Shooting Star

PAD 30
Write a fading poem.
I’m not sure why this poem pOpped into my head today, but it did and I suppose I should have tried to write something more meaningful and sentimental about PAD ending. Since I don’t see it as an ending of relationships, I didn’t go that route.  Or
maybe it’s because I don’t like goodbyes.

“ShOOting StAr”


YoU loved YoU loved YoU loved

until wE could nOt tear Our
hearts AwAy from


bUrnished brAnded bordeAuxed
brOthelled bAwdyhoused bAthed

in serenAdes of accolAdes
sO grand YoU sO grand YoU
like a plAgue like an Ache,
like a blAde, like a grEnAde












The theatre of toil

PAD 29

Take a favorite line or image from an earlier poem this month and re-work it into a new poem. I had absolutely no preconceived notion of where this would take me.
It took me to the sky.

“The theatre of toil”

was sent
wafting with the ravens,
their flights stagnant against
the torrents of breath and time.

One shadow nestled against the sun,

a thousand horizons,
a myriad songs of plunder penned
in the spiral theatre.

One shadow weaved in lost cadence.

I would willingly fold up my wings
and offer them to the stars for
one unbound night as
captives held together
in concert


The trouble is in the forgetting

PAD 27

“The trouble is in the forgetting”

 I want to forget that she forgets
these days or she makes up
for a quiet moment,
she knows something.

She says she knows her mind
is somewhere
but she doesn’t know
where; as if the world
is hiding
from her.

Women's breakfast 001

When I look into her eyes
I see a fading,

a long twinkling fading
her childhood
of chase, enrapture,
longing to be known and to know.

She asks if she’s my mother
but I am

right here beside her.

The flight of the raven

                    PAD Day 26

Quoted from Robert Brewer’s PAD blog:

“For today’s prompt, write an animal poem.
The poem can be about an animal, just reference an animal,
or well, however you’d like to handle writing an animal poem.”

“The flight of the raven”

All I was thinking was that the breeze
blew just for me that day, that season, that year,
to carry me like a storm
driven upon strong winds
into the sun during this
drivel of time.

What I touched withered.
What I carried on the gale winds
faltered, what I wished remained just a wish.

My desire was to see an unfurrowed
brow in my mirror, one that would replace my fear
but every time I washed my
hands, I washed again, and then again
during this drivel of time

where I was sent wafting with the ravens
our flights stagnant against the
torrents of breath
and time.

(photo: stock.xchng:vivekchugh)


PAD 25

Write a sport’s poem.
I did my power walk this morning but I’m not
feeling very sporty today and
I’m not in the mood today to write anything that will make my head hurt
so my offering is a little silly.



Along Dilly’s Road,
the waves gentle and
free. I spy a silver thing-a-ma-
jig near an antique bob-i-link filled
with lace doilies, my heart beats like a
tom-tom. I want more of these but the
lady in gray snatches them away.
I throw a pretty punch

bowl at her knees
and scoop up my
treasures strewn
under the maple tree
then drive on to the next
over-stuffed garage.

(photo: stock.xchng:gastonmag)

Love Poems

PAD 24

It’s two fer Tuesday love and anti-love poem day.
But, you get three today! That’s right—triplets.
It just sort of birthed that way this  morning.




“The grief of love”

It’s the kind of grief that shows up in your dreams.

The kind that hurts so much

it kills your will and leaves you

wrestling with God who

keeps waking you with a tranquil touch

when you’d rather just die dreaming

and be relieved of your grief.



“The love of grief”

It’s the kind of love that shows up in your dreams.

The kind that hurts so much

it kills your doubts and leaves you

wrestling with God who

reminds you with a terse touch

the guy is a dreamer and a schemer

but you’d rather die dreaming

than release your love.



“The song of love”

It’s the kind of song that shows up in your dreams.

The kind that hurts so much,

it wakens you and leaves you

singing for God who

gifted a tender touch

to your lover, precious and serene,

and you’d be honored to die dreaming,

released into his love.


(photos:stock.xchng:asifthebes, balasoiu)