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Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 198 (and WD Poetic Forms Challenge)

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

I’m trying something a little different this time around. This is still a poetry prompt (on Wednesday), but I’m going to combine it with one of our Writer’s Digest Poetic Forms Challenges (more details on that below). First, the prompt.

For this week’s prompt, write a chant poem. I just covered this poetic form yesterday on the blog (click here to read).

Though I wrote it for yesterday’s prompt, here’s my attempt:

“Santa Carla”

He can see all the birds lift from the grass;
there’s another missing child on the radio.

The trees appear to be covered in glass;
there’s another missing child on the radio.

He knows the many shades of wrong and right;
there’s another missing child on the radio.

If there’s a city waiting in the night,
there’s another missing child on the radio.

*****

Here are the guidelines for the WD Poetic Forms Challenge:

  • I will consider any poem included in the comments on THIS post
  • Deadline: 8 a.m. (Atlanta, Georgia, time) on October 26, 2012 (in other words, the next 48 hours)
  • Please include your name as you would like it to be published (if selected)
  • Contest is free
  • If you would not like your poem considered for the contest, please indicate such in your comment
  • Winning poem will be highlighted on the blog and be featured in a future Poetic Asides column in Writer’s Digest magazine
  • All poems submitted must be previously unpublished (that is, published in a book or publication of some sort)
  • Announcement of the winner and top 10 will appear on the Poetic Asides blog (usually within a week of the deadline)

 

Poets can continue submitting poems after the 8 a.m. deadline as they normally would on a Wednesday Poetry Prompt, but I will only consider poems for the challenge up to that point.

Let me know if you have any questions.

*****

Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer

*****

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About Robert Lee Brewer

Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

230 Responses to Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 198 (and WD Poetic Forms Challenge)

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder says:

    just under the radar
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    no family to call her own
    the woman who walks home alone
    alot to be said for flyin’ just under the radar

    he follows along while he tweets
    from the other side of the street
    alot to be said for flyin’ just under the radar

    notes the neighbors, notes the time
    notes the tingles up the spine
    alot to be said for flyin’ just under the radar

    in the coming weeks he’ll prove
    stake his mark, make his move
    alot to be said for flyin’ just under the radar

    then off across state lines
    put some distance ‘tween the crimes
    alot to be said for flyin’ just under the radar

    © 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. Marie Elena says:

    MAKING A MESS OF THINGS

    He chases superficial gain
    A new graffiti dawns

    Spray-painted tenets leach his soul
    A new graffiti dawns

    Fidelity repulses him
    A new graffiti dawns

    Her mousy brown bleeds into brash
    A new graffiti dawns

  3. Kit Cooley says:

    Well, crap! Here’s the party. I posted mine in the blog post for the Chant Poem Form on the 23rd.

  4. nitapita says:

    Life is Too Short

    I can’t wait to play on Saturday
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait for vacation
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait for school to start, I’m so bored
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait to turn sixteen, so I can drive
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait to graduate and get a good job
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait to get married
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait to have kids
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait until they walk and talk
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait until they start school
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait to see the adults they’ll be
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait until they come home to visit me
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait for grandkids
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    I can’t wait to retire
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    Wait, wait, I can wait to grow old
    Life is too short, enjoy today

    Wait, wait, I can wait to die

    Life is too short…

    By Anita Porr

  5. nitapita says:

    This was written on the fly, when I couldn’t post my original. Just fixed the errors.

    To my fellow writers
    Of posted poetry
    Nice job, good work
    That really touched me

    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.

    Your poems are moving
    I liked them a whole lot
    Some make me chuckle
    Some inspire thought

    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.

    I’m just trying to comment
    Just typing a reply
    I get this message
    I can’t figure out why

    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.

    You must be kidding
    How can this be?
    I just type a response
    And post comment, see?

    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.

    It’s really too bad
    I’ve comments to share
    And my poem might
    Have won by a hair.

    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.

    By Anita Porr

  6. nitapita says:

    To my fellow writers
    Of posted poetry
    Nice job, good work
    That really touched me

    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.

    Your poems are moving
    I liked them a whole lot
    Some make me chuckle
    Some inspire thought

    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.

    I’m just trying to comment
    Just typing a reply
    I get this message
    I can’t figure out why

    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.
    You must be kidding
    How can this be?
    I just type a response
    And post comment, see?

    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.

    It’s really to bad
    I’ve comments to share
    And my poem might
    Have won by a hair.

    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down.

    By Anita Porr

  7. Originality says:

    His Face Moves Like Clockwork
    By Lahevet

    Met a young man with stunning long lips
    When he smiles
    His face moves like clockwork

    His lips extend beyond his teeth, forming a triangle
    Into his cheeks, and like a domino effect
    His face moves like clockwork

    Lips spread to cheeks, creating a triangle smile
    Cheeks push up, forming wrinkles under his eyes
    His face moves like clockwork

    I am so fascinated by this clockface
    I immediately dial a friend, who scoffs
    “…His face moves like clockwork?”

    Another writerly fascination I must keep to myself
    Perhaps one day she’ll see the beauty that is a long-lipped young man who when he smiles
    His face moves like clockwork

  8. Linda.H says:

    The Game Changer

    I used to fear my brain was shrinking
    because as I read my emails I was thinking
    What the hell are they talking about? It wasn’t clear.

    Whether correspondence from family or friend
    the language they used I couldn’t comprehend
    because new words are created every year.

    The portmanteaus, they caused no stress.
    Ones like ginormous are easy to guess
    even the very first time they premiere

    and technological creations come easily–
    iPhone, e-reader, the DVR and RPG
    because new words are created every year

    and computer-related terms are all the rage
    in advertisements on an international stage
    so that nomenclature lies within my lexical sphere.

    But living overseas sometimes leaves me out of the loop
    and often I must consult Webster’s for the scoop
    because new words are created every year

    and my students ask the meaning of boomerang child
    and helicopter parent, man cave, cougar, bullycide,
    a smackdown, nanobreak, bromance, craft beer,

    and before the blockbuster film hit German screens
    we had absolutely no clue what bucket list means
    because new words are created every year

    and no one knows all the words floating around.
    Vocabulary is an ever-growing playground
    to pioneer; new features pop up as others disappear.

    Vocabulary is the game changer of language, always
    reflecting new trends, advances, and creative ways;
    therefore, new words are created every year.

    Linda Hofke

  9. Tracy Davidson says:

    Homecoming

    The day you leave hospital, people stare;
    I see beyond the layers of scars.

    You try hard to pretend you don’t care;
    I see beyond the layers of scars.

    The neighbours are gathered on the street;
    I see beyond the layers of scars.

    In shock they find your eyes hard to meet;
    I see beyond the layers of scars.

    I wheel you in, I know you want to hide;
    I see beyond the layers of scars.

    The man I love is buried deep inside;
    I see beyond the layers of scars.

  10. Marjory MT says:

    MILES AWAY…

    When I last felt your hand in mine
    Was it yester-year or yesterday?
    Now your hand and your voice have moved
    so many, many miles away.

    While saturating thoughts and heart,
    your whispered endearments didn’t stay,
    now sun’s brightness, bird songs are all
    so many, many miles away.

    Across deserts, mountains, deep seas
    I try to find a newer way.
    Across miss-understandings too,
    so many, many miles away.

    Across all the regrets and tears,
    to hear again a love song play.
    Across what might have been, but is
    so many, many miles away.

  11. julie e. says:

    i spent a little time reworking my poem “Only” that’s posted somewhere above, so here it is.

    “ONLY”

    Morning hit harder than it should
    so it took hours to get myself out of bed.
    It seems like no matter how well
    I think I’ve slept, I’m still tired—
    but it’s only fibromyalgia
    .
    I took a shower, put on makeup
    and then needed a short rest,
    had a salad for lunch, though “fatigue”
    doesn’t always equal “good choices”—
    but it’s only fibromyalgia.

    For three days last week
    I thought my skeleton was on fire,
    and today’s a much better day,
    I only ache like the flu—
    but it’s only fibromyalgia.

    I was scared when I drove
    ‘round that familiar corner
    and felt lost, hateful
    when my brain’s all smogged up—
    but it’s only fibromyalgia.

    Good days I can go to the gym and
    still run errands, but not usually,
    sometimes people think me a lazy
    maker of excuses ( even I call me useless—)
    but it’s only fibromyalgia—

    and that’s not like a REAL thing, is it?
    I mean, you can’t SEE it….

  12. Michael Grove says:

    Paying Paul

    Paul gets paid by robbing Peter.
    Park your car and feed the meter.
    Paul gets paid by robbing Peter.
    Up the totter, down the teeter.
    Paul gets paid by robbing Peter.
    No regrets from the cheater.
    Paul gets paid by robbing Peter.
    He believes there’s nothing sweeter.
    Paul gets paid by robbing Peter.

    by Michael Grove

  13. julie e. says:

    FOR PATTI.

    missed all my appointments
    right after you died
    just couldn’t care
    just couldn’t try
    I still can’t believe you’re not here

    waited all day for my birthday
    phone call
    for the sound of your laugh
    but your voice is gone
    I still can’t believe you’re not here

    and I’m making dinner
    the same as before
    and I go to the bank
    and I go to the store
    and I still can’t believe you’re not here

    the tether is broken
    from me to the ground
    and I’m floating away
    like a winter’s day cloud
    and my heart’s just a sigh
    in the midst of a crowd
    and I still can’t believe you’re not here
    with me.

  14. Earl Parsons says:

    The Heroes

    We all know a hero
    Or two, three, or four
    They give all and ask nothing in return

    They come in all sizes
    Sexes and colors
    They give all and ask nothing in return

    Often
    So often
    They hide in the shadows
    They give all and ask nothing in return

    And we all
    At one point
    Forget to say thanks
    They give all and ask nothing in return

    When will we dare to become one of them
    They give all and ask nothing in return

    When we bury ourselves and open our hearts
    They give all and ask nothing in return

  15. MeenaRose says:

    United By Verse
    By: Meena Rose

    We are, we are the Poeteers;
    We are, we are mankind’s seers.

    We are, we are the Poeteers;
    We must, we must expose our fears.

    We are, we are the Poeteers;
    We can, we can bring you to tears.

    We are, we are the Poeteers;
    We are, we are blazing new frontiers.

    We are, we are the Poeteers;
    We must, we must amaze your ears.

    We are, we are the Poeteers;
    We can, we can chant on years.

  16. junebug says:

    Heirloom

    baby gift from a wealthy aunt
    the pearls lay gently on her neck

    dress up heels and trailing hems
    the pearls lay gently on her neck

    schooling done, life unfolds
    the pearls lay gently on her neck

    one thing borrowed, another blue
    the pearls lay gently on her neck

    family days, occasions few
    the pearls lay gently on her neck

    time slips by, children gone
    the pearls lay gently on her neck

    tears many, their last respects
    the pearls lay gently on her neck

    June Rose Dowis
    (please consider for the contest)

  17. Originality says:

    Gym Rats
    by Lahevet

    Inside, no food and no cellphones permitted
    Outside, Outside would banish us

    Inside, the sweatier the sexier
    Outside, Outside would banish us

    Inside, we unleash the beast from within
    Outside, Outside would banish us

    Inside, sadism is welcomed and masochism cherished
    Outside, Outside would banish us

    Inside, we can grunt and howl and spit and sputter
    Outside, Outside would banish us

    Inside, we compliment good form without getting slapped
    Outside, Outside would banish us

    But Inside isn’t Outside, so no reason to worry that
    Outside, Outside would banish us

    And if Outside entered, Outside would be Inside and, well, if Inside were
    Outside, Outside would banish us

  18. Bruce Niedt says:

    Hmm, Jay, mine could almost be a darker companion piece to yours:

    Frankenstein

    My monster will rise from two teenage boys
    who killed a young girl for her bike.

    My monster will rise from a commentator
    who called the President a “retard”
    and from those who hang him in effigy.

    My monster will rise from the men who shot
    a girl in Pakistan who wanted an education.

    My monster will rise from those who bullied
    a girl to suicide.

    My monster will rise from those who say
    the Holocaust never happened.

    My monster will rise from the two men
    who crucified a young gay man against a fence,
    the three white supremacists who dragged
    a black man to pieces behind their pickup.

    My monster will rise from the slime of hatred
    and intolerance, from the stench of inhumanity.

    Who will kill my monster?

  19. Jay Sizemore says:

    Alive is alive is alive

    does it have a heart beat, does it breathe the air
    does it cry tears of joy, of pain, of sadness
    does it have a face, with eyes, with ears, with mouth

    alive is alive is alive

    does it give thanks, does it love, does it hate
    does it struggle, feel the fear of death closing in
    does it create, does it destroy, does it sit still while things change

    alive is alive is alive

    does it eat, shit, piss, puke
    does it differentiate between races
    does it own a gun, want to fuck everything that moves

    alive is alive is alive

    does it speak or hold its tongue
    does its body have a language unheard
    does it compete for rights, for food, for light

    alive is alive is alive

    does it have a name, a purpose, does it sing
    does it know itself, the world, the connection therein
    does it have a consciousness, a soul, an introspection

    alive is?

    by Jay Sizemore

  20. Michael Grove says:

    Live for Love

    Get down on your knees
    and
    then say pretty please.
    Pray for peace, hope for joy, live for love.

    Happiness so great
    that
    you don’t have to wait.
    Pray for peace, hope for joy, live for love.

    Open up your heart
    since
    It’s the way to start.
    Pray for peace, hope for joy, live for love.

    By Michael Grove

  21. afg_paletta says:

    In Time

    The day is past
    and two walk,
    hand in hand.
    They’ll be late for death
    for just one more night.

    If Time could stop tonight.

    I would save the girl
    who walks alone,
    a shadow far behind.
    She’ll be late for death
    for just one more night.

    If Time could stop tonight.

    There’s a brawl,
    a man who fights,
    for a woman’s heart.
    He’ll be late for death
    for just one more night.

    If Time could stop tonight.

    The Jumper waits
    the winds to change,
    clings to life alone.
    I’ll be late for death
    for just one more night.

    If Time could stop tonight.

    Thank you for reading :)

  22. Maxie says:

    GRAB THE FUTURE

    Taste the winds of change
    so you can take what’s yours

    Add the flavor of your age
    so you can take what’s yours

    Finger the fabric of your history
    so you can take what’s yours

    Reclaim the pull of your mystery
    so you can take what’s yours

    Hands of chance fondle your path
    so you can take what’s yours

    Unclench your fists, extend your palms
    so you can take what’s yours

  23. handyman43127 says:

    ANOTHER HEART
    By William Canterbury Jr.

    Glory-day’s and heavens ray’s
    Sunny smiles of a little child
    There’s another heart broken.

    First true love, heart’s ablaze
    Joyful walks along the beach
    There’s another heart broken.

    Growing old, taking longer to mend
    Memory’s of years gone bye
    There’s another heart broken.

    Death of a spouse, a longtime friend
    laid to rest, never seen again
    There’s another heart broken.

  24. WHOSE MOVE

    Between shore and sea, Death is playing chess.

    You’d rather keep on walking
    between shore and sea. Death is playing chess,

    a quiet game that’s loud with black pawns.
    Between shore and sea, Death is playing chess.

    You’ve given up games for silence
    between shore and sea. Death is playing chess

    by himself, inviting you to join him.
    Between shore and sea, Death is playing chess.

    Your footprints fade in tidal sand
    between shore and sea. Death is playing chess.

  25. tunesmiff says:

    SUPER
    G. Smith (BMI)
    ——————————
    Faster than the speed of sound;
    Look! Up in the sky!
    Leaps tall buildings in a single bound.
    Look! Up in the sky!

    Strong enough to pick up cars;
    Look! Up in the sky!
    From far beyond the distant stars.
    Look! Up in the sky!

    X-ray vision sees through walls.
    Look! Up in the sky!
    Don’t need a spotlight when you call.
    Look! Up in the sky!

    Bending girders with his hands;
    Look! Up in the sky!
    His alter-ego’s every man.
    Look! Up in the sky!

    It’s a bird! It’s a plane!
    More powerful than a runaway train!
    He fights for truth with all his might,
    Just watch out for that Kryptonite!

    Some call him the Man of Steel.
    Look! Up in the sky!
    Some don’t even think he’s real.
    Look! Up in the sky!

    Bullets bounce off of his chest.
    Look! Up in the sky!
    Lois Lane thinks he’s the best.
    Look! Up in the sky!

    Look!
    Up in the sky!

    Look!

  26. Kayfay says:

    Life
    She lay there staring at the clock
    A storm is brewing
    Her eyes rolled back in her head
    A storm is brewing
    The family gathered at her bedside
    A storm is brewing
    It hurts her to laugh
    A storm is brewing
    The nurse checks vitals and all is good
    A storm is brewing
    She looks at the clock and begs don’t leave me
    A storm is brewing
    The morning comes and her life is gone
    A storm is brewing

    Kimberly Fayard

  27. tunesmiff says:

    I AIN’T NO WAYS TIRED
    G. Smith (BMI)
    ———————————
    Lord, it’s such a heavy load;
    But I ain’t no ways tired;
    And Lord, it’s a long and winding road,
    But I ain’t no ways tired.

    The sun is high and burning hot;
    I ain’t no ways tired.
    I’m thankful for the things I’ve got.
    I ain’t no ways tired.

    I’ve been toiling many years;
    I ain’t no ways tired.
    You’re always there to dry my tears;
    I ain’t no ways tired.

    I was born here in this valley,
    I ain’t no ways tired.
    And Your grace is more than enough for me,
    I ain’t no ways tired.

    I ain’t no ways tired, Lord,
    I ain’t no ways tired.
    This world of Yours keeps me inspired,
    And I ain’t no ways tired.

    Sometimes I feel like I’m alone,
    I ain’t no ways tired;
    Yet I still know I am Your Own;
    I ain’t no ways tired.

    Elijah fasted forty days,
    I ain’t no ways tired,
    In everything I’ll give You praise,
    I ain’t no ways tired.

    I ain’t no ways tired, Lord,
    I ain’t no ways tired.
    This world of Yours keeps me inspired,
    I ain’t no ways tired, no;
    I ain’t no ways tired.

  28. Marjory MT says:

    NON-COOKER’S CHANT
    By Marjory M Thompson

    There’s a big party in the works
    And there’s a need for many cooks
    So go dig out your recipe books.
    —-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’

    There’s room for every dish you please,
    Scalloped potatoes to creamed peas,
    Meat and rice rolled in cabbage leaves
    —-Don’t ask me ‘cause I’m not cookin’

    Salads, melons laid out a mile
    Buns, cheese, condoments in a pile
    Potato dish blue ribben style
    —-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’

    Cans of pop be coolin’ in ice,
    Beer of choice, don’t think twice
    Select the drink you think is nice.
    —-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’

    Chops will be heatin’ on the grill
    Hamburgers and hot dogs to fill
    Get them quick before they chill
    —-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’

    Forget diet, desserts to die for
    Everyone will come back for more
    You’ll find several you will adore
    —-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’

    Once everyone has had they fill,
    More food the cooks will offer still
    (Anyone have a heartburn pill?)
    —-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’

    No sir-re,
    —-Don’t look at me. I’m not cookin’

  29. Marjory MT says:

    CHANT of PRAISE
    …By Marjory M Thompson

    You are light,
    You are sound,
    You are music and strength.
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

    The light of the sun,
    the moon and the stars,
    the light of sunrise and sunset.
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

    The sound of thunder,
    the sound of children at play,
    of a church bell calling.
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

    The sound of tears,
    of laughter and joy,
    the sound of the poor, the needy,
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

    The music of the wind and birds,
    a child’s cry and song,
    music of the voice and heart.
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

    The movement of the trees.
    of a lone sea gull’s flight
    the quiet notes of prayer.
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

    The strength of wind,
    of the pounding waves.
    the strength of fear and fire.
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

    You are the giver of purpose,
    of strength, comfort, forgiveness,
    the source of all love.
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

    The strength of the poor, of those in pain,
    the strength of a child and the cross,
    the strength of love.
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

    You are sound and light,
    You are music and strength,
    sight and color, You are learning.
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

    You are a whisper and a shout,
    work , play and a promise.
    You are Love.
    Oh Lord, You are all things.

  30. Poet Ariel says:

    Not yet

    Half blind, half deaf; no nose, no teeth;
    I’m not human yet.

    I tried to hold on and failed;
    I’m not human yet

    Reached out for help:
    I’m not human yet

    There are holes in my fence;
    I’m not human yet

    Door locks have changed;
    I’m not human yet

    I sleep with a fist of metal and grit:
    I’m not human yet

    At the sound of noise, I prowl.
    I’m not human yet.

    Ariel
    Oct 25, 2012

  31. Yesterday Come Back

    Once upon a crowded street
    I felt the pavement beneath my feet
    Verti… Go!

    Walked for miles without a cane
    Through falling snow or pounding rain
    Verti… Go!

    Jumped and ran and danced and played
    Now I sit at home most days
    Verti…Go!

    Took for granted what I was given
    I just hope to be forgiven
    Verti… Go!

    (c) Jacqueline Hallenbeck

  32. Marjory MT says:

    THE SOFT WINDS BLOW
    …..By Marjory Thompson

    The sun comes up above
    the far high mountain range
    to bathe all life with light,
    while blotting out night’s stain.
    We feel the soft winds blow.

    For those with helping hands
    who so seek to expand
    and meet as best they can
    all manner, type of man.
    We feel the soft winds blow.

    When willing, seeking minds
    let hearts open and grow,
    they learn of ways and means
    to let their own love show.
    We feel the soft winds blow.

    Dark storms will rage, as men
    plan only how to take.
    While through love we grow,
    thus leaning peace to make.
    We feel the soft winds blow.

    Nations, people, the rich,
    the poor can end the storm
    that rages ‘round us so,
    let peace become the norm.
    We feel the soft winds blow.

    Our time will someday come
    this life we know will end,
    before that day, may peace
    and harmony find blend.
    We feel the soft winds blow.

    May we feel the soft winds blow.

  33. julie e. says:

    “ONLY”

    Morning hit today harder than it should
    so it took hours to get myself out of bed
    and it seems that no matter how well
    I think I’ve slept I’m still tired—
    but it’s only fibromyalgia.
    I took a shower, put on some makeup
    and then I needed a short rest,
    I had a salad for lunch, though “fatigue”
    does not always equal “good choices”—
    but it’s only fibromyalgia.
    For three long days last week
    I felt like my skeleton was on fire,
    but today’s a better day, I only ache
    like I have that nasty flu—
    but it’s only fibromyalgia.
    It scared me when I drove
    ‘round that familiar corner,
    momentarily lost, hating when
    my brain feels all smogged up—
    but it’s only fibromyalgia.
    On good days I can go to the gym and
    still run an errand or two, but not usually,
    and sometimes people think me lazy and
    unmotivated, and I call me useless—
    but it’s only fibromyalgia—
    and that’s not like a REAL thing, is it?
    I mean, you can’t see it….

  34. foodpoet says:

    for consideration Megan McDonald

    In the silence of Departure

    aromatic moods
    enhancing the night
    in the silence of departure

    no well-being comes from
    buying making truths
    in the silence of departure

    The scent of taste
    fans kindles the emotional journey
    in the silence of departure
    devastating truths lie in
    outlines, evolved into another fantasy
    in the silence of departure

    another installment an unfilled wish
    another unrequited love
    in the silence of departure
    I remain observer visiting nowhere

  35. Miss R. says:

    Paper-Writing Woe

    Another sixteen hundred words to go . . .
    My brain gets numb; my fingers start to slow.
    An hour from now, what will I have to show?
    Another twelve hundred words to go . . .
    I head to the kitchen, empty bowl in tow.
    Why do papers make my appetite grow?
    Another seven hundred words to go . . .
    I just lost that quote that I know would really flow.
    Where’s my pen? I need something to throw!
    Another four hundred and fifty words to go . . .
    The fluff piles up as resources get low.
    Go back to the library? I’m too lazy, bro.
    Another two hundred and three words to go . . .
    Do I have to add more? My paper sounds so pro!
    If I increase the font size, will my prof. really know?
    Another thirty-seven words to go . . .
    I’ll just add three dozen adjectives or so,
    And end this paper-writing tale of woe.

    R. J. Neilson

    P. S. I’m not sure if this actually counts as a chant poem, since the chant line changes a bit each time it’s repeated, but I figured I may as well enter it anyway. And now I should actually go write those 1600 words…

  36. Rachel Hoyt says:

    POCKET GARDEN

    She lost the garden in her pocket -
    One which she loved to explore.

    She lost the garden in her pocket.
    It was not forgotten on some floor.

    She lost the garden in her pocket.
    The groundskeeper said that she was banned.

    She lost the garden in her pocket -
    Now her library is a vacant book stand.

    She lost the garden in her pocket -
    Guts stolen, replaced with pocket lint.

    She lost the garden in her pocket -
    Canned contract speak her only hints.

    She lost the garden in her pocket
    But didn’t enjoy life by herself.

    She lost the garden in her pocket -
    So she grew a forest on her shelf.

  37. Miss R. says:

    Winter Approaches

    Clouds gather, inconspicuously pushing aside
    The radiant beams of the autumn sun.
    You can hear it coming in the cold silence.
    I’d rather ignore this turn of the seasonal tide,
    But the north wind screams that it can’t be done.
    You can hear it coming in the cold silence.
    Clouds burst open; feathery missiles explode,
    Leaving grassy corpses frostily concealed.
    You can hear it coming in the cold silence.
    I wonder when I will tread a dusty road
    Never glassy, its ruts and gravel revealed.
    You can hear it coming in the cold silence.

    R. J. Neilson

  38. julie e. says:

    JUST A QUICK COMMENT TO MY FRIENDS AT POETIC ASIDES….

    Great job! I love these two lines especially
    and they spoke to me in such a deeply personal way—
    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
    I love this one, it actually made me cry and i
    felt so deeply what you were trying to say—
    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
    and the way you put those words together painted
    such a clear picture and I wish I could write like—
    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
    I mean, the title says it all and the rest just completes
    it in a really tender, loving way, and—
    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
    Uhh, great job today, everybod—
    You are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!
    OHHHHHHH BUGG—
    –are posting comments too quickly. Slow down!

    *sigh*

  39. julie e. says:

    THE TAKE DOWN.

    an’ he’s flingin’ those angry words again
    she don’t know why it takes her down
    those icy words breakin’ her heart again
    she don’t know why it takes her down
    when she tries so hard y’think she’d get a break
    she don’t know why it takes her down
    ‘cause sometimes he’s as sweet as cake
    she don’t know why it takes her down
    when today he’s calm and his touch is soft
    she don’t know why it takes her down
    never seein’ ahead what’ll set him off
    she don’t know why it takes her down
    breaks her down wears her down
    but it does.

  40. miss josh says:

    The Map of the Sky

    When God created the Big Bang
    He moved it all around, to give us…
    The Map of the Sky.

    When man first walked the Earth
    And needed to find his way, he looked up to…
    The Map of the Sky.

    When the first boat sailed the ocean blue
    It found its way back to land, using…
    The Map of the Sky.

    Through the centuries all life
    Has traveled through the ages, under…
    The Map of the Sky.

    Now we’ve created our own stars
    With lights covering the planet, blotting out
    The Map of the Sky.

    miss josh emmett
    copyright 2012
    10-25-12

  41. Jane Shlensky says:

    Remedy

    She walks a mile and limps and cries,
    cramps in her back, her calves, her thighs,
    but she keeps moving.

    She gardens late into the day
    as sun and flowers chase pains away,
    and she keeps moving.

    Sometimes she cannot rest or sleep
    and reads good books instead of weep,
    but she keeps moving.

    She uses patches, ointments, drugs,
    assuaging aches with children’s hugs
    as she keeps moving.

    She laughs and bakes and volunteers,
    filling her painful days and years
    with constant moving.

    She’s funny, wise, and loves her wine,
    her friends the best folks she can find,
    who keep her moving.

    And when she’s down and feeling low,
    she says a prayer that hurts will go
    and keeps on moving.

    Some people say she should sit still,
    but she is bigger than her ills,
    and she keeps moving.

    She says she has nothing to prove,
    but life is moving, so she moves,
    and life is loving, so she loves,
    and keeps on moving.

  42. redhedlor says:

    Two Chant Poems from Lauren Dixon

    Portlandia

    Trading sunshine and a brown cloud,
    Going home to family, clear water, clean air,

    Back to an environment of which I’m proud,
    Going home to family, clean water, clear air,

    Yes, there’s rain, and gray, and dark,
    Going home to family, clean water, clear air,

    But, there I’m inspired to make my mark,
    Going home to family, clean water, clear air.

    Quiet

    Looking for a quiet abode,
    Highly sensitive noise adverse girl,

    No dogs barking, no crickets, no toad,
    Highly sensitive noise adverse girl,

    No sleep deprivation from fans whirring,
    Highly sensitive noise adverse girl,

    Only silence, there’s no purring,
    Highly sensitive noise adverse girl.

  43. Mama Zen says:

    Vultures

    Black finely feathers blue.
    Stealing shadows kill.
    Rancid rain that pecks the eyes.
    Stealing shadows kill.
    Flooding the feet of the huntress fair.
    Stealing shadows kill.
    Till she’s buried there in brainless number.
    Stealing shadows kill.

  44. TREE OF HEAVEN

    New green sprigs along the fence – I count seven
    surviving on almost nothing at all.

    Could it be ailanthus, the alien tree-of-heaven?
    Surviving on almost nothing at all,

    it grows uninvited, anywhere you look in town,
    surviving on almost nothing at all.

    Just try to stop its advance, pull it, cut it down –
    surviving on almost nothing at all

    it roots into roadside cutbanks, pavement cracks.
    Surviving on almost nothing at all

    on steepest hillsides, it runs the railroad tracks,
    surviving on almost nothing at all.

    Helicopter-seed-pods which the westwind flings
    surviving on almost nothing at all.

    It flies like wishes on the song-sparrow’s wings,
    surviving on almost nothing at all.

    It grows lush without water, spring-summer-fall,
    surviving on almost nothing at all.

    Noxious weed or hero-tree? graceful, leafy-tall,
    surviving on almost nothing at all.

  45. Linda Hatton says:

    Hmm .. I hope this fits into the “rules” of the chant form since I varied the repetitive lines a little. I would like it considered for the contest. Many thanks. -Linda G Hatton

    This is the Room

    This is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
    We gathered here in darkness for him to find the light.
    Sometimes I sit in that spot, wondering where he is.

    This is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
    Life seemed long until end’s arrival made it short.
    No love, no money, no doctor, no words; nothing could save him.

    This is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
    Coma held him tight in its arms, pushing hope aside.
    Breathy whispers could not coax him to leave.

    This is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
    Yes, this is the room, though the bed has been replaced.
    Lightning wakened the midnight space, thunderous words opening his eyes.

    Then he was gone.
    All that’s left,
    this is the room, though the bed has been replaced.

  46. Jane Shlensky says:

    Application

    Nothing ever always is,
    he said in his sadness,
    counting his endings, losses.

    Nothing ever always is
    as you hope it will be,
    bright with love and laughter.

    Nothing ever always is,
    he repeated as hope died,
    as careers and marriages failed.

    Nothing ever always is,
    he responded to stories
    of lives cut short, of joyless ends.

    His very presence basked in strife
    until a surgeon saved his life
    and taught him good things could be his
    in saying, Nothing ever always is.

  47. Jane Shlensky says:

    Pursuit

    In monasteries, monks intone
    Sweet syllables
    In hush and drone to the divine.

    On mountaintops, aged gurus claim
    Sweet syllables
    Like riddled names, a seeker’s sign.

    Out on the seas, on paths and roads,
    Sweet syllables
    Make lighter loads, make pilgrims whole.

    In churches, mosques, temples, and caves
    Sweet syllables
    In prayers might save the humble soul.

    Across the earth, all creatures seek
    Sweet syllables
    From those who speak their names with love.

    And poets raise in longing sighs
    Sweet syllables
    Like lullabies that heal and move.

    We search the whole wide world to find
    Sweet syllables
    Of any kind behind each door.

    But for all that lives, the planet sings
    Sweet syllables
    And each day brings us more and more.

  48. DanielAri says:

    Prayer

         If I hurt someone, I’m sorry.
    We are holy ones.
         Hurting another injures me.
    We are wholly one.

         I will not hold myself from life.
    We are holy ones.
         I live to fully realize
    we are wholly one.

         Let’s have faith in our resilience—
    We are holy ones—
         and give ourselves sweet permission.
    We are wholly one.

         You can feel safe in my safety.
    We are holy ones.
         I wish to feel joy through your joy.
    We are wholly one.

         I open to what’s possible.
    We are holy ones.
         To all peace imaginable:
    We are wholly one.

  49. Just Keep Moving Forward

    A Chevy chugged up the mountain.
    Just keep moving forward.
    Kids clamored in the back seat.
    Just keep moving forward.
    Snow piled near treacherous curves.
    Just keep moving forward.

    She took the trip several times.
    Just keep moving forward.
    Her parents gone, her kids moved out.
    Just keep moving forward.
    She put her hand in her husband’s.
    Just keep moving forward.

  50. brave hearts and bayonets

    brave hearts and bayonets
    do not make war
    loyalty and deepest love
    do not make war
    I beg you
    do not make war
    on our children without compassion
    do not make war
    on need without provision
    do not make war
    on ignorance without wisdom
    do not make war
    brave friends, stow your bayonets
    do not make war

  51. JWLaviguer says:

    A lifetime in a moment

    In your arms
    A lifetime in a moment

    Every kiss
    A lifetime in a moment

    Lost in your eyes
    A lifetime in a moment

    And although
    A lifetime in a moment

    Time passes
    A lifetime in a moment

    We have lived
    A lifetime in a moment

    JW Laviguer

  52. RJ Clarken says:

    Just Desserts

    Life’s a crispy, crunchy, chocolate chip mess.
    That’s the way the cookie crumbles.

    It’s what I’m used to now, I must confess.
    That’s the way the cookie crumbles.

    I don’t mind a milk-mustachioed receipt.
    That’s the way the cookie crumbles.

    My personal viewpoint? Dunk. Bite. Chew. Repeat.
    That’s the way the cookie crumbles.

    ###

  53. RJ Clarken says:

    Crossing

    “You can’t cross the sea by merely standing and staring at the water.” ~Rabindranath Tagore

    I opened the door before I even heard the doorbell ring.
    I knew there was something for me to do.

    I stood in the archway. I said, “You. What forecast do you bring?”
    I knew there was something for me to do.

    I waited for a word, ‘though I knew none would be forthcoming.
    I knew there was something for me to do.

    Fat raindrops began to fall; to their beat, I started humming.
    I knew there was something for me to do.

    To stay in the archway was a decision. So was moving.
    I knew there was something for me to do.

    I went outside, in the rain. But were my prospects improving?
    I knew there was something for me to do.

    Standing still is always safe. But it covers little distance.
    I knew there was something for me to do.

    And even straight lines stir more than the path of least resistance.
    I knew there was something for me to do.

    So in that moment, I knew exactly what I had to do.
    I knew there was something for me to do.

    I had to dance in the asphalt-tinted puddles. Wouldn’t you?
    I knew there was something for me to do.

    ###

  54. Misky says:

    A Woman

    Blind my heart
    to your deception, tear apart
    this life,
    this trust,
    this wife
    of dedicated years.
    Blind my heart
    to your predilection to start
    anew but never today, depart
    you say,
    you wish,
    I pray,
    Blind my heart.

    Marilyn ‘Misky’ Braendeholm

  55. Linda.H says:

    They Said a Puppy…and That Worked Out

    They said a puppy wasn’t a suitable choice,
    It would keep him awake with its whimpering voice.
    He said our baby used to cry and that worked out.

    They said a puppy pees and poops in any space,
    slobbers and scratches and stinks up the place.
    He said I had to potty train my boy and that worked out.

    They said a puppy takes time. Do yourself a favor
    and go to the pound. A grown dog is a time saver.
    He said it took 18 years to train my son and that worked out.

    They said a puppy at your age, you old fart?
    Think of the stress it brings! Think of your heart.
    He said I gave my heart to many and that worked out.

    They said a puppy definitely wasn’t right for a man of his years.
    They said if he got one it would only lead him to tears.
    He said people said that about my wife and that worked out.

    They said a puppy was for sale and he didn’t think twice.
    His friends petted it and held it and forgot their old advice.
    He said Dog is a man’s best friend and that worked out.

    Linda Hofke

    • Linda.H says:

      hmmmmm,..I guess italics don’t copy over. Does anyone know how to do that? Several lines of this poem should be italicized.

    • julie e. says:

      i love your lines about “I gave my heart to many and that worked out” and “people said that about my wife and that worked out”… there’s so much of his story in a sentence. i love it.

      Unfortunately i’m clueless about the italics thing, the HTML world is a mystery to me. :-P

      • susan budig says:

        I’ll try it. This should be italicized and if it was, I used the lower case “i” without quotes. Instead I bracketed the i-for italics in those “greater-than” and “lesser-than” symbols.

        Okay, now I’ll press submit and see if it worked.
        btw, if it does, you should also be able to use the lower case “b” for bold and “u” for underline, etc.

        • julie e. says:

          i’m just not sure how to bold some and then turn it off!

          • susan budig says:

            I’ve been trying to post this for TWO HOURS.

            It keeps telling me, “Sorry, you’re posting too quickly.” I haven’t posted anything yet!

            Key in the letter i for italics, b for bold, or u for underline. Do it like this:

            type your text here, but use no spaces in the formatting code, which is what the bracketed part is.

            the first bracketed i tells the programming to start italics. The backslash enclosed in the brackets tells the programming to stop the special formatting.

            Ask if you aren’t clear.

          • Linda.H says:

            I am just now seeing this. So let me give it a try. This should be italic and this should not.

          • Linda.H says:

            This is try number two. This is italics and this is not.

  56. Linda.H says:

    And She Dances

    When love is lost and all is wrong
    and a man is a blues song come to life
    she tries to change his mood
    and she dances.

    When the crowd thins the night long
    but the ding-dong of the clock
    signals one hour to go, she works it
    and she dances.

    When life jabs her like the fork’s prong
    and her babies’ bellies sing the hunger song,
    she puts on a thong to pay the bills
    and she dances.

    • Linda.H says:

      It took me three tries to post and then the first stanza didn’t copy over. Here it the correct version.

      When a corporate deal closes strong
      and a throng of men come to celebrate
      she celebrates right along with them
      and she dances.

      When love is lost and all is wrong
      and a man is a blues song come to life
      she tries to change his mood
      and she dances.

      When the crowd thins the night long
      but the ding-dong of the clock
      signals one hour to go, she works it
      and she dances.

      When life jabs her like the fork’s prong
      and her babies’ bellies sing the hunger song,
      she puts on a thong to pay the bills
      and she dances.

  57. zevd2001 says:

    NIGHT SHIFT
    Overhead winds and undulant tides
    ride through the night as vessels move

    hold their course as they gaze above
    ride through the night as vessels move

    sensing the subtle shifts in the air
    ride through the night as vessels move

    gentle hands press, flow in the breeze
    ride through the night as vessels move

    lanterns below sway slowly beneath
    ride through the night as vessels move

    alone faraway resting and rocking
    ride through the night as vessels move

    calculating hours scanning the sky
    ride through the night as vessels move

    as waves wash up against the sides
    ride through the night as vessels move

    the tumults dwindle the sea is calm
    ride through the night as vessels move
    a glimmer of dawn up ahead the sun
    ride through the night as vessels move

    steadily advancing into the day
    ride through the night as vessels move

    a toe hold of land in the distance
    ride through the night as vessels move

    closer the moon fades behind us
    ride through the night as vessels move

    a shock of morning a port of call
    ride through the night as vessels move.

    Zev Davis

  58. Michael Grove says:

    The Fight

    You know you know wrong from right.
    Don’t you ever give up the fight.

    Each choice is not black or white.
    Don’t you ever give up the fight.

    Hold on tight with all your might.
    Don’t you ever give up the fight.

    Deep cuts can’t heal overnight.
    Don’t you ever give up the fight.

    Never live in fear or fright.
    Don’t you ever give up the fight.

    Leave the darkness. Seek the light.
    Don’t you ever give up the fight.

    Past is gone, the future’s bright.
    Don’t you ever give up the fight.

    Everything will be alright.
    Don’t you ever give up the fight.

    By Michael Grove

  59. Michael Grove says:

    Excess Baggage

    Twisted image in your head.
    Out of your sight and out of your mind.
    Never hearing what was said.
    Out of your sight and out of your mind.
    All the excess baggage tossed.
    Out of your sight and out of your mind.
    Useless dreams and visions lost.
    Out of your sight and out of your mind.

    by Michael Grove

  60. Michael Grove says:

    Strolling

    Truths kept from the dearer.
    Why won’t they look in the mirror?

    Lambs strolling toward the shearer.
    Why won’t they look in the mirror?

    Inevitable draws nearer.
    Why won’t they look in the mirror?

    The picture can’t be any clearer.
    Why won’t they look in the mirror?

    By Michael Grove

  61. susan budig says:

    The Secret Song of Simon

    We come on the ship that sailed the moon
    Where mountains dress themselves in clouds

    Where even the dormouse scales the peaks
    We come on the ship that sailed the moon

    But remaining in hiding is our preoccupation
    We come on the ship that sailed the moon

    Discovery—a jolt, a worrisome dread we share
    We come on the ship that sailed the moon

    Our faces will not betray us, nor our shoulders bare
    We come on the ship that sailed the moon

    We mimic your language, your singular gestures
    We come on the ship that sailed the moon

    Assimilation, you marry your daughters to us without clue
    We come on the ship that sailed the moon

    When we’ve hatched enough, what you call grandchildren
    We’ll leave on the ship that sailed the moon

    And take them all

  62. JoAnn Jordan says:

    Beautiful People, Gorgeous Country

    The people further away
    From the city of Atlanta
    Are kinder than I am used to,
    The mountains are alive with color.

    I stopped for directions
    A couple of times and the people
    Are kinder than I am used to,
    The mountains are alive with color.

    Is it my imagination or is it true
    That the country people
    Are kinder than I am used to,
    The mountains are alive with color.

    I traveled far into north Georgia,
    North Carolina, Tennessee and folks
    Are kinder than I am used to,
    The mountains are alive with color.

    The people further away
    From the city of Atlanta
    Are kinder than I am used to,
    The mountains are alive with color.

    Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
    Wednesday, October 24, 2012

    http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/10/24/365-creativity-project-day-289/

  63. The Election of 2012
    by Stephanie J. McGowan

    Are we looking forward to the next four years?
    Is it Romney or Obama, who wants more tears?
    No one really has the answers

    I feel the frenzy at the polls
    The ballots long and laws out of control
    No one really has the answers

    House bill yes? Rule 2 No? Not really clear
    I see confusion everywhere
    No one really has the answers

    Will this be the end when November 6 2012 arrives?
    And be not like the stars that fall our nation does survive
    No one really has the answers

    So are we surprised because we worry about electoral spies?
    And debts we owe.making pockets empty, Politicians are despised
    No one really has the answers

    Middle income earners will feast if Obama wins
    While Romney courts the rich and takes them for a spin
    No one really has the answers

    Battlegrounds are shifting
    Like the polls that quake, the difference keeps drifting
    No one really has the answers

    The war still on, who can really end it all?
    And this is why politicians fall
    No one really has the answers

  64. Sara McNulty says:

    Precious Life Lost

    We sent our finest overseas
    to fight a war that cannot be won

    They battle in climate with nary a breeze
    to fight a war that cannot be won

    Unable to trust those they have trained
    to fight a war that cannot be won

    Our future dies, with their blood, drained
    to fight a war that cannot be won

    Written for Poetic Asides/chant poem challenge

  65. PKP says:

    Stop don’t stop
    Your elbow is in my side

    Stop don’t stop
    We really should not

    Stop don’t stop
    Your mouth is wet

    Stop don’t stop
    It does not feel right

    Stop don’t stop
    Your feet are cold

    The sheets are wrinkled
    The light is wrong

    Stop don’t stop
    I can’t breathe

    Stop don’t stop
    Where are you going?

    Stop! Don’t stop.
    Damn punctuation.

  66. PKP says:

    All is connected all is one

    Train hoots in early morning fog
    Through meadows sheep grazing
    Desert sands blow heat furnaces amazing
    Sensibilities from burka to bikini
    Wax poetic prophetic human

    All is connected all is one

    Butterfly sheds chrysalis crackling
    Rhino tusk flash primitive attacking
    Rhyme scheme and prose free verse and chanting

    All is connected all is one

    First blade of grass from seed dropped through fog
    Lambs bleating
    Sweat pouring
    Bikinis neath burkas
    Wrinkled newborn centurion

    All is connected all is one

    Seed floated into the earth
    Shoot grows a field, sheep grazing
    Train hooting in the fog
    Looping as a seed floats on worn barren
    Earth and begins again

    All is connected all is one

    Train vanishes into early morning fog
    Lambs grow to grazing sheep
    Sweat beads diamonded droplets
    of dew
    In the meadow where
    sheep graze on verdant fields
    sun blazing in the shifting desert
    sands
    A withered hand falls cold fingers splayed
    Suckling infant grabs the breast with wrinkled fingers
    And opens new eyes wide on
    The blue marble

    All is connected all is one

    Spinning
    As the train whistles
    somewhere in the fog

    All is connected all is one

    Pearl Ketover Prilik

  67. priyajane says:

    But I’m still waiting , I don’t know why

    The tired trees are bare and scared
    The plumes have shed their treasures and fled
    The day is asleep and the clouds are dry
    But I’m still waiting, I don’t know why

    My dreams are lost in spaces dark
    My heart is quiet, it’s whispers stark
    Some candles have lit the dome in the sky
    But I’m still waiting, I don’t know why

    Those footprints are buried way deep in the sand
    The ticking clock has lost a hand
    An open thought goes floating by
    But I’m still waiting , I don’t know why

    I don’t know why, I don’t know why
    But I’m still waiting, I don’t know why

    PriyA Jane

  68. elishevasmom says:

    Memories Lost

    He was uncomfortable in
    not remembering what he
    should be remembering.
    Where did those lost memories go, anyway?

    At first he didn’t even know
    because it didn’t really show
    except to her. She could tell.
    Where did those lost memories go, anyway?

    With him devoting his summer
    days to his garden, there just
    weren’t many chances for even
    Where did those lost memories go, anyway?

    her to see. The diagnosis spoke
    the dread that cancer had done
    just a generation before. And
    Where did those lost memories go, anyway?

    now he had meds to take and
    still felt fine, except for the times
    he paused to find the right word,
    Where did those lost memories go, anyway?

    and used the wrong word,
    and was confused as to why he
    couldn’t remember. But she knew
    Where did those lost memories go, anyway?

    that the foundations of his
    bridge to the past were crumbling,
    and taking his memory with them.
    Where did those lost memories go, anyway?

    She knew why he was not
    remembering, and that made her
    discomfort greater than his own.
    Where did those lost memories go, anyway? Ellen E. Knight

  69. The end of the world is near

    Why should I pay my rent?
    The end of the world is near.

    Or tip twenty-percent?
    The end of the world is near.

    Go ahead and call me fat.
    The end of the world is near.

    I’ll have some fries with that!
    The end of the world is near.

    Screw that high school diploma.
    The end of the world is near.

    Are you sensing that aroma?
    The end of the world is near.

    (c) Jacqueline Hallenbeck

  70. FROM CARSON PASS

    We’ve climbed together, height to height,
    just looking for a farther view.

    We’ve watched golden eagle in its flight,
    looking for a farther view.

    Goat-trails along cliff-sides we’d climb
    still looking for a farther view,

    then take our rest by meadow columbine.
    Always looking for a farther view,

    we counted miles and elevation gains
    as if they were the farther view.

    Now summer’s gone, and what remains
    but looking for a farther view?

  71. JWLaviguer says:

    The Memory Remains

    The wind through the trees
    The memory remains

    The sun breaking through the clouds
    The memory remains

    Skipping stones on the still waters
    The memory remains

    Our first kiss in the boat house
    The memory remains

    You said “yes”
    The memory remains

    For better or for worse
    The memory remains

    The pain on her face
    The memory remains

    Feeling helpless
    The memory remains

    ‘Til death do you part
    The memory remains

    “You have to let her go”
    The memory remains

    JW Laviguer

  72. TIME AND TIDE

    The wind whips up across the lake,
    time and tide waits for no man.

    Churning waters in its wake,
    time and tide waits for no man.

    I stand at shore side gazing out,
    time and tide waits for no man.

    Questioning this life of doubt,
    time and tide waits for no man.

    Sunset settles long past rising,
    time and tide waits for no man.

    Hopes and dreams on new horizons,
    time and tide waits for no man.

  73. claudsy says:

    Robert, I forgot to add my name to my poem. Forgive me. It’s been one of those days. For the poem “Why Me” you should use Claudette J. Young if it’s selected.

  74. claudsy says:

    Why Me?

    He rose to a kitchen filled with smoke
    Rising from a toaster left too long
    By children too young to experiment.

    His eyes lifted and he lamented, “Have you
    An explanation as to why me?”

    All he’d was the lawn cleared of debris,
    Not stacked as a fort for duels with sticks
    While he tried to mow without mishap.

    His eyes lifted and he lamented, “Have you
    An explanation as to why me?”

    He heard glass shards tinkling to the floor
    Seconds after a bat crack with bang and shatter
    Resounding from the upstairs bedroom.

    His eyes lifted and he lamented, “Have you
    An explanation as to why me?”

    Years of lamenting had paced his life with
    Events of varying dimensions,
    Many with smiles, some with tears.

    One day he gazed through shielding glass
    At tiny forms wiggling, crying, sleeping,
    To focus on one with a pink bow of a mouth.

    His eyes lifted and breathed, “Have you
    An explanation as to why me?”

  75. America is the binder full of women
    coiling our green pages together
    America is the binder full of women
    neatly categorized by feathers
    America is the binder full of women
    as changeable as the fall weather
    America is the binder full of women
    knotting the political tether
    that America’s binder full of women
    will begrudge the leader forever

    Lisa Dalrymple

  76. Hannah says:

    That Winter Smelled of Ice, Tasted of Bitter Tobacco Kisses

    Previously, our eyes had met in hard-heated stolen glances,
    I gathered certainly a lithograph of passion pictured in this tome…
    but that winter smelled of ice, tasted of bitter tobacco kisses.

    Joyous laughter and jibber-jabber always led to repetition
    and a strange story change indicative of deep depression…
    that winter smelled of ice, tasted of bitter tobacco kisses.

    Your dark efficiency was lit by flashes of late night T.V.
    vacant desire, endless longing, tall empty bottles…a broken plot…
    oh, how that winter smelled of ice, tasted of bitter tobacco kisses.

    Somehow, in the beginning, I never read you correctly,
    misinterpreted the script fixed on your binding…
    and so that winter smelled of ice, tasted of bitter tobacco kisses.

    I gave up trying to woo you out of your sadness,
    bailed before those last lonely predictable pages…
    because that winter smelled of ice, tasted of bitter tobacco kisses.

    Copyright © Hannah Gosselin 2012

  77. De Jackson says:

    Ephemeral Cages

    These ribs keep tired breath,
    and wayward heart. Let’s set
    them free, and cast them loose
    like stones. Let’s flee,

    Let’s not befriend our bones.

    This sternum, sacred, sheltered
    strong, holds middle, but not
    center, see? The water’s deep;
    Let’s rock to sleep.

    Let’s not befriend our bones.

    This skin, an organ playing
    tired old songs, these veins
    untied are flimsy roadmaps only
    here on earth. Let’s fly,

    Let’s not befriend our bones.

    Some things are meant
    for finer thrones. Let’s be.
    Let’s not befriend our bones.

    .

  78. Michelle Hed says:

    Getting Carried Away

    Robert introduced a new form
    and I ran with it with glee!
    I’m done now.

    I tried it over and over again,
    wondering where it would take me!
    I’m done now.

    I wrote about being sad
    and I wrote about death.
    I’m done now.

    I wrote about antiques
    and I’m still not out of breath!
    I’m done now.

    But I don’t want to bore you silly,
    so I surely should now stop.
    I’m done now.

    Thank you Robert for the prompt
    but I think I’ve gone over the top!
    I’m done now.

  79. Revised/edited and re-posted for the purpose of being entered in the WD Poetic Forms Challenge (If by some chance I happened to be selected please use the name “Prose of Mellifluous”

    A Chanting Haunting Tail

    I shall tell you the story of a haunting plight
    In chanting stanzas, that I hope will shed light.
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    Of what some believe to be the darkest of nights,
    So you not be so frightened, come Halloween night
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    It began in the ancient in the days of old,
    Long before Halloween has ever been known.
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    At summers end in the autumn of year
    When they harvested the crops as winter drew near
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    The people, they did gather, when the harvest was done
    In costumes and masks under a harvest moon
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    They amassed with great joy at the harvest they did reap
    And began an ancient tradition, that they called Samhain
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    This Celtic belief as the old legend goes
    Holds that spirits of the dead they amassed there so
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    When the festival had ended and all fun was through
    The people in their masks, and those in costumes too
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    They danced to the edge of the town with chants
    Escorting the spirits of this past years dead
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    They chanted and they danced the town straight through
    Right to the edge where the town lines were drew
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    The spirits of those of the past years dead
    Followed the town’s people seeking final rest
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    The people in the masks and those in costumes too
    Led the spirits out of town as the highlight of the fest
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    Now you know the story of the ancient Celtic fest
    Now called Halloween that frightens folks to death
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

  80. Michelle Hed says:

    I’ve Had a Bad Day

    I’ve had a bad day;
    walk with me.

    I over slept,
    walk with me.

    I missed my ride,
    walk with me.

    I spilt my coffee,
    walk with me.

    My report was late,
    walk with me.

    My assignment was wrong,
    walk with me.

    I got a flat tire,
    walk with me.

    My supper is burnt,
    walk with me.

    I need a break,
    walk with me.

    Will you just
    walk with me.

  81. jared davidavich says:

    24.October.12

    what is lost to technic progress

    the subtleties of your pen stroke,
    giving away your every emotion,
    gave way to clumsy text messages-
    Substance is lost to technic progress

    pictures exchanged, sharing intimacy,
    were posed, taken, posted for the world,
    not to be taken back-
    Privacy is lost to technic progress

    the suspense, the possibility, awaiting your words,
    and the windswept afternoons spent crafting a reply,
    faded behind the screen of one-way posts and tweets-
    Communication is lost to technic progress

    we shared our lives, in intricate detail,
    across great distances, a few weeks at a time,
    made obsolete by instant updates of unfamiliar things-
    Information is lost to technic progress

    we would talk, for hours at least,
    through handwritten words and pictures-as though face to face-
    now replaced by online content of someone i do not know-
    a Friendship is lost to technic progress

  82. Michelle Hed says:

    Antiques

    My Great-Grandmother had a spinning wheel,
    end of an era –

    My Great-Grandfather had a horse and carriage,
    end of an era –

    My Grandmother had a cranking phonograph,
    end of an era –

    My Grandfather had a Model-T,
    end of an era –

    My Mother had a Brownie Camera,
    end of an era –

    My Father had a television set,
    end of an era –

    I had a typewriter,
    end of an era –

    My husband had a boom box,
    end of an era.

  83. Michelle Hed says:

    Death of a Question

    On the road at 6:00am
    from the back
    a sleepy voice at 6:10;
    Are we there yet?

    Stopped for breakfast
    had a tasty meal
    an hour later a quite plea;
    Are we there yet?

    Then suddenly
    every five minutes
    came the whine
    Are we there yet?
    Are we there yet?
    Are we there yet?

    We had a devious plan,
    every time that question appeared
    we doubled our time;
    Are we there yet?

    The kids are smart,
    they caught on quick
    and so died the question:
    Are we there yet?

  84. IrisD says:

    Wings of Time

    No longer sticky handprints on door
    Messy sinks and toys on the floor
    My how time does fly
    No blaring music and phone calls at midnight
    No piles of laundry or sibling fights
    My how time does fly

    Plenty of time for solitude and prayer
    No unmade beds or misplaced chair
    My how time does fly

    Facebook messages and texts on i-phone
    Are the way you communicate now you’re alone
    My how time does fly
    Dust the rooms and clean the linen
    Grandchild is coming for the weekend
    My how time does fly.

  85. PowerUnit says:

    Waiting for the day to rise, hungering for her slippery thighs
    How does she feel when you hold her so tight?

    Our holding hands won’t let go, and her empty eyes won’t say no
    Does it turn you on when she puts up a fight?

    Her tattoo dragon so green, and your tattoo dragon so keen
    Does she scare you away when you walk in the night?

    She’s in her room, and you’re in your doom
    Does it bother you to walk in the light?

    Walking freely reaching for love, as fleeting as a lonely white dove
    When she flies away, will you keep her in sight?

  86. Michelle Hed says:

    Politics Make Me Sad

    Why would I vote for you?
    … another negative political ad.

    You have nothing nice to say.
    … another negative political ad.

    What have you done for this country?
    … another negative political ad.

    Even on Facebook
    … another negative political ad.

    In the store
    … another negative political ad.

    In the car
    … another negative political ad.

    I can’t get away from you
    … another negative political ad.

    You make me sad
    … another negative political ad.

  87. JRSimmang says:

    When and where
    the breeze blew by?
    She took his hand
    but didn’t know why.

    When and where
    the cymbals crashed?
    He left her here
    tied and lashed.

    When and where
    the serpent’s tongue
    flicked and flocked
    the old and young?

    When and where
    the days bygone
    slip silently through
    brain and brawn.

    When and where
    his strength found rock?
    She stood here
    her hands a clock.

    When and where
    shall we see
    the light of lights
    and seas of sea?

    When and where
    shall we be
    when the walls crumble
    us to our knees?

  88. Introduction Note: People I got to tell ya, this sucker gave me the willies while writing this Poem…
    Suggestions for a Title are welcomed?
    ………………………………………………

    I shall tell you the story of a haunting plight
    In chanting stanzas that I hope will shed light
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    On what some believe to be the darkest of nights
    So you will not be frightened this Halloween night
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    It began in the ancient and days of old
    Long before Halloween was ever known
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    At summers end in the autumn of year
    The harvested crops as winter drew near
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    The people gathered when the harvest was through
    With costumes and masks under the harvest moon
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    They gathered and celebrated the harvest they reaped
    Twas an ancient tradition, known as samhain
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    This Celtic belief as the old legend goes
    The spirits of the dead they gathered too
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    When the festival ended and all was through
    The people with masks and costumes too
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    They marched to the end of the town with glee
    Escorting the spirits of this past years dead
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    They chanted and danced the town through
    Right to the edge where the town line were drew
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    The spirits of those of the past years dead
    They followed to as they sleeked final rest
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    They people in the masks and costumes too
    Led the spirits out of town and gave them rest
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

    Now you know the story of the ancient Celtic fest
    Now called Halloween that frightens folks to death
    We amassed before the lord of the unliving dead
    To give homage to the king of those bereft of breath

  89. GRAVITATIONAL

    It pulls her out the doorway, down the hill.
    Something new to a dog’s nose.

    This old world looks just the same to me,
    dried out by drought at summer’s end.

    Nothing green or freshly minted –
    but everything’s new to a dog’s nose.

    Take this stone, whitewashed
    by last winter’s floods –

    just a chunk of creek-bottom rock –
    ecstatically new to a dog’s nose,

    with a tough scrim of dried-on fluff
    like old meringue. My dog scrubs

    it with her breath; inhales its common
    wonder, new to a dog’s nose,

    a come-hither scent that’s got her
    creeping on her elbows

    for a closer sniff. Secrets I’ll never
    know; new to a dog’s nose.

  90. Nancy Posey says:

    Are We There Yet?

    We’ve just pulled out of the driveway.
    Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

    Are you sure you packed my swim trunks?
    Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

    Did you hear me say don’t touch her?
    Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

    Right now! Put on that seat belt!
    Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

    No, we certainly are not stopping here.
    Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

    Don’t make me turn this car around!
    Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

    For next year, just go without me.
    Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

  91. How a baby is made

    When the angels exult on clouds of bliss
    That’s how a baby is made

    Running their fingers over harps like this
    That’s how a baby is made

    With the stork as a delivery guy
    That’s how a baby is made

    Winging you down as a gift from the sky
    That’s how a baby is made

    Don’t listen to your silly friends who lie
    “That’s how a baby is made”

    Angels, stork, mama – no one can deny
    That’s how a baby is made.

  92. Robert, your poem today is fab. So much said in so few words – really chilling.

  93. Nancy Posey says:

    Go Ask YourMother

    Catching Father in his workshop tinkering with his tools,
    I’d say, I’m bored, and ask to help; looking helpless,
    possessive of his tools, his manhood’s certain proof,
    he’d say, Go ask your mother.

    Confronted with realities of farm life, bloody birth
    and unexpected death, I’m find him woebegone
    and ask him why things had to happen so.
    He’d say, Go ask you mother.

    Appealing to him when I needed splinters tenderly
    removed or gravel-pocked and bloodied knees
    tended with kisses, salve, and bandages,
    he’d say, Go ask your mother.

    Relentless, I’d beseech him for clear explanation
    of the way the brutal male heart operated,
    ruthless, unafraid to break another’s.
    He’d say, Go ask your mother.

    As cruel as Medieval rules of primogeniture
    are those unwritten codes that relegated matters
    of utmost urgency as either masculine or feminine,
    feeding his answers to my girlish pleading.
    He’d say, Go ask your mother.

    • claudsy says:

      To this one I can relate so completely, Nancy. I grew up in that family as well. It wasn’t easy when both demands trapped one between them. Nice to know we weren’t alone. Terrific take on the reality.

    • Domino says:

      So perceptive, Nancy, of that masculine heart so unfamiliar with emotion, it had no answers. Yet, one can sense in the writing that there were emotions that could not be spoken.

  94. Domino says:

    Beg your pardon for the darkness, but this is what came to mind, a dark scene from a long time ago.

    Where did you go?
    Open the door!
    You think I don’t know?
    Open the door!
    You can’t hide from me
    Open the door!
    You think I can’t see?
    Open the door!
    I won’t be mad this time.
    Open the door!
    Get out here you slime!
    Open the door!
    C’mon, don’t be bad.
    Open the door!
    You’re making me mad!
    Open the door!
    I’ll give you some treats
    Open the door!
    Candy and sweets
    Open the door
    But if you don’t come out
    Open the door!
    I’ll do more than shout!
    Open the door!
    This time I won’t beat you.
    Open the door!
    I won’t try to break through.
    Open the door!
    You’re gonna be sorry!
    Open the door!
    I’ll make you so sorry!
    Open this door!
    Open the door!
    Open this door!
    Open the door!
    OPEN
    THIS
    DOOR!!!

    Diana Terrill Clark

  95. Ready Me to Receive

    Do I make it hard for You to answer my prayers?
    Ready me to receive.
    Do I believe I am unworthy to succeed?
    Ready to me to receive.
    In my hiding from rejection, do I miss out on acceptance?
    Ready me to receive.
    Do I have a victim’s mindset, feeling unfamiliar to victory?
    Ready me to receive.
    Am I so accustomed to ugliness, beauty brings pain?
    Ready me to receive.
    Do I have poverty mentality, repelling financial blessings?
    Ready me to receive.
    Am I so used to depression, joy feels extravagant?
    Ready me to receive.
    Am I so frightened, I don’t hear Your calling for me?
    Ready me to receive.
    Do I complain so much, praise is a foreign language?
    Ready me to receive.
    God You are a joyful giver, a loving Father.
    Ready me to receive.

  96. “The Pot”

    Those tattered journal pages stained with ink,
    I add them to the pot.
    Those pressed rose petals faded pink,
    I add them to the pot.
    The tea leaves from the gypsies’ fair,
    I add them to the pot.
    The wisps of cherry willow braided hair,
    I add them to the pot.
    The bottled nights of insomniac musing,
    I add them to the pot.
    The glassy mornings that shatter my snoozing,
    I add them to the pot.
    The pieces from musty ideas swept to the side,
    I add them to the pot.
    The waters from a catharsis’ crashing tide,
    I add them to the pot.
    And all the other things that chew on my brain,
    I add them to the pot,
    To boil, then simmer, and then stir up again,
    I add them to the pot.
    When I think my stew is done, I need one more spice,
    I add it to the pot.
    I’ll be brewing forever, no less would suffice,
    But it’s always the cooking, not the eating, I find nice,
    So whenever there is a new ingredient to my life,
    I add it to the pot.

  97. barbara_y says:

    This is being alive
    This is being alive

    To have grass stains on your knees
    this is being alive
    To sweat in the sun or in bed making love
    this is being alive
    To yell and hear your own voice coming
    from where you have never been
    this is being alive

    Once I mounted uneven parallel bars, stretching and contracting opposing muscles
    until I was a swinging bar of supple life, caught the second bar with my knees, flipped,
    flew, and dropped into place in the universe.
    this is being alive
    Once I looked at a mountain rolling with pink flowers visible for miles,
    and it was my mother, and it was god, and held me
    this is being alive

    I am an old woman full of aches and forgetfulness
    this is being alive
    I am dry, and growing drier, the rough sheet scratches
    this is being alive
    I smell the dust motes burn when the heater starts and watch the moon through a narrow bathroom window
    this is being alive
    I listen to night trains sing their names to bridges and drink metallic water from the tap
    this is being alive

    to love
    this is being alive
    to lose
    this is being alive
    to remember and to forget,
    this is being alive
    to be in pain and to cease hurting
    this is being alive
    to grieve and cease grieving
    this is being alive
    to change the world
    this is being alive
    to be changed
    this is being alive

    __Barbara Young

  98. tjholt says:

    Good Morning. My chant
    All Will Become Dust

    The brush of the artist
    Swords of the bravest
    formulas of the chemist

    all will become dust.

    Words that are chorused
    flute of the flutist
    cello of the cellist

    all will become dust.

    Chants of the Buddhist
    songs of the psalmist
    prayers of the pacifist

    all will become dust.

    The door to your closet
    my love at its queerest
    and hate at its darkest

    all will become dust.

  99. Miss R. says:

    Oh, Humanities

    Sitting in the corner
    Looking ever studious:
    Guilty as charged.
    Philosophy text at hand
    But absent in mind:
    Guilty as charged.
    Preferring fresh lines
    Of lunacy
    To reams of educational
    Redundancy:
    Guilty as charged.

    R. J. Neilson

  100. heisarl says:

    I can see you clearly now

    I’ve picked my way through the narrow path
    Breathing hard in the cleft of the rock as you passed

    I can see you clearly now

    Your clues were words like breadcrumbs strewn
    Glaring bright you had to give me the eyes to see them

    I can see you clearly now

    You’ve pulled me by your grace to this end to start again
    And we all clamor with a song of ascents that finally ends

    I can see you clearly now

    I’ve forgotten my self the right way, at last.

    Sarah Heidt

  101. Colorado Autumn

    Clouds few, sky brilliant blue
    Aspen shimmer in golden glory
    Evergreens bold against the gold
    Aspen shimmer in golden glory
    Air crisp, wood smoke wisp
    Aspen shimmer in golden glory
    Robins fled, oak purplish-red
    Aspen shimmer in golden glory
    Jonathans tart, orange pumpkin art
    Aspen shimmer in golden glory

  102. laurie kolp says:

    THE ANGELS SANG

    He called her home last Friday night
    At heaven’s gates the angels sang

    While sleeping soundly, snug and tight
    At heaven’s gates the angels sang

    Her prime of life had just arrived
    At heaven’s gates the angels sang

    Eighteen years of noble strides
    At heaven’s gates the angels sang

    Touched by all she came upon
    At heaven’s gates the angels sang

    And now up high she’ll sing her song
    At heaven’s gates the angels sang

  103. nancylee44 says:

    Why?

    There are bargains to be had
    Why do we let children go hungry?

    Black Friday doesn’t seem so bad
    Why do we let children go hungry?

    Thanks given on the day before
    Why do we let children go hungry?

    Nothing to feel guilty for
    Why do we let children go hungry?

  104. See how far we’ve come!

    Women carry placards with words in red,
    Malali keeps on fighting from her hospital bed,
    Demanding respect with heads held high.

    See how far we’ve come!

    Little girls married to grizzled old men,
    children born to children again and again.
    Paedophile abuse on the News at Ten.

    See how far we’ve come!

    And the old ones in high places are closing ranks,
    packing their cases and giving up thanks
    for the Swiss bank accounts that keep them safe.

    See how far we’ve come!

    But the will of the people will not be stopped
    and truth comes out though the stories are dropped.
    Not just women, only women but loud strong women!

    See how far we’ve come!

    Michele Brenton

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