Monday, May 19, 2014

(Un)Happy Hour - Poetry to Start the Week

Taking the plunge into a Monday-morning poem.

photo by Gary Christenson
Go Ahead and Jump

(Un)Happy Hour

Somewhere underneath the shade
of rose-spotted Nepenthes pitchers,
parched lips puckered and retracted
like a clownfish out of water—me
without you. Standing at rounded edge,
your eyes fell headfirst down
into the pools of promising
refreshment I could not measure up to.
One slip and it was too late for us;
that mistake sent you tumbling to hazy
forgetfulness where the only thing
that mattered was that you
were no longer thirsty.


Monday, May 5, 2014

Calling It a Day (for Us) - (a Poem for Day Thirty of PAD)

Sometimes it's so hard to say goodbye that people say nothing at all. That's what I've been struggling with the past few days. But I finally was able to write something that felt right for this last prompt. And so now I feel relief that I was finally able to put thoughts to paper. 


For today’s prompt, write a “calling it a day” poem. Some people might call this “Miller time,” others may refer to it as “closing time.” Just remember: Don’t call it a day until you put it in a poem.

Photo by t a
It Was so Easy to Erase Me

Calling It a Day (for Us)

The opposing end of this pencil
le(a)d me to eraser-dusted love
lettering, emotions too young to travel
from thought to tongue, resolve
too weak to roll good with bye,
tears so familiar they’ve taken
your place, curled up next to my sobbing
heart, keeping me comfortable at night
when earthshakes threaten to steal away
my asylum, found only in this worn-down nub.


Thursday, May 1, 2014

(Un)Settled (a Poem for Day Twenty-Eight of PAD)

I'm limping along with one poem left to write to complete the challenge. It's appropriate that my poems are out of order since I feel like I'm about "out of order," too. Ha!

Below is my Day Twenty-Eight poem for PAD.

For today’s prompt, write a settled poem. Settled can be a good, relaxing thing; settled can be an accepting something that wasn’t your first choice thing; settled can be coming to a stop; settled can be pioneers in a strange land; and so on. With only three days left, don’t settle for less than your best.

Photo by Chris Chidsey
Don't Settle for a Poetry-Free Life


Word-tied, hands tired, metaphorical
milk carton nearly empty. Timer’s almost
boiled all the eggs in this poetical
basket, and the delivery man
won’t make trips to simile city
tonight. The sonnets resting on my cranium
can’t withstand the heat, so I’ve settled
for freestyle swimming through alphabet souped-
up poetry not making it from pen to paper.