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Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 216

So this is the last Wednesday Poetry Prompt until May. That’s right, we’ve got a poem-a-day challenge starting up on Monday (April 1). Get plenty of sleep this weekend, because it’s non-stop poeming after that.

For today’s prompt, write a poem based on the idea of the last of something. Could be a person, place, thing. The last cookie. The last turn. The last star fighter (my brother may be the last person who gets that reference). Just write your last poem (or poems) before April gets rolling.

Here’s my attempt:

“The Last Cookie”

Wasn’t as bad as the last glass of milk
wasn’t as bad as the last tortilla chip
wasn’t as bad as the last bit of salsa
wasn’t as bad as the last burrito
wasn’t as bad as the last glass of lemonade
wasn’t as bad as the last slice of lemon
wasn’t as bad as the last piece of cake
wasn’t as bad as the last sleeve of crackers
wasn’t as bad as the last hot dog
wasn’t as bad as the last package of instant mashed potatoes
wasn’t as bad as the last bacon
wasn’t as bad as the last olives
wasn’t as bad as the last salad that reminded me I was hungry.


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107 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 216

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    last poem
    by juanita lewison-snyder

    ( –“from my rotting body, flowers shall grow, and I in them, and that is eternity.” –Edvard Munch )

    when the time comes
    as i’m lowered into the ground,
    i would like my last poem to be
    a rune-like text, embalmed
    inside the heartwood of
    yellow-grained pine,
    expensive but perfect —
    a soulful sketchbook
    of a life once lived
    with few regrets,
    before the surrender
    to gravity
    and the divine

    © 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. Lindy

    The Last of Her

    The last thing she said to me
    was, “I love you!”
    Then we blew our kisses
    over the telephone line.

    The last thing she planned on
    was getting married
    to a longtime friend
    who moved Heaven and Earth for her.

    The last thing she took care of
    were her sibling kitty-cats.
    Lost, alone, hungry or ailing –
    her life belonged to them all.

    The last thing she wanted
    was peace in her heart –
    a legacy passed on
    to her children as young.

    The last thing she did
    was get out of her car
    that had skidded offside
    a snowblinded highway.

    The last thing she saw
    was the truck sliding towards her.
    He wrapped her in blankets and
    held tight to her soul.

    But all for naught –
    the last thing she heard
    was God calling her home
    and the tears in my heart…

    (for Mom)

  3. Catherine Lee

    Last Kiss

    I need you like addiction needs a reason to breathe.
    This chest, these remembering lungs dare to float
    to you where the air is dangerously thin. Each kiss
    is an imprint of ridges and valleys pressed across
    the topography of my face. There is no border
    or boundary to stop the blazing trail.

  4. identity

    Are re-do’s allowed? :-)

    The Last Leaf

    The last leaf once was budding new life
    Sustained from above and below
    The last leaf once had reason to be
    Working to help the tree grow
    The last leaf found the strength to resist
    The onslaught of rain, wind and snow
    The lonely last leaf, unneeded and spent
    Now finds the strength to let go

  5. identity

    The last leaf once was budding new life
    Sustained from above and below
    The last leaf once had reason to be
    Working to help the tree grow
    The last leaf found the strength to resist
    The onslaught of rain, wind and snow
    The lonely last leaf, unneeded and spent
    Now finds the will to let go

    Last leaf triumphant
    In contests with rain wind and snow
    Now exhausted falls

  6. Lindy

    The Last of Her

    The last thing she said to me
    was, “I love you!”
    Then we blew our kisses
    over the telephone line.

    The last thing she planned on
    was getting married
    to a longtime friend
    who moved Heaven and Earth for her.

    The last thing she took care of
    were her sibling kitty-cats.
    Lost, alone, hungry or ailing –
    her life belonged to them all.

    The last thing she wanted
    was peace in her heart –
    a legacy passed on
    to her children as young.

    The last thing she did
    was get out of her car
    that had skidded offside
    a snow-blinded highway.

    The last thing she saw
    was the truck sliding towards her.
    He wrapped her in blankets and
    held tight to her soul.

    But all for naught –
    the last thing she heard
    was God calling her home
    and the tears in my heart…

    03/27/13 (For Mom)

  7. cimonique


    A message scrawled on wrinkled paper
    Delivered with a crooked stamp
    He found me, he said
    After all these years
    And only wanted to say hello

    No gators wrestled in murky waters
    Or mountains climbed on blistered heels
    No Pulitzer, Nobel, or Pentagon visit
    The enigma of life yet unrevealed

    His days, instead, were spent in bed
    The longest breaths feebly behind
    Rides in the old Chevy
    Now only a dream
    Fading from his dimmed eye

    I see, I said
    And wished I could come
    But my hopes only landed on paper

    Still, in his twilight years
    He trembled as a scribe
    Gracing my mailbox
    Again and again

    Then, one day
    I announced…
    I’m arriving!
    Please tarry for me

    I awaited his letter
    One more time
    Anxious to share his joy

    But time was mean
    Fate too wrong
    For the last message I heard
    My friend John
    was already gone

  8. ewdupler

    This is a roundel based on the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard in Matthew 20. It’s a rather simplistic view of the parable, but it’s the first thing (pun intended) that came into mind when I saw the writing prompt.

    Though I interpreted the meaning of “last” to imply order instead of the “last remaining,” the poem was fun to write and hopefully enjoyable to read.

    The Last is First

    The last is first is how it is
    For early workers, thinking they’re cursed.
    They worked so hard, and then he says,
    “The last is first.”

    For those in the morning, ’twas worst.
    Those late arrived, also saw his
    Great favor as wages dispersed.

    Same pay for all, because, he says,
    “Wages agreed, none were coerced.”
    Accept his grace for what it is.
    The last is first.

  9. julie e.


    The last time I talked to you
    it wasn’t about much of anything
    the last time I saw you
    it was one of more visits to come
    the last time I hugged you
    we smiled and said I love you
    without knowing this last time
    would be
    the last time.

  10. LadyBspittin'datpoetry

    The Last…

    Explosions on tongues
    Ever yearning yet another blissful indulge
    unconcerned with time or to savor
    Flavors frolicking like summer time love
    It doesn’t matter if anyone’s watching
    You are enjoying too much to care
    Stimulated. Tantalized.
    Titillated Touch
    Unadulterated emotion until salivate
    And you realized you’ve just taken the last bite….

  11. Mel Lewis

    Last Words

    At the edge of our extinction
    there will be
    one last person to die.
    I hope that it is a Ginger
    who before expiring
    shakes a fist at the dead of humanity
    and screams,
    “How’s this for recessive, you Bastards!”

  12. taylor graham


    What inhuman influence flows
    into a husband’s dream or vision,
    inflaming his mind to this insane ship
    perched on higher ground, awaiting
    flood, inundation of everything
    we’ve known. My part is provisioning,
    in-gathering enough for two of every
    sort – hoofed, toothed, clawed.
    I imagine an invasion of rats. Bestiary-
    inamorata, mating gone wild. How
    shall we survive among the thought-
    lessly multiplying pairs as food
    runs out? In my dream we bob
    in an immense nut-shell over
    infathomable waves. Black sky,
    black water. In the depths, mankind
    drifts to sleep and drowning.
    The sheep not chosen – innocently
    swept away. For us, this voyage
    into the void. My husband speaks
    of infinite space. Shall I be
    indifferent to inscrutable fate?

  13. priyajane

    At Last
    Blown by the teasing autumn’s rustle
    Far from mother and kin
    Frozen under frosty ground
    Yet a power within
    Enduring pain so patiently
    It gently stayed so calm
    And waited while the taunting chills
    Had sung their last shrill psalm
    Soon the changing guard appeared
    And whispered promising prose
    And budding colors magically
    Burst velvet rainbow rows—
    Of a lasting loving bond

  14. Michelle Hed


    According to the calendar
    Spring has arrived
    but out my window lurks
    piles of snow you can’t hide.

    The temperature is below normal
    but the days are longer,
    the sun is closer
    and the drip, drip, drip
    of the melting snow
    makes for a slip, slip, slip-pery
    sidewalk on the good morning show.

    Watching for signs
    of a changing season,
    here comes a Robin!
    Finally, Mother Nature has seen reason.

    Surely this it,
    a corner has been turned;
    The last of the snow
    into a distant memory.

  15. Yolee

    My Ex Father-in-law Took His Last Breath

    Shadows dragged upon
    the sun’s footprint, and slid
    between my heart’s screen
    door. Old stones rolled into
    a private pond. A forgotten
    path, moist from an early
    dew resurfaced. Deep-rooted
    memories slowly weaved
    in and out of the strange
    and bendable sadness.

      1. LadyBspittin'datpoetry

        The way you attributed such profound imagery to sadness was awesome! “Shadow’s dragged upon the sun’s footprint and slid between my hearts screen door.” wow…

  16. Brian Slusher


    You, unpicked for
    kickball, left toeing the dust
    the wanted think you are.

    You, sitting on a chilly
    folding chair as the partnered
    dance around you.

    You, puffing in the dark
    without another soul to witness
    your inglorious finish.

    All of you, craning your
    necks out from the back, seeing
    only an infinite line ahead.

    Listen: there’s a holy rumor
    an upgrade is coming, caviar
    instead of peanuts

    And the velvet rope will
    snap, and you will march into the
    klieg lights, triumphant and blind

    1. LadyBspittin'datpoetry

      yeeeeeeesssssssss. This was an excellent take on “the last” the beginning “You, unpicked for
      kickball, left toeing the dust
      the wanted think you are.” was PERFECT!!!

  17. JRSimmang

    I have passed these marbled, garbled hallways
    so my shoulders graze the pallid walkways
    all the while watching days and days
    dither to a soundless wail.

    The night upon me’s overcrowding;
    the moon above is light abounding,
    The wind’s blowing a resounding
    whisper straight from the bowels of Hell.

    I thought I might be quickly losing
    all manner of my mindful choosing
    and slinking back the acrid boozing
    shadows of the dell,

    when at once came a knocking,
    a swiftly rapping, grain-fed socking,
    scratching at the tender backing
    of my gently nodding skull.

    It was a subtle reminder of the end of it my dear,
    the indubitable end of the line I feared,
    it would be the last time that I neared
    the confusion in the water wells.

    My legacy was no longer wanted,
    the land my fathers bore was haunted
    with my bequested chivalry undaunted
    and I turned on my liquid heels.

    I turned to wave a goodbye goodnighted,
    the final prayer unrequited.
    With all the wanting, sifting slighted,
    my final breath is breath ignited.

  18. JWLaviguer

    Lasting Impression

    Your last kiss
    I can still taste it

    Your last heartbeat
    I can still feel it

    Your last breath
    I can still hear it

    Your last goodbye
    It still haunts me

    And yet
    as I sit here
    in your chair
    one last time
    I can still sense your presence.

  19. Amy

    The Last Time I Saw You

    The last time I saw you,
    we were immersed in an
    endless summer. I held
    tight to your hand as we
    sailed through aqueous
    reveries. Fields were
    saturated by the dusk
    as the heavens scattered
    diamonds across the sky
    to hail the sun’s descent.
    We were content.

    The last time I saw you,
    we were deeply engrossed
    in an intellectual diversion.
    Opposites upon the board,
    my aim was fixed on that
    pearlescent monarch
    standing tall on the
    checkered edge.
    We were amused.

    The last time I saw you,
    we were restricted to
    the couch. You sighed
    often and the soft humming
    of the breathing machine
    filled the silence with unspoken
    anxiety. You insisted your
    frailty was meaningless and I,
    ever the innocent child,
    trusted you implicitly.
    We were altered.

    The last time I saw you,
    you were stiff inside
    your box. I longed to
    hold tight to your hand
    again and plunge into
    frivolous adventure but
    your rigid fingers failed
    to grasp mine and the
    indifference in your
    once-bright eyes left me
    We were detached.

  20. taylor graham


    Boots at the door; wind-breaker.
    His eyes sparked to speak of weather,
    he knew the Beaufort Scale

    by heart, and stars to guide past
    the fringes of a known world, this dead-
    bolt-lock hometown.

    Fluid dynamics, he’d say,
    is what we are. Sky, water, a handful
    earth, and something more.

    Tonight, street-lights
    halo wood-smoke swirling into fog.
    An old man might

    don his overcoat and muffler; open –
    and then gently
    close, behind him, the door;

    walk out into his personal
    cloud. Beyond the known borders.
    Something more.

    1. Yolee

      This is very good.
      Love: “His eyes sparked to speak of weather,”
      “Fluid dynamics, he’d say,
      is what we are. Sky, water, a handful
      earth, and something more.”

    2. Hannah

      So cool…the imagery that you evoke with these words…flitting from object to object…very list-like but more than that, too…the layering of emotion and description…brilliant!

  21. Misky


    I waved goodbye to all those roasts,
    all those loaves, and pies,
    and chickens, and that greasy stove.
    I cried goodbye to reds that bled
    into whites, socks eaten
    and never given back.
    I sighed goodbye, and took one last
    look as my old oven, washer,
    fridge and freezer
    were sold to the 2nd hand shop.

  22. seingraham


    She wondered just when it occurred to her
    Maybe when she was stowing her black wool coat
    Checking it to see if it needed cleaning
    Decided no – she rarely wore it – funerals only
    Pretty much – it was probably the last good coat
    She’d ever need to buy, she thought smugly
    And then glumly

    You know you’re getting old when you can begin thinking
    About the last time you’ll buy a good coat or a great pair of shoes
    The last time you’ll need to have a pap smear
    Or see your dentist – this one makes her smile
    Once you get store-bought teeth,
    you don’t need to see your dental experts
    Nearly as often…

    She had stopped dying her hair some time ago
    But that was mainly because she wore wigs now
    So she doesn’t remember the last time
    She coloured the thinning mass, clipped ultra short
    Why, she wonders, is it suddenly important to her
    That she hasn’t been keeping track of her “last times”

    Then it hits her – the last time she saw her mother
    Was the morning she died – but it didn’t occur to her
    Until just now, that not only was it the last time
    She saw her mother but her mother was the last
    Of her family – to be specific, she was the only
    Living member of her family now … in effect an orphan

    Could people as old as she is be orphans?
    She thought ruefully and with no small amount
    Of sadness, she guessed they could if
    They were the last of a dying breed
    And of that she most certainly was …

  23. PKP

    Last footfall

    Echoes in the
    On the street
    By the
    Posting too quickly
    The community
    That once
    sang lyric songs
    to one another
    in a golden tapestry
    of collective creation
    shimmering with
    Individual filaments
    of forever
    On “The Street”
    now emptied
    of all but the
    robo-editor gorged
    and fatted on
    swallowed souls
    as the last footfall
    left in loneliness

    1. PuffofSmokePoems

      Creepy and sad, in the best possible sense! This made me shiver at the image you created, the silence of that empty street–which I picture as not just dark, but rainy, too. It left behind in my mind this delicious poem taste of melancholy.

    2. Brian Slusher

      I infer you’re taling about PA? Perhaps the footfalls will return for the April ritual, but in the end writing is you against the silence.

      1. PKP

        Yes Brian of course I agree – writing is one voice “against the silence,” which is precisely what drew me years ago to “The Street” at Poetic Asides – it was a surprisingly pleasant diversion and way of connecting with others in a raw and anonymous, yet somehow connected manner, which quickly became a lovely respite from the more recognized way of writing. It has been increasingly annoying and disturbing to watch The Street run into all sorts of what I can only assume are corporate problems and in so doing watch – the easy (well alright not always ‘easy’) collective spirit of a chorus of voices – grow frustrated and too often increasingly silent. You are correct it was to this frustration – voiced elsewhere that I dashed off this little poem about the “last footfall” I do hope that some of the familiar camaraderie will return tomorrow. Thank you for reading and replying. Perhaps we’ll bump into each other strolling through April. :)

  24. PressOn


    Around the horn we throw the ball again,
    just like it was when I could play this game
    when I was young. We take the field, and then,
    around the horn we throw the ball again;
    no time has passed; it feels the same as when
    this field was mine, and so the cheers and fame.
    Around the horn we throw the ball again.
    Just like it was when I could play this game.

  25. RJ Clarken


    “You’re only as good as your last haircut.” ~Fran Lebowitz

    Let’s hear it for celebouffants.
    The buzz is huge at first, but then
    some comic or comedienne
    makes wisecracks, jokes and cutting taunts

    about a righteous soul who flaunts
    a ‘Bieber,’ ‘Farrah,’ ‘Miley,’ ‘Jen.’
    The buzz is huge at first, but then?
    Let’s hear it for celebouffants

    on two-page spreads in Vogue. These jaunts
    in style can make one shout, “Amen!
    With hair like this, I’ll be a 10!”
    Mod manes for gents and debutantes?
    Let’s hear it for celebouffants.


  26. RJ Clarken

    Hope This Will Last

    “This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last.” ~Oscar Wilde

    I never know what to expect
    ‘cause you my love, you drive me nuts.
    That’s what I like, no ifs, ands, buts.
    Still, the suspense is so unchecked.

    Nevertheless, you’re…in effect…
    anticipation, soul and guts
    ‘cause you my love, you drive me nuts.
    I never know what to expect.

    Hope this lasts, with all due respect.
    Together, we’re two crazy mutts
    but life is never in the ruts.
    (That’s what I think when I reflect.)
    I never know what to expect.


  27. Domino


    Aged, infirm, she was half-crippled with
    arthritis. Still, her blue eyes were sharp.
    She glowed as brightly as the one hun
    -dred candles on her lit birthday cake.
    (She was half-lit herself, according
    to her nephew, a ripe eighty-nine,
    himself.) She mused aloud about the
    past, her siblings, all long gone now. We
    all bent in eagerly to hear her
    words, softly whispered, but with such imp
    -ish good humor: “They always wanted
    to go first, we drew broom straws to see
    which had to be ‘it’ and who had to
    go last on the pony.” She pauses,
    “I didn’t know I’d drawn the short straw
    this time; now they’ve all gone before me.”

    Diana Terrill Clark

    1. LadyBspittin'datpoetry

      this was amazing. I could see her. And almost feel the bitter-sweet sadness in being the last of all your friend to pass on…nicely done.

  28. Sara McNulty


    Mundane Monday comes
    `round again.
    Gathering laundry, separating
    whites and colors.
    Scanning newspaper obituaries
    over cold coffee.
    Happy not to recognize
    any names.
    Friends are persistent, insisting
    she must get out.
    Still she grieves for him, still she hates
    living alone.
    Lethargy has taken control;
    she is comforted.
    Phone rings on and on–
    leave a message.
    Hallmark movie promises
    happy ending.
    She takes her current book
    to bed, one chapter,
    then her eyelids droop.
    Just a typical mundane Monday,
    except, it was her last day.

  29. Ann M


    Instead of first, I will be last,
    the last to come
    the last to go
    the last to eat
    the last to sleep
    the last to wake
    the very last sheep.

    Last isn’t brave
    or fresh
    or new.
    It’s late, stale
    and sour.
    Last is almost through,
    but not quite.

    I do it better this way,
    knowing when the water is deep
    or cold,
    which edge is sharp
    and where the fall is steep.
    I wait and watch
    the way the shadows fall,
    on what bit of soil,
    and how deep;
    so that this year
    I know where to plant the seeds.

  30. swatchcat

    Last place
    Last laugh
    Last word
    Mad dash

    It is the sale
    The darkest of them all
    Black Friday
    A battle cry day

    Hurry up
    Their almost out
    Only a few more left
    Of the cheap bottle of grout

    I know it’s crazy
    It makes no sense
    But it’s on sale
    Half off
    Two for one
    I’m saving ten cents

    I reach, she grabs
    Tug of war
    Battle of hags

    Don’t worry ladies
    We’re getting more
    Just go to the counter
    And tell them the score
    It’s not discontinued
    It’s not worth the wreck
    They’ll just issue rain-checks.

  31. swatchcat

    There is only one time when a first is a last
    And, a last can be first.
    Where there isn’t a beginning
    And, the end is not a curse.
    Where the idea of an ending
    doesn’t have to be a start.
    It is quit a divinity,
    a scientific theology,
    it intersects and, curves around.
    It is perpetually going,
    it is the sign of infinity.

  32. HandHeldWriter

    A drip, then a drop, so I replace its top.
    The last of the milk is gone,
    Now my Rice Krispies won’t pop.

    I must revive my body, so I make some coffee.
    The last filter tears in half,
    Now I have to go shopping.

    Speeding past the limit, I see the ferry in the distance.
    The last boat just left,
    Now I have to wait another 30 minutes.

    Finally at the store, “Cash Only” on the door.
    The last of my cash already spent,
    Now I must hit the ATM next door.

    My PIN numbers pressed, I begin to feel stressed.
    The last of its money is gone,
    “Sorry. Your Transaction Cannot Be Processed.”

    A sigh, then a laugh, I head back to my flat.
    The last of the gas runs out,
    Now it can’t get any worse than that.

    With a can in hand,
    And no cash for gas,
    I finally reach the station,
    Realizing the worst has come to pass.

    My thoughts obscene, I just want to scream.
    The last place I used my card?
    Oh yeah, probably still in the ATM machine.

  33. PowerUnit

    The Last Woman

    Thunderous footsteps, chilling bravado
    My sanctuary invaded by
    The profanity of human osculation
    Beat it back with loud and gentle music
    Timed to broken dishes and execrable scourges
    My silent solicitudes importune on deaf ears

    Dare I leave?
    The house is void of succor.
    It has devolved into the chaos of a woman.
    Should I simply walk away?

  34. Nancy Posey


    The only thing he wanted, the only tangible reminder
    of his grandfather upon his passing , were the lasts—
    those wooden foot-shaped blocks on cast-iron stands,
    long retired from shoemaking, destined for years
    to serve as doorstop in the entry of the home place.
    They’d remind him what large shoes he had to fill.

  35. PoM

    He was the last of the poets
    The Kingdom had known
    He sat in a dungeon
    Without any toes
    Not even a tongue
    To utter some prose

    He was warned by the king
    I’ll cut off your fingers
    As a warning to those
    Who dear write such nonsense
    Called poetry and Prose

    He could not listen
    He loved poetry so
    Off come the poet’s fingers
    The king he declared
    Poetry’s a crime here
    I told you so

    But that did not stop him
    With a Quill in his toes
    He continued to write poetry
    On parchment and scrolls
    Till the king got word
    And cut off his toes

    In public it happened
    In the mighty square
    The people did gather
    They watched in fear
    As the king himself
    Cut off his toe’s
    But the poet didn’t utter
    Not a single painful moan
    Instead he sang in voice so sweet
    His poetry and prose
    In rhyme and harmony

    this melody he sang
    so enraged the king
    he cut out his tongue
    and ripped his robe

    Off to the dungeon
    Off you go you peasant poet
    Without any clothes
    Without any fingers
    Without any toes
    Never the gen

    Will anyone hear
    Nor read with thy eyes
    Your stanza’s or prose
    You’ll not write poetry
    Nor with your voice
    Will you sing in prose
    Never the gen

    He was the last of the poets
    The kingdom had known
    Not a stanza was written
    No rhymes were told

    The king he declared
    Poetry a crime
    Even some prose
    So it is as the ledged it goes

    The king he went crazy
    From nightmare’s it’s told
    Thousands of poet’s
    He dreamed of every night
    Reciting their poems
    To him as he sat
    Upon his great throne

    He was the last of the poet’s
    The kingdom had known
    He drove the king crazy
    Reciting his poems
    The king climbed the tower
    Up all the way to top

    From there he jumped
    Splashed right in the mote
    Then eaten by gators
    Twas his bitter end

    Twas the last of his thoughts
    So the legend is goes
    He died with a poem
    Rhythm and rhyme
    Stuck in his head

    Declared he did
    with his dying breath
    Dam you poets
    Be dammed to hell
    Shut up them sataza’s
    Cut out their tongue
    Cut off their fingers
    And toes as well

    To my death they drove me
    With rhythms and rhymes
    Prose and poetry
    Twas the last of the thoughts
    Dancing in my head
    Even as I take my final breath

    1. PoM

      this was only the first draft…(Sorry everyone)
      My apologies for the roughness of it
      the polished and revised edition
      will be posted on my blog
      (hopefully before next weeks PAD)
      If not…then soon enough..
      enjoy…. :)

  36. JWLaviguer

    The Last Payment

    Finally the car is mine
    in full
    having paid the loan on time

    Let’s go celebrate
    and toast to dreams
    of what that money can now buy

    The warranty expires
    at the same time
    and so too goes the transmission

    The starter won’t start
    the engine won’t turn
    I’d rather have a few more payments.

  37. deringer1

    you lay unmoving in my arms
    somehow you knew.

    wanting you to stay,
    but knowing you had to go,
    I felt pain choking my heart.

    your brown eyes locked on mine,
    full of questioning fear,
    asking why.

    the vet softly asked,
    “Are you ready?” and I nodded,
    knowing I would never be ready to
    face the pain of loss.

    I said goodby through tears
    and I knew you were the last,
    the last pet I could bear to lose.

  38. Andrew Kreider

    Pastor Lundquist learns the truth

    The last guy they sent us was so
    serious! I could barely sit
    through church most weeks. Some folks would go
    to sleep, others would wait a bit

    then pretend to need the toilet
    (but take their coats with them). He set
    the bar REAL low for you, my dear.
    Just tell some jokes – we’ll love you here.

  39. De Jackson

    Today is…

    The Last Day of Spring Break at the Lake

    I bid bye to blue,
    store its sacred hue
    in sandy pockets and
    overflowing heart. I start
    the day with a walk and
    pray for these indigo
    mercies to spill free and
    fill my broken places. I
    gather traces of cobalt
    hope and slices of sapphire
    smile, tuck them in for
    the journey across those
    desert miles. I embrace adieu
    and give azure grace its proper,
    forever place – in my home,
    at my center, in You.


    1. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

      “I bid bye to blue,
      store its sacred hue
      in sandy pockets and
      overflowing heart.” <— this

      "I start
      the day with a walk and
      pray for these indigo
      mercies to spill free and
      fill my broken places." <– and this

      and all of it is so lovely. I adore this. <3

  40. Rhae

    think of it now,
    April 1st will begin my internal count
    each second, minute, hour
    closer to the changing plains,
    look at all that has been here for years
    for future, present, and not forgetting the past
    thank you experiences for everything learned,
    for the days will decrease here in texas land
    up until the very last
    and this face will smile,
    you will be missed.


  41. Jacqueline Hallenbeck

    The last book

    In twenty-five excruciating minutes
    she will be put to death for crimes committed.
    Her exclamations of “I didn’t mean it!
    were carefully and purposely omitted
    as there is no excuse for her behavior,
    for no reader on this planet can save her
    from death. It’s too late for an apology.
    She burned it, and left us with… technology.

    (c) Jacqueline Hallenbeck

  42. miz quickly

    The old cat spreads her belly, broad and white, across the heating vent.
    Snow and petals blasted off Bradford pears, mix. March is everywhere.
    What warmth is it covering?

    1. Brian Slusher

      I recognize the cat–ours loves to stretch in front of the vent and broil with a drunken smile on her face. Maybe more line breaks to create stronger emphasis? Thanks for the warm image!

  43. PressOn


    I love those chaps in the derby hats
    who hoist so high a lance of laughs
    that lighten my darker days
    and stock a store of smiles
    for the better days,
    leaving me blessed
    with the best:

  44. JWLaviguer

    The Last in Line

    Always in the wrong line
    at the supermarket
    at the movies
    buying a soda

    This line is too slow
    so I move to another one
    then the last one moves faster
    and I curse myself

    Last one picked for kickball
    for dodgeball
    for Sadie Hawkins
    is it me or them

    Mom always said
    they’re just jealous
    you have to say that
    cuz I’m your favorite

    About face
    I’m no longer last
    I’m first.

  45. Connie Peters

    The Last Time I Saw You

    You were laying there
    Pale greenish against your sheets
    Unaware I was standing over you

    My hero
    My first love
    My dad

    Delightful memories
    Hunting, fishing, gardening
    Your sense of humor, your love

    And then unwanted images
    Your bed, not a bed
    But a coffin

    I said my goodbyes
    Kissed you on the forehead
    Walked out the door

    1. LadyBspittin'datpoetry

      that reminds me of my granddad. I almost teared up on “And then unwanted images Your bed, not a bed But a coffin” So real. Good work.

  46. Nancy Posey

    Looking forward to April!


    Always a bridesmaid, never a bride—
    She heard the chant until she nearly screamed.
    Don’t take the last slice of cake, her granny warned,
    or you’ll never wed—as if true love depended
    upon cake or bread. She’d worn a dozen dresses–
    pastels, flowered, frilly, ugly, chosen to suit all
    the brides’ friends, flattering none; she’d danced
    with the best men—fathers, brothers of the groom—
    pretended to be eager to catch the bouquets
    tossed straight toward her but snatched
    by other silly girls, so desperate, perhaps,
    they thought this age-old competition
    their last chance to make it to the altar.
    Instead of superstition, she had trusted time,
    had cultivated her mind, read good books,
    make lifelong friends, had grown to love herself.
    At last, she knew, she’d wait for someone worthy,
    someone able, willing to look deep inside her, past
    the bridesmaid’s dress, into a heart worth loving.
    Her first love, she determined, would be her last.

  47. Ber

    The last word

    Was not that i could not write it
    was not that i could not see
    was not that i could not feel it
    was not that i could not be me

    Tapping on the keys
    tapping in my brain
    tapping out new ideas
    some remain the same

    Natural thoughts in motion
    wonders of my mind
    blurring visions kicks in
    images leave me blind

    Staring in to space
    ideas come to me
    blasting , lightening fast
    the books are on my knees

    Revision of something i learned
    inspiration is on every page
    i am no longer a writer in distress
    i am not longer locked in a cage

    As the light shines in through the window
    and fairy dust filters away
    i smile knowing i have finished it now
    never thought i would see the day