Because

is not a reason.
Please specify why
you can’t reveal
the truth, and when
you need
a quick answer,
just say yes or no,
or give me
some time
to think about it.
But before you let
them spill
from your mouth,
remember,
your words will live on
long after
your body
is gone.

Know the Meanings of the Words You Speak

Here is the prompt for Day Seventeen (copied from Writer's Digest):

For today’s prompt, write a reason poem. If this prompt seems unreasonable, just remember all the reasons you write poetry or enjoy cooking, dancing, singing, etc. Or provide a reasoned argument for your lack of reason. Only you know your reasons.

*****

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

Here is the prompt (for day seventeen) copied 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.

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. 


*****

No Rest at the Rest Home - a Poem for Day Seventeen of PAD

Here is the prompt for day seventeen of the April PAD Challenge:

For today’s prompt, write a dance poem. The poem can be about the process of dancing or just somehow incorporate or reference dancing in the poem. There are so many styles of dance out there and even more occasions for dancing: school dances, daddy-daughter dances, wedding dances, people who dance when they are happy, people who dance when they are sad, people who dance in large groups, and those who dance alone. And, of course, there are so who just won’t dance for anything.

Dance Everywhere

No Rest at the Rest Home

For eighty-five years,

he showed his contempt
at those on dance floors,
until, confined to his couch,
he devoured
hour after hour of
So You Think
You Can Dance.

The series came to a close,
leaving him inspired
to do the pony
and the pogo,
but everyone else
reflected he was near
his own end, so he’d lost
his chance
to boogie and bop.

To prove them all wrong,
he strained, he stretched,
he swayed side to side
in his de-
              composing sofa bed.
He then took my hand,
begged me to dance,
do the hitch hike
and the hornpipe,
and then
to
perform
dances
of universal 
peace
by his side,
until he
was
dead.

***

Love’s Indecision (a Poem for Day Seventeen of PAD)

The poetry prompt for today, day seventeen, is swing. 

A Ride I Won't Forget

Love’s Indecision

Dangles
by a cable or chains, floats
back
and forth without contemplation, set
in motion
by determined fingers, soulless
feet,
the wind, annoyance. Ecstasy lifts me into
your stratosphere,
throws me back down. Not so much from fluctuation
or the               pause
b e t w e e n

your

lines,
but what you do to fill the silence—
lilt
between smiles and tears, drive the seat
of my life,
remove that which holds me, leave me
behind
in
the damp
and trampled sand. 

*****

Clubbing in the 80s (a Poem for Day Seventeen of PAD)

Wow. Day Seventeen. More than halfway there. Below is my poem for the day; it's not really autobiographical (at least not completely). 

The Day Seventeen prompt for PAD:

For today’s prompt, write a pop culture poem. I guess I broke out the Bon Jovi a day early, eh? But hey, write a poem about Bon Jovi or Van Halen; write a poem about the Kardashians (or don’t–and say you did); write a poem about a popular SNL skit; write a poem about Dr. Who or Downton Abbey; write a poem about any kind of popular culture thing-a-ma-bob you wish. In fact, write three! (Just kidding; you only need to write one poem–but seriously, write three and be sure to add a little more cowbell.)

These Are the Waves I Listen to Now

Clubbing in the '80s

Mom and dad told me to come inside
when city streetlights shined up the night.
Instead, I (Du)ran out into darkness
as strobe lights blinked on, stumbling
over 10,000 Maniacs and a Flock
of Seagulls rushing across the front lawn.
Those were the days, Driven to Tears
on My Own Secret Journey sprinting
from Police, then Walking Like an Egyptian
with Bangles dangling on both rigid wrists.
I passed Stray Cats strutting in alleys,
on sidewalks, and on teenaged car roofs,
and then cried Tears for Fear
of men after Tom petted my ego
and then turned aloof. I Squeezed self-
consciousness into black tights and big hair
daring to fit into a League beyond Human,
dressed to impress my Loverboy
constructed of a Simple Mind. Now I suppose
that was all right, nights forgotten across river Styx
after growing up attending Spandau Ballet,
left behind to become the nineteenth member
of the town’s secret Cult, praising charcoal-eyes
and forty-ouncers in hormonal back seats, still waiting
on Tom, too tiring for me, sucking his Red Hot
Chili Peppers, I snuck back inside
before morning came and Mom flipped
on my bedroom light.

*****