Sunday, April 22, 2018

Not the Teacher's Pet (A Poem for Day Nineteen of PAD)

Here is the prompt copied from Poetic Asides for day nineteen: For today’s prompt, write a memory poem. Pick a memory, any memory. It can be a significant event, but sometimes there are beautiful insignificant moments (that ironically are very significant–quite the paradox). Mine your memories to come up with something good today.


Photo of Blackboard by Gary Scott
They Said It Was Me

Not the Teacher's Pet

Every time I sit
down to remember,
unruly schoolchildren
sneak in, wipe memories
from the blackboard,
place tacks upon teacher’s
seat, call her distasteful
names, tell her
it was all me, then snicker
when she makes me stay after
to atone
for their sins.



*****



Procrastination Temptation (A Poem for Day Eighteen of PAD)


Here is the prompt  copied from Poetic Asides for day eighteen: For today’s prompt, write a temptation poem. Nearly everyone is tempted by something: fame, glory, money, chocolate. Today is the perfect day to give in to the temptation to write about your (or “a friend’s”) temptation. Also, I totally understand the temptation to write about The Temptations today.

Photo via Flickr by Rachel Fisher
I'll Write It Tomorrow

Procrastination Temptation

Take two
lines, call
myself
a poet
in the morning,
when hope
arises,
vacates
the block,
breaks
out
of my head,
breaks
in
my pen.



*****


Tuesday, April 17, 2018

The Husband That Never Was (A Poem for Day Seventeen of PAD)

Here is the prompt (for day seventeencopied from Poetic Asides: For experienced April PAD Challengers, today’s prompt will seem familiar. In fact, I kind of tipped my hand yesterday with my example poem of what today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt would be.

For today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt:
  1. Write a love poem.
  2. Write an anti-love poem.

Photo of Record Shop by Eurok
There's No Record of You and Me



The Husband That Never Was

We said “I do” a thousand times
under the scraggly
limbs of my neighbor’s
apple tree where I stepped
on a rusty nail the summer
we eloped before
we ever met.
You climbed the
blue fir tree up to the electrical
wires, then looked
down on me, smiled with only one side
of your mouth the way you do now
from across the way.
For our honeymoon, we ransacked
your mother’s bedroom, spread out
on the floor among some five hundred
LPs—
"Jive Talking”
our wedding march.
 


*****


Oxymoron (A Poem for Day Sixteen of PAD)

Here is the prompt (for day sixteencopied from Poetic Asides: For today’s prompt, write a favorite poem. Maybe that sounds a bit silly, but what I mean is to write a poem about something that’s your favorite. A favorite teacher. Favorite movie. Favorite ice cream flavor. I don’t know, because I have my own list of favorites. Only you can do you…and your favorites. Who knows? Maybe this will end up being your favorite prompt this month.



Photo of Beach by Daniel Mendiola
Sometimes My Favorite Place is the Beach


Oxymoron

My favorite saying
is that I have
no favorites. I love
everything and
everyone
just the same . . .
except
any foods
containing
meat and
spring time
overrun
by summertime
heat, and then
there’s those workers
who are underpaid
for the color
of their skin
or because
of their age.
I suppose
there’s another
thing, too. Scammers
who prey on
the emotions
of others
or take advantage
of lonely
elderly widows.
Karma is karma,
and whatever
they do
will come
right back
to them
     unless
my
irritation
butts in. Then karma’s
arrows will shoot
back to me to interfere
with my philosophy
to not take favorites
but instead
to favor
everyone
for their individuality
     and 

respect their 
     position
on their 

     own life’s 
rungs. 


*****



I Am a Mermaid (A Poem for Day Fifteen of PAD)


Here is the prompt (for day fifteencopied from Poetic Asides: For today’s prompt, write a metaphor poem. That is, write a poem built around a metaphor. Remember: Metaphors actually take on another object (like “I am a Tree” or “I am a Rock“). This is not to be confused with similes, which are like metaphors (for instance, “I am like a tree” or “I am like a rock”), but not quite. Dig? If so, then you are a shovel or spade or bulldozer. Now poem the heck out of metaphors today.

Photo of Forget-Me-Nots by Pedro Irizarry
Hold Me in Your Heart


I Am a Mermaid

But I don’t live
in the sea.
I flower from May
to September
when I add
a sweet touch
of color
to your garden.
Those who've
cultivated me
call me
a forget-me-not.
I’m easy to grow,
reliable, too—
you can count on me
to bloom and add cheer
to your life
when you’re feeling blue.


*****



Monday, April 16, 2018

Funeral Home (A Poem for Day Fourteen of PAD)


It's late. I'm tired. A short poem was in order. 

Here is the prompt (from day fourteencopied from Poetic Asides: For today’s prompt, write a report poem. I know, I know: Writing a report sounds about as far away from poetry as flying is to a penguin, but many poems report on a moment or an instance or a scene. In your poem (or poems) today, report on something big and important or small and inconsequential (or small and important–or, well, you get the idea).


Photo by Linda Graindourze
Goodbye Never Gets Easier


Funeral Home

Same dead body,
same casket,
same urn,
same last respects,
same tears,
different family.

*****


[Please note that all prompts have been copied from the Writer's Digest Poetic Asides website.]

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Booklice (A Poem for Day Thirteen of PAD)


I'm hurrying to catch up. I've cut this copied prompt down a bit: For today’s prompt (day thirteen), pick an insect (any insect), make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Praying Mantis,” “Ants,” and “Grasshoppers.” 


Photo of Chewing Gum by Jeff Prieb
I Wonder if They Would Chew Gum Instead


Booklice 

Wingless members of the family
Trogiidae, commonly found
in human dwellings,
these tiny authors
feed on scripts, spit
them out for tenants to find.
The Psocoptera evolved
from ancient scribes
but have lost all recollection
of manuscript keeping.
Poor eyesight and pen-
less, they communicate
using sound instead,
tap with the end
of their abdomens, using Morse
code in a faint ticking noise
and chewing to communicate
stories like that of
Violet Beauregarde.




*****

[Please note that all prompts have been copied from the Writer's Digest Poetic Asides website.]

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