Love and Anti-Love (Day 8 of PAD)

Flighty

Owl always
love you
no matter
whose nest
you choose.

Doggy Style

Our four paws
always in the way.
I sit.
You stay.

The Day 8 prompt is a two-for-tuesday:

• Write a love poem and/or...
• Write an anti-love poem.

* * * 

Box of Teeth

My 

future self
resides inside my
father’s aged cigar box,
displayed with pride on high,
above an antique upright where immortal
composers mourn and sigh from beyond at
the terrible neglect of those grand old keys.

Let the Music Carry You Away

For today’s prompt, write a future poem. The future is a never ending well of worry for some. Others harbor a great deal of optimism. Still others see a mixture of awesome flying cars and terrifying robot overlords. Regardless of your outlook, I hope there’s a poem in your very near future.

* * * 

Vampire Envy

Pi(e) is the luckiest

immortal—

neither stake
     (and, no, not a knife)
nor blessed Bullet
     (not even cherry
      ones disguised
      as a bloody blended shake)
nor sunlight
     (or ovens set at
      400 degrees)
nor garlic
     (that tantalizing bulb
      just adds
      to the flavor)

nothing
     (can remove appeal
      can overbake)
can
terminate

All-You-Can-Eat Pi(e) Day

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

For today’s prompt, write a lucky number poem. Some people have lucky numbers, some don’t. Wherever you fall on the lucky number spectrum, you can still write a poem about the phenomenon of lucky numbers and/or luck in general.

*****

The Family 411 (A Poem for Day Eight of PAD)

I was really hoping to write something lighter or even funny. But this is what came out and my bed is calling. 

For today’s prompt (day eight), write a family poem. Good, bad, big, small, adopted, imaginary, nonexistent–everyone has to deal with family (even if that involves running from it or chasing it down). I have a feeling today’s prompt is going to stir up some really good poems.

Our Memories Bring Them to Life

The Family 411

We’ve been wandering
in the back yard, behind
the unfinished A-frame,
prying up weather-beaten
shingles, and peering
underground
into mountain
beaver towns.

We’ve been following
the grassy knoll through
cherry blossoms, rhododendrons
and other shrubs,
searching for nuts
from the family
tree. But it seems
we were too late.

The place has been
overrun by flying
squirrels, moving
across the sky. There’s
no stopping them.
Their grub hunting
and hoarding, has 

our family capsized.

If you dare pay a visit or even
respects, or dare to get
even with death’s refusal
for leaving, just beware, you might
fall down the cracks
or be swallowed alive
by that hunger we all
now struggle
to live with—
it never dies.


*****


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

The Panic of Non-Action - a Poem for Day Eight of PAD

It’s been a busy day and here I am, trying not to panic that I have only a little over an hour to write my poem. Ah, well, fun with the family was worth it!

Here is the prompt for day eight:

For today’s prompt, write a panic poem. There are any number of things a person can panic about, including severe weather, military invasions, or what to wear to an event. And while some may be more life or death than others, that feeling of panic is just as real for a person who has to get up and speak in front of a crowd of smiling strangers as it is for a person hiding in the basement of their house as a tornado approaches.

If You Look Carefully, You Can See Him Smile

The Panic of Non-Action

Perhaps you’ll plant
something lovely
in your life today
instead of going about
useless routines
like tracing Orion’s Belt
in those dot-to-dot
age spots
on the back of your hand.

Perhaps instead of wondering
what life had been like
if you’d been born
someone else,
you’ll trundle out your door,
say hello to a stranger,
pluck a leaf from desert
scrub oak, be amazed
how anything
can stay alive in Death
Valley.

Perhaps instead of scratching out
each day you have left,
you’ll spend tomorrow
in awe, marveling
at things like the forked tail
and the rapid wing
beats of Lucifer’s
Hummingbird, decide
if this is your end,
it isn’t so bad.

Still, perhaps you’ll stay grafted
to your seat, rock your life
using only those two
dog-eared feet, panic
at all the things
you didn’t have the nerve
to get up and do. 

***

I Dare You to Love Me (a Poem for Day Eight of PAD)

My poem for today had a difficult birth. I am looking forward to an easier time with my writing tomorrow. 

The prompt for day eight of the PAD challenge:

For today’s prompt, write a dare poem. This poem could be written as a dare to someone. It could make a daring proclamation. It could involve a dare that someone has accepted…or refused. In a way, each day of this challenge is a dare to write a poem. Are you ready for the challenge?

Feel My Sand between Your Toes

I Dare You to Love Me

Frame your hands 

where edge meets sky,
steal licks of salt
from sand and sea,
wrap a towel around my mother
of pearl, recline with me
in driftwood love seat,
sleep still in shades
of flesh and eye,
wake,
and dream.

*****

Inanimate Objects - The Necklace

Scrambling to keep up, this poem will need some more editing. But for now, you get the rough cut. Day 8 of the November PAD Chapbook Challenge.

Break the Chains

Heart-Shaped Necklace

Oh brittle heart, the hand
that shaped you, jagged,
flawed, once part drink
and shell, where pearls bloomed
from sand and friction, you embody
lover’s loyalty through lifetimes,
memory loss, meetings anew,
the heart placed in man-
made holder to be embraced
upon a throbbing chest, the one
he loved best, or so he swore,
for one minute stretched
beyond her mind past
infinity of time. Oh brittle
heart, you’re out of order now,
imperfections brought you down
sold the heart from love’s
weightless words, now just
a broken chain, forgotten
inside dusty drawer.


*****