Day 12 Highlights
You were asked to write an apology poem on Day 12, but I want to start off by saying, “Thank you,” for all the great poetry written on this day….
You were asked to write an apology poem on Day 12, but I want to start off by saying, "Thank you," for all the great poetry written on this day. Good poems are usually marked by a great degree of honesty (even when making things up) and fearlessness on the part of the poet. These poems were very truthful and close to the bone. For instance, I didn't realize so many women have thoughts of punching people--the things poetry teaches us. But seriously, there were some funny poems in the bunch, but also some that were truly heartbreaking. Thank you for writing them.
I also want to thank Amy Cornell for sharing this prompt with her women's writing circle at the Monroe County Corrections Center in Bloomington, Indiana.
Here are the day 12 highlights.
*****
#12
I atone…
I admit…
I regret…
I repent…
I confess…
I am sorry…
I am guilty…
I apologize…
I didn’t mean…
I am ashamed…
…it’s a beginning.
Are you listening?
Never mind. I need
to say it
even if you don’t need to hear it.
Cara Alson |csalsonAT NOSPAMearthlink dot net
*****
Inconsiderate Acts
I'm sorry snail, I didn't see you sliding across the sidewalk like a wad of butter on a slowly warming skillet. I'm sorry mailbox lock, for missing with my key and scratching your chrome. It's such a small key. I'm sorry mail key, for calling you small. You aren't small, you're compact. That makes you more efficient. I'm sorry house key, I understand the mailbox lock's smaller than door lock, and that he'd break off his teeth trying to muster the strength to move that heavy, oh, right, heavy and stiff deadbolt. (Yes, mail-key, I know that he's full of himself, I'm sorry for placating him, but if he decides to run off I have to call a locksmith and they don't accept apologize. The last one I called wouldn't even take a check.) So, so sorry, morning, for stepping on your sidewalks, I'll try to be more considerate in the future.
Zebulon Huset |zebulonhusetAT NOSPAMyahoo dot com
*****
Sweet Nothing
I'm sorry you feel that way
was what you said
then later claimed that
as a true apology
As you slept
I wrote the note
and taped it to the
bathroom mirror
Sorry I didn't wake you
to say good-bye
Teri Coyne |tmc329AT NOSPAMaol dot com
*****
I'm sorry I went back into the bar
after chatting over the bed of my
truck for 20 minutes. We went back
in and drank a bit more, then ended
up back at my place...
He never told me about you -- the
current wife, just spoke about
the bitch ex-wife, assuming I knew
about you. When I came onto the
scene, after you left,
after you were too pregnant to
train any longer. If I had known
about you, it would never have
happened, I never would have
been so sick at heart
at what I'd inadvertently done,
all unknowing. I would never
have impulsively left town to
visit my alma mater, my ex-room
mate and his new digs
and I would have never met the
man who would become my husband
that second time. I wouldn't
have been dive bombed by that
wasp or gone to the
emergency room and been given
prescription Benedryl, which
loosened my tongue enough to
disarm his sense of humor. So
I'm sorry you
still don't know. I'm sorry about
the whole screwed up situation. I'm
sorry it happened with your husband.
But I'm not sorry it ended up
with mine.
A.C. Leming |fackorfAT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
Letter of Apology
Dear John (or rather Robert),
I readily confess
That I partake of your challenge
But fail to pass the test.
I could blame it on my two jobs
Or my need for family time,
I could say my dog ate my homework.
Would that excuse work online?
I could plead I missed three days
'Cause I was subject to the flu,
I could argue I'm not a poet,
I'm just trying something new.
I could say that I am sorry,
I could post it on my shelf,
For it's not you I have let down...
I apologize to myself.
Linda Hofke |LNSHOFKEAT NOSPAMyahoo dot com
*****
Sorry
I hope the consequences will be slight.
Sorry for not posting on here last night.
I was out to last call -
it was Friday and all,
so if I penned a poem, it'd be shite.
Callan Bignoli-Zale |shehadausernameAT NOSPAMgmail dot com
*****
Sister
She’s still there, whether
I talk to her or not.
Whether I pick up the phone
and try to cross the bridge
that’s been bombed.
It wasn’t us—
we both agree—
but still, the bridge is gone
and I haven’t rebuilt it
with telephone wire.
Kimberlee Thompson |kthompsonAT NOSPAMpatmedia dot net
*****
Yellow
Sepia stains this house -
and you - with time passed,
time mourned, choices made
or not. Of fingers
jaundiced and shrunken,
swirling amber nectar,
ice clacking to moments
metered by the hissing
thump, thump, thump of air
coursing via canal,
to make red what’s blue
in you, now yellowed,
smoky-scented, canyon-
carved, starving for space
enough to utter
“I’m sorry.” But the tip
just flares, then fades. You
gasp, and all goes black.
Linda |drwasyAT NOSPAMgmail dot com
*****
Why I’m late
I left in plenty of time but
There was a train,
I had a flat tire,
My mom/sister/doctor called,
I was detoured,
I forgot my purse,
There was an accident,
The dog ate my homework,
(Sorry, wrong excuse list),
I would have called but
My cell phone battery
Was dead…
Oh heck, I just didn’t leave
Early enough. I’m sorry.
Lyn Sedwick |LASMD925AT NOSPAMaol dot com
*****
The Lackluster Apology
I'm sorry that I have the energy
To smile and rub your shoulders
I'm sorry that I enjoyed my day
That I delight in the new flowers
The silly thing our son said
The bliss of going for a walk with a friend
That I have the time to make your life simple
And full of love and peace
That I am not miserable and having crazy days
Like you
That I'm clearly not as important as someone
Who has impossibly difficult days
And mountains of pressure and frustration
Over and over and over again
But mostly I'm sorry that you don't
Remember
How it was when I was stressed, fried
And miserable too
And the tension between the two of us
Just about broke us in two
And when I told you to stop buying things
That you ignored me and said "it's a homerun."
And now it's a headache
And that you still don't see it
But I'm not sorry that you're a dreamer
A risk taker, and an artist and still
The handsomest man I know
SaraV |slvinasAT NOSPAMyahoo dot com
*****
You're sorry?
You said you were sorry
For ending it all
On Valentine’s Day.
Well, just why
Were you sorry?
For keeping me waiting
In a car with no heat
While the petals
On the roses I’d
Brought for you froze?
For leaving out the
Notebooks filled
With love letters
I thought were for me
Until I read a little deeper?
For not having the guts
To look me in the eye
And say, “It’s Over.”
Instead, calling collect.
(Of course I accepted the charges.)
Or simply for the
Shoddy cliché of it all.
Dumped on Valentine’s Day.
Now there’s a rejection
That keeps on giving.
Mike Barzacchini |mjbarzAT NOSPAMyahoo dot com
*****
I wasn’t there
but I was there…
trapped in the body
of an eight-year-old child,
my short fingers capable
of sending my toys
to imaginary graves,
but not stopping
the tears
from streaming
down my mother’s face,
not stopping the faceless
fist from tangling
in her long blonde curls
and dragging her from my room
and down the hall.
I can still hear her screaming.
I can still hear the voice
of the monster
calling her bitch,
telling her he is going to
get out his knife,
he is going to
cut the baby
out of her guts,
telling her she will never
leave him again.
I can still hear the thud
of his fist in the wall
and the struggle
as she fights her way
back out of the darkness.
Moonlight falling in
through the rectangular windows
of this small trailer
in the Kentucky woods,
my sister and I
curled under the blankets
of our separate bunks
and held our breath,
our immature minds
incapable of knowing
that we could be hearing
the sounds of
our mother about to die.
But the light came on,
and with a flurry of shouts
and sobs we were in the truck
and gone,
leaving the demon
alone to destroy
everything that could be broken.
I was too young.
I couldn’t say
don’t go back,
I didn’t know
my sister’s innocence
was under attack,
I didn’t know
the words “abuse”, “sexual”,
or “victim”,
but I felt
deep down
a sense of wrong.
I’ll never understand
why she did it,
believed his apologies and lies,
left me for a year
to live with my grandparents,
while they moved back
into a different trailer
in a different town,
why he was allowed
to hold my baby brother
in his tainted hands.
I wasn’t there
but I was.
I’m sorry I wasn’t old enough
to know how to load a gun.
Jay Sizemore |vader655321AT NOSPAMhotmail dot com
*****
Apology
I ran all the way
Through the rain,
Splashing in every puddle
'Til there was mud to my knees,
Hair plastered, heart pounding,
Lungs bursting, tears choking,
Ran all the way home.
I'm sorry. So sorry.
Sorry I went anyway when
You said you'd be busy;
Sorry I saw her there.
Sorry I saw you together.
Sorry I believed you,
Believed in us. Sorry.
Shirley T. |sat50AT NOSPAMtogether dot net
*****
Explanation
Forgive the laughter--
it bubbled up
from my toes
and spilled out
over my lips
and had nothing
to do with
your coming in.
Sara Diane Doyle |saras dot sojournsAT NOSPAMgmail dot com

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Editor of Writer's Digest, which includes managing the content on WritersDigest.com and programming virtual conferences. He's the author of 40 Plot Twist Prompts for Writers: Writing Ideas for Bending Stories in New Directions, The Complete Guide of Poetic Forms: 100+ Poetic Form Definitions and Examples for Poets, Poem-a-Day: 365 Poetry Writing Prompts for a Year of Poeming, and more. Also, he's the editor of Writer's Market, Poet's Market, and Guide to Literary Agents. Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.