Resisting Arrest (A Poem for Day Twenty-One of PAD)

I've been writing on my own for this PAD challenge but thought I would post today. 

Here is the prompt for day twenty-one: For today’s prompt, write a protest poem. These poems don’t have to be political (though that’s fine–just poem nicely). My 9-year-old protests taking showers every. single. time. A student may protest a grade, or a teacher may protest grading papers that don’t follow the instructions. That said, one fun way to attack this prompt may be to take a saying from a popular protest placard and make it the title of your poem (and then, write the poem).

Too Tired to Play

Resisting Arrest

Dog tracks line
the kitchen floor.

They smell of

blindness &

rotten teeth.

They lead to stains

of a future,
     buried, like her

cherished bone.

The dog rests

on the bedroom

floor, too tired

to make it to her

(death) bed,

too tired
to die today. 

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Meet Me at Midnight (A Poem for Day Two of PAD)

I am participating in the November PAD Challenge, but I am not posting my poems everyday on my blog. 

For today, though, my poem is below.

Here is the prompt for day two: For today’s prompt, write a darkest hour poem. Some people may think of midnight or the witching hour. Still others may picture those moments right before the sun starts gradually lighting up the sky. But the darkest hour could also be a moment in time that is psychological, metaphorical, or some-other-kind-of-cal. And remember the poem doesn’t have to be directly about your idea of the darkest hour; it could be set in it or refer to it.

Why Did We Wait?

Meet Me at Midnight

Waited all day,
every day,
for two or three
decades
for your
summons
to join you
in an exciting
escapade.

Today
was the day,
invitation
arrived,
only it
was for
your burial,
you’re
no longer
alive.

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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.

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.


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