspooling
    of the irrevocable ribbon of time
    you would
    forever

  40. PKP says:

    Why did they never return?

    I remember them
    When I used to walk to
    Work with you
    We looked up
    I leaned against your
    Thighs so I wouldn’t fall
    Over and we laughed and
    I was so little I thought
    That they touched the
    Sky and believed you
    When you told me that
    They went on a vacation
    That smoky day on the way
    To preschool when they were gone
    And your eyes teared

  41. PKP says:

    Why?

    I cleaned the kitchen
    even the crumbs between
    the grout
    that was so annoying
    last week when I promised
    remember? I promised on
    my knees to you
    that I would never be so
    disgusting again and get
    you so angry
    Remember
    so why?
    Everything is clean
    the laundry is done
    and the towels folded
    the way they should be
    not the way I did by mistake
    so why?
    and I even have on the
    red lace thing that you
    bought underneath
    my shirt
    and I am trying
    hard not to let
    a single drop of
    dripping blood
    stain it
    I’m sorry I asked
    why?
    Because I know
    how much you
    love me and that
    there must
    must be
    a reason
    that I’m just
    too stupid to
    see

  42. PowerUnit says:

    It’s about a journey,
    you know, sort of an epic
    but nobody dies, gets raped, or shot.
    There are no heroes.
    It’s about politics,
    sort of a Lone Rider in an RV
    but through the politically charged landscape.
    It’s hard to explain, but in one word:
    ‘uhm’.
    It’s about people,
    people helping people,
    people not helping people,
    and people bumping into people,
    sort of a pin-ball game with human emotions,
    frailty, and empathy.
    It’s about love.
    Of course it’s about love.
    Aren’t all novels about love?
    And Canada.
    It paints an inescapable inscape of this
    great white northern
    boggy, tree filled, rock heap.
    It’s also about art,
    not the money of art,
    or the wonderfulness of art,
    but more of the philosophy of art,
    sort of an Art of Painting Easel Maintenance.
    It’s a story of questions
    to ask yourself while trying to sleep
    or trying to wash the night’s earthy sweats off in your shower.
    It’s a story that will make you say hmmm,
    and scratch your chin.

  43. Kayfay says:

    When Will I See You Again?
    At another class reunion Ten years down the road
    Unless luck would have it her way and we meet again by chance
    we can keep pace with technology, FB, MySpace, WebCam
    Until then.

  44. Nancy Posey says:

    You Talkin’ to Me?

    Yeah, you, mutterin under your breath over there
    like nobody’s listenin, like you’re the only guy
    in the whole wide world
    not havin a nice day

    If you got somethin to say to me, say it, Buddy
    Don’t get all mealyimouthed
    just ‘cause I’m makin eye contact

    You and me’s gonna hafta ride this bus
    all the way to the end o’ the line
    and all I want’s a little quiet
    so’s I can read a little

    If you find it funny, me, a grown man readin
    a real book, not some computer screen book–
    and not porno either—I see ya laughin–
    but a story, a good one

    Just shut your yap and keep your eyes
    on your own newspaper
    or cellphone
    or iPad or iPad,
    your toy-of-the week.

    I paid the same fare you did for this ride
    and I’ll cry if I want to.
    What’s it to ya?

  45. Are you a Poet?

    Without a doubt I do indeed
    Know that somewhere deep in me
    A poet hides and can’t be seen
    Hoping someday to be set free

    I hide and live in fear and doubt
    Afraid my poems might bomb out
    My words it seems are never right
    Yet my quill insists on taking flight

    It flutters and flaps and jumps about
    Filling my scroll with words of prose
    Spilling my ink and letting it flow
    Yet mellifluous it’s not this much I know

    Without a doubt I do indeed
    Know that somewhere deep in me
    A poet hides and can’t be seen
    Hoping that someday I’ll be set free

    Without a doubt I am indeed
    A poet that needs to be set free
    With words of prose across my scroll
    I hope to take you sailing with me

  46. RJ Clarken says:

    Do You Want to Supercize?

    I steered my car up to the mic.
    The squawk-box rasped: “What wouldja like?”
    I said, “A burger, coke and fries.”
    The voice replied, “K. Supercize?”

    “No. A ‘small’, please,” I insisted,
    even though ‘small’ was not listed.
    Just big or bigger, they advise.
    The voice replied, “K. Supercize?”

    I rolled my eyes. “I told you: small.
    I don’t want big, huge, grandé, tall.
    And also, please, now skip the fries.”
    The voice replied, “K. Supercize?”

    I cried into the mic, “A SMALL!
    Petite. Or tiny. Wee. That’s all.
    But you know what? Think I’ll revise.”
    The voice replied, “K. Supercize?”

    I screamed, “You dolt! Yeah, here’s the deal –
    Forget my food. Don’t want your meal.”
    As I drove off, to my surprise
    I heard the voice. “K. Supercize?”

    ###

  47. Yolee says:

    What is your Fear?

    That my field of dreams will become
    desolate as a frostbitten bleacher; dark
    as a gambler’s obsession; that their seed
    will not shake the ground, push thru
    earth; the quarter moon of fancy thoughts
    will recede in shadows as if they were hermits
    coming undone; that calla lilies will appear
    with backless dresses, and no one will
    perceive their simple beauty.

  48. Earl Parsons says:

    Where You Been Lately?

    Out and about
    Doin’ what I do
    Helping people cope
    With disasters

    Just got back
    A month on the road
    Seen the Big Easy
    Followed Isaac

    People hurting
    Flood, wind, rain
    Losses to be adjusted
    Some total

    Did my thing
    Held a lot of hands
    Even made some smile
    Satisfaction

  49. Impromptu

    I’m so glad you asked me that, Dale,
    and if I may, I would like to say that
    tonight somewhere in lower Vermont
    is a little boy named Timmy, whose
    parents are exactly the kind of
    person I would want to meet after
    I had sat down on my first day
    in office, people who know
    how hard it is to be upset and
    in need – and we would have
    a beer and a plan for everything,
    and to be honest, a new day for America.
    Someday, Timmy will be older,
    and we have to give him the chance
    to do that, be older – just like Ethel,
    sitting up there in the balcony tonight
    next to my lovely wife and daughter.
    And make no mistake, it will take
    sacrifice, and great vigilance, just like
    the founders would have expected,
    and I will lead us in changing many
    things, important things, which is why
    I am different than my opponent,
    and I am not gritting my teeth, and
    my body language is warm but firm
    and I am very, very focused in a
    folksy kind of way, and I will not
    touch my nose, nor will I think about
    you-know-what AT ALL for the
    next ninety minutes, just in case
    and may I just conclude by saying:
    lies-taxes-moral-God-contraception-economy-jobs.
    Thank you.

  50. Marie Elena says:

    Up?

    Baby blues, gleaming
    Chubby arms, reaching
    Dimpled smile, charming

    My response?
    Need you ask?

  51. Domino says:

    Just Answer the Question

    1 or 2?
    A or B?
    In or Out?
    On or Off?
    Yes or No?
    Hit or Miss?
    Wet or Dry?
    Pale or Tan?
    Pass or Fail?
    Live or Die?
    Hot or Cold?
    Rent or Buy?
    Land or Sea?
    Up or Down?
    Win or Lose?
    Rich or Poor?
    Love or Hate?
    Day or Night?
    Give or Take?
    Laugh or Cry?
    Work or Play?
    Sun or Shade?
    Jazz or Blues?
    War or Peace?
    Happy or Sad?
    Coffee or Tea?
    Young or Old?
    Coke or Pepsi?
    Soup or Salad?
    Dead or Alive?
    Lost or Found?
    Vice or Virtue?
    Dusk or Dawn?
    Fact or Fiction?
    North or South?
    Black or White?
    Try or Give Up?
    Knit or Crochet?
    Open or Closed?
    Better or Worse?
    Fight or Give In?
    Hero or Coward?
    Grass or Garden?

    Hope or Despair?
    Noise or Silence?
    Lunch or Dinner?
    Tough or Tender?
    Always or Never?
    Holiday or Work?
    Awake or Asleep?
    Entree or Combo?
    Common or Rare?
    Dressed or Naked?
    Interesting or Dull?
    Car or Motorcycle?
    Formal or Informal?
    Brave or Frightened?
    At Home or Abroad?
    Breakfast or Brunch?
    Locked or Unlocked?
    Pancakes or Waffles?
    Talk Radio or Music?
    Chocolate or Vanilla?
    Compact or Mid-size?
    Arrivals or Departures?
    Fiction or Non-Fiction?
    Sweet or Unsweetened?
    Half-Empty or Half-Full?
    Come In or Do Not Disturb?
    Condominium or Apartment?
    Morning Person or Night Owl?
    Upside-down or Right-side-up?
    Clockwise or Counterclockwise?

    Diana Terrill Clark

  52. elishevasmom says:

    “Who do you think you are,anyway?”

    I am not a victim.
    I have taken control of
    my own life.

    My life could never
    give me better than
    what I had given.

    What we did share was fear
    and doubt
    and whirling dervish moods

    not knowing
    where I was going
    or how I got there

    or what
    or whom I
    left in my wake.

    And that life
    left me victim
    to myself.

    Foundations for the
    House of False Bravado
    finally collapsed.

    And I crawled out of
    the rubble. I guess
    that makes me a

    survivor.
    And so I shook
    off all the victim dust,

    picking up
    useful pieces as I went,
    carefully choosing

    the only ones to
    help make this new house
    strong and true.

    This is my house for
    me and my life.
    And for my friends.

    Friends. Nice word.
    Never used it
    much.

    This new house has
    no room for victims—found
    out they need help—alright

    but they can’t pay
    their way.
    Or mine.

    And survivors, they
    are victims’ second cousins,
    the lucky ones.

    At least they made it.
    But there’s no room for them
    either.

    But there are plenty of rooms
    for peace,
    and comfort,

    and I can add on more
    rooms for friends
    (I kind of like that word)

    anytime I choose.
    So, that’s who I think
    I am.

    Who do you
    think
    I am?

  53. ChristineA says:

    My Ifs, Ands and Buts

    I know I should and
    I’ve dreamed I would
    BUT
    I’m scared of failing so
    I sit here wailing
    AND
    I know if I pass
    My regret will amass, even
    IF
    I commit, are
    my fingers 50K fit?
    SO

    Back to the question you’re asking about
    (Will I do NaNoWriMo?)
    The jury’s still out.

  54. laurie kolp says:

    WHY WAIT?

    There you are
    with that look
    of rapture
    in your eye.

    I know
    the calm comes
    before you
    throw me on the bed
    and rattle my appetite.

    Why wait?

  55. De Jackson says:

    How now, brown cow?

    One
           (for the money)
         (if by land)

    two
        (for the show)
                      (if by sea)

    three
           (to get ready)
    reasons I should not call you:

    You.
    Me.
              We.

    .

  56. julie e. says:

    IS THERE A POINT??

    Is there a point
    to these words that keep circling
    around my head like so many flies
    is there a point
    to the words you are spewing
    verbal incontinence on my new shirt
    is there a point
    if there is, just please grab it
    show it to me before I lose hope
    perhaps you can’t see
    my face, eyes glazed over
    your words dripping off me
    flattening my hair
    and frankly, my dear,
    I don’t care.

  57. How Was Your Trip?

    Short answer. Fine, I had a wonderful time.
    I’ll leave out the parts about the flight delay,
    the deep conversation with a nephew,
    doing dishes for three hours after a family supper,
    helping a nervous mother of the groom
    by preventing her tags from showing,
    attending an outdoor wedding with
    PJs under my dress to keep warm,
    watching my nephew and bride exchange I dos,
    dancing for the first time in a long while
    to Monster Mash and I Believe in Miracles,
    pinching myself to stay awake at church,
    seeing my sister cry ten months
    after her husband died, going to Taken Two
    with my sisters and brother-in-law,
    stuffing myself with pizza and lasagna,
    breakfasting with a friend I hadn’t seen for thirty years,
    meeting my sister’s friend and her dogs,
    helping sisters and nieces clean out a farm house,
    eating some kind of thing with green stuff,
    playing Canasta and Scrabble half asleep,
    being adopted by a cat and chased by a goat,
    sitting by a frightened teenager on flight home,
    getting enthusiastic greetings from my family.
    So, fine thank you, had a wonderful trip.

  58. Michael Grove says:

    The answer is always:

    I Love You

    If I said I love you
    a hundred thousand times,
    if I wrote I love you
    in romantic rhyming lines,
    if I sang I love you
    in somewhat melodic verse,
    if I showed I love you
    for better and for worse,
    then you’d see I love you
    with the give and the take,
    then you’d dream I love you
    as you sleep and you awake,
    then you’d feel I love you
    throughout joy and without sorrow,
    then you’d know I love you
    like there is no tomorrow.

    By Michael Grove

  59. Domino says:

    How Are You?

    Everyone says “good,”
    whether they really are
    or not,
    or “fine, just fine.”

    And sometimes when I say
    fine or good or whatever
    I say
    I am not really fine,
    I am more
    or less
    or a combination of things
    all at once
    that cannot really be
    answered in a single word,
    not in a sentence,
    nor a poem,
    nor even a novel
    at times.

    So I say, “Fine,
    I’m fine, thank you.
    And you?”

    Diana Terrill Clark

  60. YES!

    Do you wanna, huh?
    I mean, no one is around and
    it won’t take long.
    We can…you know,
    do it in a couple rooms.
    We can get behind the couch,
    and in the kitchen if you wanna.
    And of course the bedroom.
    We haven’t done the bedroom in a while.
    So…do you wanna? Yes!
    I’ll do the trim and you
    can follow behind with the roller.
    Painting goes faster that way.

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