Love your poem today, Robert. Thank you.

FULL CIRCLE

Are you sure this is the way it ends?
at the beginning again
where it all began?

Why did I never notice my steps
turned, as if of their own mind,
towards the familiar?

That all life revolves around itself,
and we move in this circle
as we live our days?

Are you sure this is the way it all ends?
at the starting gate once more
where we took our first breath?

Why was I afraid I'd lose my way,
go so far I'd find myself,
Who I Am too late?

If only I had taken lessons
from the flowers that from seeds
grow to their perfection

and in season die and go to seeds
again! All life in cycles
moving in their time.

Are you sure this is the way it ends?
at this moment, in this place,
a new beginning?

#

(C) 2008 Salvatore Buttaci

The Final Sentence.

She came to me. Young and wild
With blue silk dress and flaming hands
Caressing me, hot and willing, still defiled
By drudgery and the several blands
That passed for passion, old-styled
Words that lay like slabs of fat,
Marbling white and milky mild
Old-fashioned splat.
Her touch had me beguiled
And I became ignited by her flame.
Burning my heart, she smiled
And pulled my words to fame.
But she's not dead, she's gone away,
And I'll be empty to my dying day.

i am so grateful to have been a part of this month-long endeavor. i really hope to continue to connect with many of you long after this! my poem is on its way, but i wanted to say thanks to all for your inspiration and encouragement and your motivation. i thought that i had succumbed to writer's block and apathy or just plain laziness with regard to my writing. this challenge has inspired me to keep writing, keep fighting, keep loving words and to keep on keepin' on.

thanks robert. thanks all. you're a tremendous bunch!

kristi

Finale?

I’m told it takes
thirty days to forge
new synaptic chains,
create
new habits, new ways,
changes that are kept.

Stronger now, linked and
bound, beyond unbinding
at the end of thirty days;
words and lives momentarily
joined
in poetic unison.

The joys
roll of the eyes
chuckles
frustration
triumphs -
each unwitting
witty participant
forever changed
all
grow
silent.

Until the next time!

Go us! We did it!

What more to say to everyone?

Oh, yeah - THANK YOU!

It's been a blast, folks! I can't believe how prolific we've been, cranking out first drafts. My aim is to keep it up, as well as working on some of these drafts. There's a book I'm going to delve into, called "The Poet's Companion: A Guide to the Pleasure of Writing Poetry," by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux. It comes recommended by a fine poet I know. It took me until last summer to find a copy, though, at a Borders book store. Perhaps you guys would be interested in it as well.

I'm going to miss this challenge! Thank you, Robert, for encouraging us every day. Thank you, everybody, for inspiring me (and all of us) to keep going.

Elizabeth Keggi

In the Beginning

And isn’t this how life works?
In the beginning is the first word;
then the first kiss and caress; then the last.
A hard fall.

In the beginning is the sound of recognition:
baby hears mother; in the end the final familiarity,
the last time child sees mother alive.
Harder still.

In the beginning was my own life,
in the end, nothing.
Hardest of all.

Yet always the first implies the last,
Or at least the next.
And the end never is that.

In the beginning is the next;
In the end, the start of something new –
Mysterious, bittersweet, exquisite.

HAHAHA! I cheated! I guessed the prompt & just finished writing this two minutes ago, before logging on. LOL.

The End is Nigh.

So…
That’s it?
The sum of my
Energies and efforts
Put whole heartedly into
Something
I believed was real
And worth the
Investment. All that,
You reduce to dust, ashes
In two words? Well, OK!
Five words!
“You’re sorry, it’s not working!”
No! Hell no! I know
Its not me…
Of course it’s you, you sick
Twisted little harpy
Whose holding hands and giggling,
Whose breathless moonlight kisses
Were nothing more
Than stepping stones
On the road, the serpentine meandering
Path towards ruining another
Person’s
Life.
Sweet Jesus, I’m not crying for you!
I’m crying for me
For my stupidity
For allowing myself to be once more
Beguiled and hoodwinked
And emotionally con-tricked
Into believing that
One,
One of your kind could be honest and true
Sucker! That’s me.
Was a time when someone like you
Could have me on the brink of suicide through
your cruelty.
But not today! Oh no! Not you!
See, I done me some talkin’
And I got myself an Advocate,
Smart Southern fella by the Name of
The Reverend Jack Daniels
Now he put a case, mighty fine case
(as he would say) and the jury were
Impressed. So now its time to hand you over
To the judge
For sentencing
Have you met the Honourable Samuel Colt?
He don’t go in fer hangin’. No Sir!
Now let me have just one more little word
With the reverend Jack…
(Glug, glug)
(Bang, Bang, Bang!)
Why thank you Sam, Now that’s what
I call justice.

THANK YOU

Thirty full days of writing on demand
picking up whatever came with the prompt
actually, the month went by very fast
and the challenges weren't so difficult.

I'm surprised that I was able to last
without carving some trenches in my skull
it was good for my soul to play its part
and to be able with ease to keep up.

Thanks to Robert Brewer for keeping track
of all the details needed to please us
I believe it was not an easy task
since over four thousands poems we wrote.

Past this month I don't know what's in the bag
the training was good and I needed that.

Last Minute Before Midnight

His first daughter was born the last minute
Before midnight on a day,
(The last of the year)
When it snowed in southern Florida.
The orange growers panicked,
And the roads were dangerous,
Slick with the invisible black ice
That he remembered growing up in Boston.

It would all have been well,
(his wife took an epidural;
the birth was quick;
the baby, a daughter, perfect)
if the nurse hadn’t turned to him,
just after he cut the cord,
and told him to go to the front desk.
“You need to give them the insurance information,”
she said, her eyes bloodshot, like she had been
up for more than just this night.

Only he had no insurance.
The last day of work was two months ago;
The insurance lasted 30 days.
If the birth had come early, well,
His wife didn’t like to think of it,
But he did: “It would have been free.”
As it was,
Instead of going to the front desk,
He left the hospital.

He turned on the Toyota (no heat,
no snow tires, not even a working defroster)
and drove fast, recklessly, to the dog track,
skidding on the last turn into an empty parking lot.
He slept for awhile, curled behind the steering wheel;
Then when the gates opened,
He used his last change to buy coffee,
And his wife’s credit card to place a bet,
One bet, his last bet,
Not thinking for a minute that he would win.

Robert - Thanks for the opportunity. It was a lot of fun, even if you didn't pick any of my poems for you 'best-of' list. Hehe. Thanks for putting in the effort because it probably took a lot of your time. Your challenge has inspired me to get back into poetry, and I'm sure it has inspired many others also. What's next?

All Said And Done

On a warm night back in ‘71
They headed for bed
He told her, “I love you.”
As he did every night
Then rolled over
Got comfortable
And took his last breath
By the time she realized he was gone
It was too late
The night my grandfather died
And we mourned
We all cried
The pastor came by and prayed with us
And we mourned
We all cried
As we said our good-byes
And they took him away
Laid his body to rest
And we mourned
We all cried
He was a great man
Tall, handsome, and wise
He was a good man
The best grandfather in the world
My idol
My mentor
My example for life
And he watches over me to this day
From his eternal Heavenly home
With grandma by his side
She joined him in ‘99
After 28 years of loving him alone
And one of these days
They’ll both be waiting at the Gate
For me to walk in
To my eternal Heavenly reward
‘Cause when it’s all said and done
I’ll be there
When it’s all said and done
I would be happy if my life
Were half of what my grandfather’s was
For he was a great man
And I hope you all get to meet him
When it’s all said and done

PARTING FRIENDS

We laughed together
Cried together
Talked about our future plans
and helped each other through the pains of the past
We always knew we would be close as sisters
The children we would have someday would play together
But somewhere along the way
The tide turned
We ventured off in opposite directions
We had to grow beyond our friendship
We held on for as long as we could
Holding on for the sake of what others may think
was not a deep enough reason to keep our friendship in tact
Our spirits will always be close
The memories we created will always produce a smile on my face
The lessons I learned from the truest form of friendship and sisterhood
you displayed
Will always replay in my heart and mind
Perhaps years down the line
and many seasons changing
We will find this friendship again
if not with each other
but with one that God may send

Hey Earl.

I've got some "what's next" things on the agenda list for tomorrow's post. Definitely look for it. :)

Best,

Robert

The Last Time

You were so much smaller
than I remembered as your little
girl who kept a safe distance
from you and your fury

Mom said it was coming soon
the end for you and me
and all of us as a family
we know this
but we don't tell you

you are the family

We sat together
you told me what poem
you wanted read at your service
You are my poetry girl
you said
you told me again
that you wanted to be cremated
when I asked where you wanted
your ashes spread
you paused
just like you
to control the act
but not the aftermath

It was a long road
wasn't it?
and so sad it was
coming to the end
now that we knew where we stood
you my wild, raging bull of a father
me the daughter who feared, rejected
and in the end
adored you

Untitled

You’ve heard it before
One window closes and another opens
At times the shades are pulled
It may be hard to see what’s behind
Rising through the background
you think something is over
La fin, over, finished
never to return.

“To everything there is a season”
Nothing is final.
Nothing ever truly ends
At some point it will
resurface.
Maybe in another form
an unexpected flash
or an enhancement of
what was previous.

The End

“And in the end the love you take
Is equal to the love you make.”
Beatlles, Abbey Road

She always found herself worrying,
The closer she got to the end—any end—
The close of a school year,
The last pages of a good book,
The final stroll to the beach as her vacation wound down.

And yet she always pushed to get through,
Marking off days on the calendar,
Checking her watch, flipping ahead
To see how many chapters she had left.

She measured trips not in miles
But CDs—six from here to Nashville.
As she knit a scarp she’d probably never wear,
She kept a wary eye on the shrinking ball of yarn,
Concerned she’d run short before binding off.

Only in love did she never see the end.
Even when others surprised her,
Saying they’d seen it coming all along.
How could she even dream—much less fret
About the end of something she all along
Believed could have no end.

Talk about full circle -- my poem about firsts was about going to college and my father's advice, and my last poem was about saying good-bye to my father. What a great experience this challenge has been -- I got much more than 30 poems out of it!

Well, I'm in denial - it's not over! I got two for today.

88 years

This may be the end for you.
88 years of
abandonment
abuse
detatchment.
88 years of
fixing cars
running cows
building fence.
88 years of
the war
coon hunting
serving the Lord.
88 years of
not being my dad
not being my protector
embarrassing me.

88 years is a long time
but to me
the end has already happened.
Now I’m just waiting for it to be official.


Day 30

We’ve laughed.
We’ve cried.
We’ve written
Our little hearts out.
We’ve found a snake,
Named it
Let it join our group.
We probably needed therapy before
And probably will again after
But it was a good run folks,
It was a damn good run.

Wow some great & powerful stuff already. Teri, I got all teared up!

So,Im cheating again! I´m not content with one for today either but the next 2 are oldies & some of my favourites. Will post them one at a time...

Here goes:

Final Words

To whom shall I confess?
The priestly man, drab of garb,
the gaoler’s wife with flaxen
hair and breakfast tray: or
the executioner:
with terror masked?
To whom shall I confess?


And will it change the balance
now my guilt is known? I expect
no quarter
and ask for none.
Only this may I utter with
humbled breath:
that, whilst to live is to suffer,
to die is to forsake all
that I have loved.


The evidence is spake,
the jury may retire.
Let wisdom prevail upon ye
all. Falter not,
for thine is the power.
The verdict is…

… accepted.


(Written 1992)

This was actually about my guilt over the break-up of my marriage(´s ok, turns out it was her fault!) But works well as gallows poetry too ( he said vainly!!)

Patti, I LOVE your poems for today. Sorry about your dad . . . mostly sorry for you!! I've got your back, *sista*

Going to write my poem now, wish it wasn't a "last" . . . I came into this challenge halfway through (would have loved to have been here from the start) and have enjoyed and appreciated every one of your poems. Maria J., a special "shout-out" to you . . . I look for your poems . . . Iain, just when I got the spelling correct (wipes tear away), please keep Sammy in your thoughts.

To the rest of you, THANKS for humoring me and for your comments.
Cheers!
Heather

Eight Years Ago

I remember the day
We took our 18-year-old daughter
To the Albuquerque airport
Waited with her
Did all the checks
Made sure everything was in place
For her new college life in Louisiana
Soon she boarded the plane ramp,
a giant caterpillar that
swallowed her whole.




What fun this has been! Thank You Robert and everyone. I enjoyed your poems lotsa bunches. Lookng forward to the "what's next" things Robert has in mind.

Heather, I will miss you too (& everyone!) But as i said in a late post to yesterday which people may not have seen; i know people have lives to get on with but maybe once a week won´t be so hard to join in with. Won´t be the same, tho, not doing it every day.

Tomorrow is a holiday here so I´m going to sit up as late as I can watching the posts come in...

This Thing For Months

I have this thing for months
Wrote a novel in month
Created four works of art in a month
Did ten minutes of creativity daily for a month
Now wrote a poem a day for a month

At the end I have something accomplished
Not perfect but roughed out, ready
For revising and hewing and touching up
Editing and repainting and reworking

All because of the ending
The sweaty, stressful ending, that promises
Yet another ending, one I'll be satisfied with,
At least for a while
It's worth the sweat and the stress
To see a few gems emerge from all the dross
And clear the path
For yet another month and ending

Good job, magnificent, well done
Over, PAD is setting with the sun
Overwhelmed, now I have more poems than I ever had before
Don’t stop, leaving me wanting more
Beautiful, the poems were that I read
Yes, I can do it, I brought paper to my lead
Everyone, thanks, whom I’ve met along the way, and the End, afterall it’s almost May!

I just have to post this one. For some reason, the prompt for today grabbed me and shook this one right out and on the page (or should I say through the keyboard and on the screen). Does anyone actually use a typewriter anymore? I can hear some of the younger people out there saying, "I've heard about typewriters, but I've never seen one."

One By One

One by one
The years go by faster than ever
The birthdays come ‘round too fast
Could getting older be a curse?
Or, perhaps, a blessing

One by one
My friends, family and acquaintances
Pass on or disappear from view
Some I miss, others, oh well
Will I be missed?

One by one
The famous hit that final brick wall
Killed by bullets, drugs or alcohol
Cancer, heart attacks, or just old age
So many lives wasted

One by one
Soldiers die in the freedom fight
Misunderstood, and often despised
Their efforts are honorable and noble
And freedom lives on

One by one
So many young kids die in the streets
At the hands of violent, hateful gangs
Where are their mothers and fathers?
If only they knew love

One by one
The defenseless unborn are murdered
Under the banner of woman’s rights
So many souls sent back to the Creator
Blessing we’ll never know

One by one
Hollywood replaces family TV shows
With garbage packaged as entertainment
Filled with sex, vulgarity, and violence
But we watch anyway

One by one
The politicians lie for money and support
They make impossible promises for votes
They’ll turn on America for personal gain
Where are the patriots?

One by one
We turn our backs on our children
Out of fear, we ignore their true needs
Afraid they might leave, so we spoil them
We’re failing as parents

One by one
We’re doing away with morality
Taking God out of school was a tragedy
Our acceptance of alternate sexuality
Is sending us straight to hell

One by one
Satan adds to hell’s list of residents
Deceived by new age religious idiocy
Liberalism and feel-good correctness
Godless eternal damnation

One by one
We should fall to our knees and pray loud
That the good Lord would take us back in
And protect us from evil as He used to do
Before it’s too late

The End

I lay my pen down now
To me, it’s been a friend
filling empty pages
tying up loose ends

A challenge keeps me going
I can’t imagine a day
without looking forward
or having words to say

I’ve enjoyed every minute
As did my trusty pen
The ink is almost dry now
on the final words
The End

Thank you Robert Lee Brewer for this challenge. It has me excited about wanting to learn this craft. The poems have been an ispiration to read over the past month!

DEDICATED TO ROBERT LEE BREWER

THANKS FOR being a poetical you all the way to the ending

THANKS FOR an innovative fresh poetriotic beginning

THANKS FOR being patient as I played with my words

THANKS FOR motivating me to write curbs of verbs

THANKS FOR daring me to share untapped creativity

THANKS FOR critiquing and enhancing my longevity

THANKS FOR this cherishable, poetical opportunity

THANKS FOR the multiple exciting, edgy challenges

THANKS FOR literally forcing me to unwind

THANKS FOR stretching my poetic mind

THANKS FOR reading me for, me

THANKS FOR a rewarding ending

P.S. Robert I would've read more poems other than my
own, but there where many poems with different names
though written by the same person.

THANKS FOR this poetical outlet, again
H. Michelle Cooper

Goodbye my new friends. I am writing todays poem in honor of all of you.. the great poets I have met in this great group.

To Say Goodbye

To say goodbye to my new friends,
I find I cannot...
I am saddened to leave this bunch,
I find I will not...
Your thoughts and words will
stay with me...
You will be sweet
memories...

Debra

GOODBYES / ENDINGS / SO LONG

Gone
Out for some
Oxygen.
Don’t even
Bother
Yelling for me
Either.
Sorry.

Ever wander
Now that it’s
Done, if
It would be
Nice to
Get some
Serious sleep?

Sorrows too
Often
Linger
On, so
Now just
Get out!

The End

This is the end
An ending I wasn’t expecting
especially now, with the baby and all.
Who would have thought at 42
I’d find myself pregnant and
about to walk away from
a marriage riddled with problems.
Yes we’ve had our share but
have over come every challenge
we’ve encountered. But now
things were said, feelings got hurt
and why? Why, I ask. I blame the
medication. It’s been only a few
days, but it has been a roller coaster
of emotion for me. How could a little
round pill cause so much damage?
I’ve tried. Phone calls, emails, text
messages………..but no answer.
I’m left as I was before only worse.
I’m alone…….but now pregnant
with a child I cannot raise without
it’s father. Blinded by pain,
I go through the day searching.
Searching for answers, searching
for a path to lead me home, searching
for a home for that path to lead me to.
The ending of a marriage. The ending
of a life. Or is it really just the beginning?

Kerri, to the point!! Brilliant!

I just checked & in my zeal I have posted 73 poems,including this next one, 64 of them new. I knew I was mad, but now I is mad & all mused up!!

People yesterday spoke of getting on with their lives, back to reality. Remembered once wrote a poem of that title. Not exactly an ending poem but seems to fit..

Back to Reality

Down in the dugout,
the coach
is screaming
pitch.
Over on the frontline,
they’re dying
in a
ditch.

Back in the city,
the stocks
are going
down.
Out in the country,
the crops
are going to
drown.

Home, on the T.V.,
the man
is yelling
pray.
Up in the heavens,
the ozone
melts
away.

Here, in the market,
they complain
about the
cost.
Deep in the ocean,
the whale
is feeling
lost.


(written 1994)

(See, I can be serious, sometimes :P)

I’ve been wondering
How you are
Where you’ve been

How you could
Keep me waiting
Like this

There are so many things
I have yet to tell you
We were just getting close

I still think of you each day
Look for your words
But they’re no longer on the page

I’ll miss you
All of you

My thanks to Robert and all of you wonderful poets. This challenge broke me out of a long slum and made me realize that I am not one drawn to write in isolation, that I write to share with others, to communicate with others, and to read what others write. This month of challenges has given me all of this!
Kate

Funny Bone

You came to me already old and ill,
not the dog advertised in the paper,
“FREE CORGI –healthy, nine years.”
How was I to know I could fall “in love”
with a dog. You cried all through the first
night like a new puppy and my mother,
visiting from the east coast, lay down
with you on the floor, offering comfort.
Ally Snowshoes, you stole my heart with
your big white feet and your bat ears, I
remember you tacking up the stairs like
sailing craft in a stiff wind, nudging my leg
with your head in greeting, or lying on the
the back porch, front paws neatly folded
over the edge of the deck. I kept you
with me longer than I should, hooking
up the bag of saline each morning, but the
start of seizures marked the end. Clown dog,
how can I replace you? There is no breed
called “funny dogs”, no guarantee of humor.
I have loved dogs all my life but a part of my
heart that laughs will always belong to you.

Is it 4 yet?

I am looking at the clock
My desk resembles a dock
People come in and leave
papers, gossip and stress
Man this feels like PMS

Students are off task
Staff is doing things half ass
If someone calls my name
I think I will go insane

Excited to finish one task
Depressed when there is another to start
Picking and pulling through issues
Sighing and shaking my head
I think I shaved my legs for this

3:45 and I am counting down
15 more minutes and I have 20 things done
175 more things to do
Hate to file
hate to type

Catching a breathe
Answering the phone
One more glance
It's almost time

Redoing the to do list for tomorrow
Packing up cares of today
Placing them in the recycling bin
Smiling and noting the time
Today is finished by the moment I close my pen

If anyone is interested in a poet's contact group, I'd be willing to enter my email address into the mix. Anyone?....Anyone?....

How about it, Robert. You want to compile a list of interested folks?

After all this time
I never would of thought this 26 years ago,
that I would just leave without really
knowing why. Yes, I don't love you anymore, an
I haven't for a very long time. You just let
me leave. Without trying to make me stay. I
thought you would of least cared one more time.
I know I hurt you in so many, many ways. I don't
really know why. I had no more love to give. It
just left me along with all my emotions and feelings.
I never would of expected this, the way I use to care,
I loved you without even thinking, with every breath
I took you were there. How does something like this
leave and where does it go. I have so many questions
that can not be answered. You are gone now, we are apart.
But there will always be a place for you in my heart.
goodbye now and have a great life, I hope you find the
love you want and have a new wife.

The End

I'm going to throw everything away on Wednesday and pretend we are moving.
If we get bad news, I'm going to go to bed and cry for five days straight.
And stay drunk the whole time.
And not shave my legs.

Patti


That about says it! My friend, Patti, said that to me three or so years ago in a conversation. It was so funny, I HAD to write it down, she doesn't know that I did. I hope she doesn't mind me sharing her words with you. She's going to be published one of these days!!!!!!
Heather

Tonight’s Da Night
By Bill Kirk

Tonight’s da night.
I’m finally bustin’ outta dis joint!
I gotta admit,
In the beginning I had my doubts.
Bein’ stuck in solitary kin do dat to a guy—
It’s the sameness dat really gets to youse.
Every day, da same.
Week after week.
Month after month.
All alone, day and night.
Oh, yeah, especially at night.
No light.
Well maybe some shadows—if youse is lucky.
I guy can only take it for so long, ya know.

Den dere’s da quiet.
No tellin’ whose around ya—or even if.
Yeah, sure. I hear noises—
Sometimes dere’s some bangin’ around.
But mostly just muffled sounds.
Kinda like muh nah…dub mahhh buhn dah—
Youse knows what I’m sayin’ I’m shua.
I mean, I ain’t much of a talker.
But no communicatin’ with nobody?
Now, dat’ll drive a guy nuts, I’m tellin’ ya—

What are you sayin’? Food?
Youse wants to know about da food?
Yeah, dey feed ya—
At least dat’s what dey call it.
Dey pipe da stuff in from someplace—
I don’t know where.
And dey keep it comin’ around the clock.
I don’t wanna complain too much.
But couldn’t a guy get a little variation?

Hey! Enough of dis chatter.
My solitary days is almost over now.
I’m gettin’ outta dis place.
I heard dat some guys get help from outside.
But not me. I found da plans to dis joint.
And I got my route all figured out.
I’m goin’ solo, too.
Nobody’s comin’ wit me
Just me doin’ a belly crawl all da way out,
Right through da plumbing.

I can’t wait to read da papers
Once the story gets out—

“Billy Da Kid Escapes. If youse run into him,
Give him some space--he’s a screamer!
And after nine months in solitary,
He’s gonna need a bath!”

Ha! Tonight’s da night!

I danced with daisies
in a field by the lake.
Every so dainty,
the flowers took my side
pleading my case before
the towering hemlocks,
the gathering clouds.
Let this girl be,
let her live and be heard
let her grow.
But the answer was no.

Close one door,
Open another.
Isn’t that what they say?
Maybe if I just keep it cracked,
Don’t lock it?
Don’t walk too far away…
It ain’t over ‘til it’s over
And the fat lady sings her song.
It was good while it lasted;
We all learned to sing along.
I was taught a trick or two
And challenged every day.
Thank you, Robert, for this chance…
What more can I say?
Goodbye ‘til we meet again.
The pleasure’s been all mine.
I’ve enjoyed the talent shared,
Daily, line by line.

Catchers
The bottom of the ninth, bases loaded
Two outs and my team is up by one
Stuck between a swinging bat
And the crowding body of the ump
I crouch, mitt raised and ready
Face mask in place and eyes on pitcher
Ball into mitt – stand and throw back
“Strike one”
Ball wide to the right – leap to the side, catch, toss back
“Ball”
Ball floating strait and true
Thunk – wood connects just on the ball’s underside
The ball soars upward and back
Foul ball in the air
I rush backward, trip on the ump’s shoe and fall
Mitt in air, ball falling, I close the mitt
“Out”

If only poetry could be as simple
When I’m caught in the middle between danger and judgment
Destined to write
But on one side is danger – editors wielding red pens
And behind me, my readers passing judgment
Every time, I want a home run or at least a base hit
Or I’m out

Iain, I understand you getting back to other commitments. I really need to spend some time grading papers, posting grades and all of that other teacher stuff to finish up the year. I am also neglecting my other writing... but I usually try to do more than I ought to...

In the End

I'm not one for sentimentality,
nor hugs and sweet longing looks,
I'm not one who signs a letter with X’s and O’s
nor do I offer many words of compassionate woes.

Despite my lack of heat-felt warm wishes,
despite my resistance to the fighting the blues
with gifts from the heart or tender and sublime schmooze,
I do wish you well and I do care to listen
when your heart aches and your life has gone missing;

It’s just my own way of caring for you
and it’s how I listen that thwarts all your moods,
so when I may seem callus or not caring at all,
you will know my intentions are good and
I’ll be the one who’ll catch you if you fall.

Unfortunate ends

We fought over ends long ago.
Some wanted brown and crusty-good end,
flaking in youthful mouths,
crumbling onto holiday tables and printed paper napkins crumpled in untidy laps.
Smeary butter-littered plates stained pudgy fingers
and marred temporary tatoos of reindeer or pink bunnies.
Others bawled, wailing at their leathery morsels,
craving the mellow softness inside.

*Thanks for a great month Robert! I enjoyed it!!!!"

“Waiting for …”

The poet takes a breath and hangs his head
Perspiration mixed with excitement permeates the air
He closes his eyes, body still swooning to the rhythm he created
Waiting for the crowd to lift him up
Or tear him down
Every sound matters to him right now and yes silence is a sound
His knuckles turn white as he tightly clenches the mic
The front row shuffles
Many voices chatter but it’s all just a muffle
This is the moment he has waited on for so many years
The culmination of blood, sweat, tears and of course hard work
He can hear his heart beating; he can feel the pulse in his ears
He scans the crowded quickly
He picks out who he thinks he has moved
And the guy at the rear hints that he may have more work to do
But he doesn’t let it affect him; he is still waiting on the rest of the room
Waiting for a signal of glory or the silence of impending doom
The clock on the rear wall though obscured by a smoky hazed
Is too clear in his eyes but then again minds tricks are clear that way
What seems like an eternity to the poet
Is only a few seconds
That the once nodding heads needing for a breath
As accolades and snapping fingers begin to fill the air
He doesn’t smile or doesn’t relax
His body and soul just absorbs this moment in time
He knows that he has given away a part of himself
And received something eternal, ethereal
As he walks away with their minds

Thanks for the challenge, Robert. This is exactly what I needed to learn to stop relying on the whims of the muse and start writing on a regular basis and thanks to everyone for sharing your wonderful words. :)

The end of an era.
The end of a line.
The finishing stroke,
set in stone, set in time.
The source of all context
in the grand design.
The last frame of reference
by which all is defined.

The Clean Break

"Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough"

-- from James Joyce's Chamber Music, "XXVIII"

And the room becomes bare
after the door slams shut
and our words run quietly
through curtains; plunge
to their deaths on concrete
two floors down. Two stories
with many sides. I won't
listen to yours and you
won't come back
or call to listen to mine.

Months later after I have
choked on tears, overdosed
on memories and stained
myself with anger, I will
try and remember what you said
about impermanence. "Nothing
is sacred" you said with a flat
smile, emphasizing what IS is
or isn't.

Oh, I wish I was one
of those girls who shrugs
her love off with ease
when it falls out of place. Instead
I am the one who decides
that "impermanence" is just
another big word you used
to cover your ass
and make a clean break; a long-
gone forget-away.

I try not to make a retro-
spectacle of myself
when I see you drunk
in public; waxing nostalgic
about how then was something
greater than now. My love
goes on with patient
eyes while I smoke
without anyone blowing
smoke up my backside
or feeding me
grand abstractions.

I will forever fold
into the arms of trust
but refuse to hold
your hand again, my friend.
We are fooling ourselves
when we say we will be
or could be friends. I do not
trust illusions. And so this is
the end of that, again,
and also, this.

Thank you, Robert, for offering PAD April 2008. And thank you, Lori for posting it on the e-group; perhaps one day we will meet. It would be fun to meet all of you who have been a part of this monthly endeavor. Your words, your poems have inspired me to open up and take the world on one word at at time. It has been especially delightful writing again for such a committed purpose. I took a hiatus for about 10 years from the habitual fun of writing daily. I am looking forward to seeing what comes up tomorrow. Have a great day, y’all!


PAD #30 posted on April 30, 2008 “Finishing/End/Finale” poem
The Last Day of April©
April 30, 2008
Last night was the night before the last day
Of April
And I thought
One last day with words of magnificence
Pounding my soul to be the best

And today with that my journey with terrific poets
Poets of the April PAD
Ends, so final - we are finished

Or maybe depending on a lot of things
Roberts wrap-up
Other’s voices
We will continue to begin
Again
Tomorrow

But, today is the last day of April
April 30, 2008
I’ll sing a song!
Clench my fist!
Yell Hurrah!
Jump for Joy!
Appreciate me!
Appreciate You!
All of you from April PAD 2008
Who have enriched me,
My words, my thoughts,
My silence, my noise
WHAT JOY!
Sally DiUlus sdiulus@cefe.org

Endings

Sometimes we plan them—
plotting like a five-star general
--use up sick leave
--redo resume
--discretely inquire about COBRA benefits
and rolling over our 401K,
before we break the news.

Sometimes we expect, even welcome
their presence in our lives
--college calculus class
--political ad campaigns,
--and most blind dates.

Sometimes they drop out of a cloud-
less sky and stun us into silence.
--divorce
--death
--desertion.

But always their presence,
threatening or benign,
displays the structure
of our three-act lives.

Carol Brian

I extend a giant thank you to everyone on this blog, but especially to Robert for not only coming up with this incredible challenge, but also for keeping it going every single day throughout the month. All I had to do was write a poem each day (and I found that pretty tiring!), but you had to come up with prompts for the rest of us, write your own poem, pick out daily highlights, and do your 'day job!' And you did great!

Thank you, everyone!!

Jen

Goodbye, Rousseau

For sixteen years she lived
on that not-so-civilized island.
She watched everyone she knew die,
watched her daughter taken
by nearly faceless arms.
Used her spare time, all sixteen years
of it, to build elaborate bobby traps
with wire and arrows, torture devices
from wire bed frames and batteries,
a small hidden home for herself.
She dodged whispers in the jungle
and coursing black smoke, went
more than a little mad, and blew up
that little home.

In that same sixteen years,
in the world outside her island,
Russia opened its first
McDonald’s, the Berlin wall fell,
the European Union formed, America
entered into three wars in the Middle
East, sheep were cloned, normal people
began to communicate most often
through email and cell phones.

After sixteen years, she had no hope
of surviving off the island, but to be shot,
after all her struggle and bravery,
by an unseen stranger in front
of her newly found daughter,
shows that death knows no justice.

Conclusion

I’ve been thinking about all
the beginnings in life.
The beginning of a day,
week, a year, and
all of the time and beginnings
in between. So many things begin
yet looking back it’s hard to
find the end.

The longer I thought on it the more
confused I got but then it finally came to me.
I now know why finding the end is so hard;
The conclusion has been found.
Every end is just another beginning
that has been built off all the beginnings of the past.

FIN

the last cup
the last sip
the last drop
the last voice
the last note
the last song
the last light
the last page
the last words
the last afternoon
the last stroke of the pen
the last click of the keys
the last kiss of the muse
the last time this month
I wonder whether
I can last to the end
of this challenge

TLS, April 2008


Amazing everyone. I'm gonna miss this. Does it have to end? Can't wait to check back tomorrow and find out.

Thanks to Robert, and to all you wordsmiths, wordlovers, poets and writers. You made it all worthwhile!

TaunaLen

Carol, Very nice!

The End

Goodbye, it is over.
We are at the end
of this chaalenging
expedition.
It matters not
where you jumped in,
like me, in the middle.
But, going back,
filling in the gaps
is what I plan to do.
So that in the end,
thirty poems I will have
just like you.

Sorry- I misspelled challenging. I'm in a hurry to get all my poems entered.

Many thanks to Robt who got me back to writing and everyone who's taken this challenge up. What a great experience.
I just now learned how to send notes to others & Robt through this. I did understand the poetry could be written here.

“Adieu Good Friends”

This writing blog
Has been a hoot
It’s been so fun
Let’s not go mute.

Each day this month
I gave my best
I wrote and wrote
Now time to rest.

A finer group
Has never been
I am honored
From deep within.

Slay the dragon
Embrace the dark
Elusive muse
It’s been a lark.

It’s hard to say
It all right here
But bless you all
Anyone for beer?

The lights go dim
I take my bow
Adieu good friends
Adieu for now.

April 30, 2008
© Michelle H.
(It’s been an honor and pleasure writing with you all! Thank you for sharing! – Michelle)

Elizabeth, I just got hold of a copy of "The Poet's Companion" but I haven't yet started it.

Anyone else interested in this book?

I may be back with something more lyrical-like...or I may just roll across the finish line...LMAO! Be kind...I suffer from AMS...Absent Menstrual Syndrome...could be more dangerous than cats OR snakes!

Why Beloved?

You ask why
doth my hand
cuppeth so?
Why beloved,
it cuppeth so
to caress,
ah yes,
thy cheeks
down below,
sweet cheeks,
thy bottom…
end!

Thank you to everyone for all your great poems. They have been a great inspiration and a fun source of giggles as well. Thank you so much Robert for having the energy and endurance to put together intriguing prompts, review over 100 poems a day for highlights, and write your own poem as well. Today's poem was full of great images and a wonderful ending (no pun intended)

Having a terrible time trying to post this and internet down yesterday (tornadoes?). Robert, thanks for this wonderful opportunity. It was lots of fun and your topics were terrific! It's wonderful to have so many poems to go back and revise, plus I read so much excellent poetry. Salvatore, I love your poem.

Exercise


Watching TV.
Seeing the before and after.
Just 10 weeks can change your life.
Eat right, exercise, get enough sleep.
30 minutes a day of walking.
60 minutes a week of working up a sweat.
30 minutes a week of lifting weights.
The difference, not only on the outside,
But the inside changes as well.
A person can become 10 years younger.
I want to live a long, healthy life.
I commit to this program.
But right now watching it has made me tired.
I’ll begin tomorrow.
---------------------------------
Longing

Standing on the railroad tracks
looking straight ahead,
at some point down the line
they converge to the smallest V,
a tiny dot,
appearing like that’s where they end.
Not so.
Beyond what I comprehend
there is more: more world,
more people, more buildings,
more dreams. Maybe someday
I will travel down those tracks,
surveying all that lies ahead,
understanding what now is
only mystery. The sky is huge blue
and the clouds are puffy white.
Somewhere there are people I have
yet to meet. That I have not
met them makes me sad.

Robert - thank you for the challenge and thank you for the highlights! I write, I try, I hope and this gave me so much confidence. (And is it so wrong that I run to the computer in the mornings to check and see if my poem was picked?!?)

To All - this really can't be over!

Heather - how do you remember stuff like that?!? I wrote that about 4 years ago! Good Lord!

"Inevitable End"

We both know how this
is going to finally come to an end
come to a head; a final, finite finale worthy
of a James Bond flick,
but without the busty chicks
trying and failing to seduce the main
man - not on our time at least,
but we'll be throwing our
all into the mixing pot
and watch it froth and bubble
with all of the contained
hatred and quasi-respect collected
over the last few years.
The pot will erupt with a fanfare
worth the glory of a fourth of July
firecracker spectacular or
Mt. St. Helena's natural spectrum of
fury - either way it will be
glorious like nothing else.

One of us will end up dead,
dying, defeated but I cannot
say that I care enough to do
anything to prevent such a thing
from occurring. The end will not be
the end forever as death holds nothing
more than an opportunity to oppressively
weigh on your psyche, and that is an end that
I can truly look forward to,
but please,
let's just take this slowly
and let it build up eventually
because neither of us want to go
too prematurely.

The End of the Night

When the sun rises
and pokes you in the eye.

When the cat arches its back
and kneeds its claws on your bare leg.

When the dog races outside to chase the birds
twittering in the branches of the old maple.

When the alarm rings and you pull
the pillow over your head.

When the drifting aroma of
French Roast entices you.

The end of the night,
the start of the day.

Either End

Beginnings and Endings
Are hard to write
How to tease
The reader's interest
So that they will
Read the rest
Of your hard won words.

And finally
When they've come this far
How to write the last
Chapter
So that they leave
Well satisfied
And thank you for
The lovely ride.

And here I sit
Staring at the screen
In full mindlock
Typing and deleting
Because I want to end
With words well said
But I guess this is
As good as it gets

SaraV,
Love your poem. This is how I feel right now while I am writing my new novel. Couldn't have said it better.

To all,
great words today.. I hope to see you all somewhere in cyperspace.
Debra

Not all work
is unpleasant
especially when
it pushes us
me and you
to a goal
we might
have reached

it has been
great joy
and hard work
which is what
we are told
anything worth
doing is

sometimes
the end
is not
the end

Lovely poem, Margaret. I'm so glad "The Poet's Companion" is now findable. They must have rereleased it last year (that would be the 10-year anniversary of the book), which is when I located a newly published copy. It looks like a wonderful way to keep writing and to challenge oneself as a poet. There are plenty of prompts in there, by the way, folks....

The End

"Parting is such sweet sorrow."
(who said that anyway...)
and so we end, until tomorrow;
when Robert grinds his teeth to knives
and gets his whip and chair besides!
What evil fate awaits us with the day
as we approach the first of May?

BLAHAHAHAHAHA (Robert's evil laugh of delight. He probably wants us to rewrite all of our poems as sestinas!)

;-)

Margaret, I like your imagery in your poem "The End of the Night".

This isn't the end
It's the beginning
The beginning of our next obsession
The beginning of our next love
The beginning of a new dream
The beginning of disappointment, creeping.
We start afresh to days' new challenges
Inspired by this road's last turn
And while we sigh upon this sunset
A bright new dawn stealthily approaches with
promises yet to be made.

Goodbye 04-30-08

Goodbye to Mom the first day of school
The ending of childhood
Goodbye to innocence

Goodbye to a favorite food
The ending of the pizza
Goodbye to the last piece

Goodbye to a loved one
The ending of a life
Goodbye friend

Goodbye to sleep
The ending of the night
Goodbye warm and cozy bed

Goodbye on the phone
The ending of a conversation
Goodbye salesman

Goodbye to all you poets
The ending of poetry prompts
Goodbye new friends

This has been waiting to be written for about a decade, the age of my "pup."

It's over

I knew it was over when I started
fantasizing about having a dog
instead of my live-in boyfriend,

the one who didn't tell me his
wages were being garnished
from a motorcycle accident

he also didn't tell me about. So
when bills needed paying, I paid
double. He didn't pay either phone

or electric from the month before.
I told him that I didn't want children
and I felt like he expected me to be

his mother, cleaning up after him
financially when he pissed his
paycheck away on “fun” things

his sanity required and had nothing
to contribute when rent came due.
Two months of that and I'd had

enough, after two years of waiting,
unconsciously, then consciously, for
the right time to break it off. It's

never a good time to tell him
your feelings have changed,
that unconditional love from

adoring puppy eyes are what you
crave instead of the complicated
emotional entanglements of a boy

who refuses to take that final step
into becoming a man. Last I heard
he was unemployed, living with a

woman twenty years his senior. I
feel like I narrowly escaped that
fate. And I don't feel bad that I

dumped him for a five-month-
old cutie with huge ears that
she eventually grew into.

Diane, glad you liked it.

Grrrr....I feel like Don this morning. The muse is either dead or gone. I need to get caught up on this prompt and the last one and I am blank...blank...blank!

Hahahahaha...

Diane, I wished I'd thought of that (revising all of April's poems as sestinas). Maybe there's still time to change my May plans? ;)

Thank you everyone who's said such nice things to and about me this month. It really does mean a lot.

And remember: fun announcements tomorrow!

Elizabeth - I just finished a semester of creative writing and the teacher used prompts out of that book for several of our assignments. It comes highly recommended from here as well!

Putting it Behind Me


I have lost track
of my past, given up
all my yesterdays,

moved on. I eagerly wait
for the tragic fall, sure to break
my hip bone in two,

fracture me from myself.

When I look up to stare
at the sun, unable to move
or regain my feet

I will marvel how
the sun is obscured
by the leaves on the trees,

their color bleached out.

When everything fades
to white (and I mean
everything) I will

faint from the beauty
mingling with the pain
flooding my entire body,

acting with no remorse.

No, please! I didn't mean it, Robert! It was only a joke....

Day 30
Endings

Separation Anxiety

My granddaughter was a part of my life
From conception to the age of three
Her mom and dad moved to Virginia
They left me in Maine
Every grain of wood
Every fiber of carpet
Every pane of glass
Every molecule of everything in our home
had been embedded with her energy
I wandered around for weeks
Lost
Everything that I looked at
Everything that I touched
Spoke to me
Laughter, Tears
First words
First steps
Potty Training
Playing
Playing
Playing
It felt like my world caved in
I knew that my life was going to change
As would hers
It was a new beginning for her
An ending for me

There ain't no easy money, there ain't no easy road.... says Wishbone Ash, right now on my stereo... OMG! love you all sooo much! (Lorraine: u & me & a bottle of rum, just name the island!!)

This is not an ending its a prequel...

Beginnings (to an end)

It all began a few months back
With an email from my cousin
Who wanted me to network, socialise
Cybernetically!
Join Facebook, its lots o’ fun
But I thought no, that’s not me
But came a second email
From a close and dear, dear friend
Who begged the same of me
And so I did give in.
But I didn’t have so many friends
Just a chosen few
And people started poking me and biting me
And one sick bastard threw a sheep at me
For crissakes! A sheep!
And my cousin moaned and said it’s sad
That you don’t want to play
But then came a turning point
I was searching on the net for
A long lost cousin in Canada
And via the cursed Facebook thing
I found out his son
My cuz had sadly did just two years before
But now I was more connected and in to
Finding more
Things to do
And people to swap flying sheep with.
I had been sent some Karma
And so I sent it back, randomly came
Some more from J.P.Dancing Bear
Intrigued by his name I sent a friends
Request, that joined a group he belongs to
Called Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer
Just in the last days of March it was
Just in time to be invited to
Write a poem today…

And the rest my friends, as they say is history, my story, your story
OUR STORY!!

And this is my very last poem for April!

THE END?

We decided it was the end
so we both said goodbye
and started off in opposite
directions and we both turned
to look back several times -
at least I did and I assumed
she looked back when I wasn't
looking - and since then I returned
to where we said goodbye several
times a day and I assumed she
went back there, too, but she
didn't happen to be there at
the same time I was, but she
probably realizes that I was
there at a different time
than she was just as I know
she was there at a different
time as I. So I wonder if
everything is really over
between us.

I keep trying to write a poem about endings, but this odd duck poem kept popping up. So I'll submit this and keep trying to write according to the prompt!

I’m An Elephant

I’m an elephant at the Circus Museum,
swaying her head side to side like the rest.
I like oranges, and my prickly trunk will
pluck oranges from the outstretched palms
of partially terrified children. What did it
feel like? the parents always ask.

If I could have a tree of oranges, I’d be the
happiest elephant in the world, I would.

Still, it’s nice to bathe in the river while
people take photographs. I like to give them
their money’s worth. I sway, then crash
on my side—oh, that feels good! My mother
doesn’t like it when I do that. She prods me
with her trunk until I get up.

An elephant never forgets.
This is true. I’ve memories of being born,
and standing upright and small.
They cut up the oranges back then into quarters
and halves, just to see if I would like them.

Someday I will be really old
Like my mother. Life’s been good,
Lots of oranges.

Elizabeth K. Keggi

Holy crap, Iain! I was giggling in a slightly concerned way...hehe!

JL! Woot woot on the Lost homage! I, too, got a bit sniffly at her passing. I hope that when the siege ends, she'll get a nice goodbye.

Salvatore, Don, Margaret, Linda, Michelle, Laurie, TaunaLen, and AlaskanRC - very nice!

Sally - hooray! What an encouraging conclusion to our experience.

Carol, John, and Ohmavi - your poems today really jumped out and reminded me to go back and see what I may have missed from you.

I think that's one of the forthcoming joys for me, is to have time to go back and truly savor the juiciness of poetry vittles that are now housed here. Yay!

k weber - lovely. Truth. Thank you.

Lisa, I loved the way you painted such a perfect picture of holiday meals gone by. Nice perspective on the prompt! :)

Rox, mjdills, Marin, Debra, Joe, Lin, H. Michelle Cooper, KP, Marcos - each of you had a wonderful way to commemorate the conclusion of our online poetry travels - or should I say travails... 8-)

Robin, Lisa McMahan, Don S., and Lynn Rose - so sorry.

lyn, loved the analogy - it'd be cool to see how you revise it, cause my vote is to expand the theme into a full-blown battlefield!! :D

Barbara, ck, I liked your take on endings in general.

Bill Kirk, I loved the Billy the Kid/New Jersey Gangsta mashup!

Genta, I got a kick out of the line 'shaved my legs for this,' as a girl but also because a few lines down Heather mentions Patti's which also equates shaving with presentability. Hee!

Kate, that last line re: place in the heart that will always be your clown dog's was lovely.

Connie, I thought I saw the caterpillar as the endless one in children's books that gets so big there are pull-out pages. What a cool visual with implications for your daughter's passage to college.

Heather, thanks for all the Sammy updates and great poetry!

Iain, with all the goodies you've shared this month, I doubt anyone was unprepared for your ability to write serious poetry! We expected no less. ;) Thanks for the multiple posts of poetry goodness.

Paige, cute and clever!

ann, what an interesting twist on the uplift. Nice!

Earl, thanks for sharing your thoughts about your grandfather & life - I feel like I have a good idea of your life perspective.

Truly, there are a lot of people who have shared so much, and I am so grateful to get to know you all through the poetry you've shared.

Nancy, I hear ya about rushing to endings and getting sideswiped by the one unexpected.

Terri & Patti, I can relate to both father perspectives, since mine passed on with residual issues/anger, and thankfully resolved. Thanks for sharing that. And Patti, what a great sendoff to the group that followed, too! Sammy is our mascot!! Heheheheheeee! We have a moccasin mascot!
Oh, snap - that's gotta get written.

Thanks so much everyone - and all those who post after me today, I'm coming back on tonight so I, too, can enjoy all the fabulousness.

Robert - this has been amazing. Really, thank you ever so much. My writing group is enthralled at the idea and are asking what the next steps are. I can't wait for Saturday to tell them about your plans!

Sorry, folks, I didn't mean to get this heavy, or this preachy, but this was the biggest 'ending' of my life, so I hope you forgive me! ;)

The End of Apathy

Landing in Dublin, we could do anything.
We had proven to ourselves that we could
go anywhere,
be anything.
In a candy store, the funny accent said
America was under attack. Must be some
radio drama.
At a pub that night, we watched as planes
smacked the towers
In a continuous loop
a continuous loop
continuous...

Ireland sympathized, it's citizens asking
if we knew anyone there.
We're from Missouri, so no.
We sympathized, the cliché holds true,
Many New York Police and Fire Fighters are
Irish.
We all agreed something needed to be done.

Our 'elected' leaders certainly did something.
Squandering the world's confidence,
they filled their war profiteering pockets.
We played our video games, watched our reality shows,
and generally didn't care as the world was ransacked
in our name.
Now is not the time for apathy.
Now is the time to dream
to hope
to vote
Now is the time to not allow another election to
be stolen, because there will simply be too many of us.


-Justin M. Howe

Ileana, Yo te quiero mucho pero... at which did u giggle conceredly? There's been som many...

Iain, you keeping your eyes open with toothpicks? Lol :)

Ileana, thank you so much . . .

That's me! Havin' a late rum! Sorry, lied about being the LAST POEM!!

"Sammy is our mascot!! Heheheheheeee! We have a moccasin mascot!
Oh, snap - that's gotta get written."

Sammy the Water Moccasin
was a good and friendly snake and
he adopted as his good deed
(for the month)
a needy poetry group
he fed them with muse and muesli
(the kind he regorgetates)
and quickly found a home
amidst their poetic hearts
slightly warmer than his
previous (behind the dresser)
and hunted not, oblivious he carried
his cybernetis pals trippin'
into the morrow, not knowing
if the end would be an anti-venom
or merely an exhaustion of
inspiration that would drive all
and sundry (of the poetic fraternity)
unto his obsidian fangs.

Perhaps.
We.
Think.
Too.
Much.
About.
The.
End.
And.
About.
.The
.Past
Instead.
Of.
livinginthemoment

lleana - great comments! I don't want to say I'm addicted to this challenge, but I am addicted to this challenge.

Robert - see what a great thing you did?!?

tucker on the leash
in the moonlight
he passed this january
cancer
we watched the life drain from his eyes
don't know that we expected it that quick
front yard
the one where you convinced me to a water fight
when i didn't feel the strength for fun
tucker relieves himself
as i reflect on the messages i heard
'surrender'
that night
a typical warm summer night
while i battled the storm
dew on the grass
along with what tucker left behind
i surrendered my life
brought it to close
gave it to you
not ensuring a bed of roses
but ensuring me i have someone to stand in the storm with

Before I write my poem I want to say thank you to Robert for his daily prompts which I have finished writing all but one and have some still to enter (babysitting everyday is taking a toll on my time and organization of which I never had enough to begin with....but I love my grandkids and so..)but as a writer it has stretched me and got me thinking in differant creative ways...I usually only write poems to my husband...and it's been a lot of fun and I plan to keep writing...thanks again...oh and to all who have participated I have really enjoyed reading everyones poems...

Last Page
Do you evr have moments
when reading a book
if it's not real exciting
it seems to drag on...
and on... and on...
but when the story is good
you can't put it down
'till your at the last page
and while you wish it continued
your saddened
right then
for it's last words
you read,
The End

“When it’s over, we’ll know it’s really over.”

And I come to you thesaurus in hand
and start at the finish line
and pray for a reckoning
—and that I don’t start to cry—
and season you with temperance.
And I savor every last part
and feel my eyes well up with the ending
and cherish every last drop.

Since I am behind, I combined yesterday's prompt and today's prompt. I still want to tackle the sestina someday too. :-)

"All good things must come to an end"

Pleasure is in the moments and the breath of
babies and the glimpse of sun on the water,
reflecting more than just what is seen but
what is perceived and what is experienced.
It's in the memories captured as they happen,
sitting by the fire laughing, sharing time
with friends and family, singing off key with
heads bent together and eyes lit up, loving
more than can be expressed and hoping they
understand how much they mean to you.
It's recognizing that perfect song at the perfect
time, with the perfect person to share it with
and knowing it will never be quite like this again.

Pain wouldn't be so painful if we didn't
perceive the pleasure. It's in the goodbyes,
the endings, the farewells, the growing apart
or away or just not growing at all. The goodbyes
that you try so hard to pretend are not just around
the corner, a shadow of darkness in the perfection,
a bringer of gloom in the midst of sunshine. Farewell,
sometimes there is no chance to say it, sometimes it's
just the end. No more. Goodbye, my heart whispers
but there are no words to say. And you remember those
picture perfect moments so carefully stored away inside
and for just a second, eyes closed, half smile on your face
you remember. You remember and the sun breaks through.

Seems I have poetically drunk meself legless...but a slight revision....

Why Beloved?

You ask why
doth my hand
cuppeth so?

Why beloved,
it cuppeth so
to caress,
ah yes,
thy cheeks
down below,
sweet cheeks.

Why beloved,
my hand doth
long to cradle
thy bottom’s
end!

Khara, too deep, tto beautiful, way too cool to be real!! I only wish 'twas me that wrote it. IN AWE :)

Lori, maybe the 7yr old Cuban rum but mostly your words. You have me crying like a babe.Happy-sad is the best oxymoron & you said it best.

This is gonna be a good night!!!!

I'm having a lot of trouble with this prompt, Robert. I think about endings, deaths, rebirths, etc., and I write and write whatever comes to mind. No poems, though. Here's one of my free-writes:

I once was reading a biography of William James called "Genuine Reality." Every day I looked forward to snuggling up with that good, fat book, learning about such a remarkable man. But then as I got closer and closer to the end, I found I couldn't read more than a few pages at a time. This puzzled me because I had been devouring the book and it hadn't gone slack. I love a good book, especially a good biography. After about a week, I finally realized what was happening: I didn't want him to die. I cared about him that much.

The Mountain's Tears

The loggers have gone,
Leaving the scar so jagged and ugly.
Today the rains came.
Dirty tears rolled from the heart of my mountain.
Tears for the loss of the beauty that once was.
Tears for the pain caused by the nakedness ,
now exposed for all to see.
Tears not of anger, but of sadness, for the men who did not care.
The ones who could not see the beauty.
The ones who only saw the green of money,
instead of the green of natures creation.
Today the mountain cried.

No Poem Today

I will not write a poem today,
I absolutely won't.
There's nothing I have left to say,
I very simply don't.

A poem a day for thirty days
Is just a waste of time.
What did I learn about myself
except that I can rhyme?

I will not write a poem today,
How else can I explain?
To set just one more word in print
Might decimate my brain.

A poem a day for thirty days
seemed like it might be fun.
I'm glad there's thirty days this month -
Next month there's thirty-one!

So you can whine and cry and plead
until your face turns blue.
I will not write a poem today -
My writing days are through.

Open your eyes,
don’t fail me now.

The end is near,
I don’t care how.

... just hold on

Open your eyes,
our time has come.

Stare straight into the sun.

We’ll both be blind,
but nevermind...it won’t ever rise again.

…you will know

I carry secrets like these on my sleeve,
where my bleeding heart should be.

...still

Time flies by on broken wings,
and our distance still remains.

Nothing ever changes,
While we shift and stay the same.

…I can’t deal with this

We’re jumping through the phonelines,
just to shoot love down.

Flying halfway ‘cross the universe,
so there’s no one else around.

…to see us down

If you give me your heart
I'll give you my hand
and hold on ever so tightly
until the very end.

…hush

Close your eyes,
We’re almost done.
Take my hand,
We’ll turn and run

…far away

From here .... I can see,
.... they'll never let us be

So let us go

Peace exists only where they're not,
So here's to hoping we'll find safety in the places they forgot.

and don't deny
you cannot cry
that it was only you and I,
breaking down,
in the end.
'Cause I sware to God
this Earth won't let us win.

We’ll fly across the universe,
find a world worth dying for,
and love so damn hard,
we won't feel anymore.

We won't know how our story begins
until we reach the end.

And when the end rolls around
We shall be found ready.
It will surprise us
but not frighten us
for we shall look back
on life
well spent.
Every door opened
at least looked into,
every ring grabbed
every life touched
and we will be happy
with life.

Robert,
Thanks for providing me with a wonderful end-of-day goal. “What a long strange trip it’s been.”
ENCORE, ENCORE

At rainbow’s end
is a pot of gold
Its around the bend;
that’s what I’m told

Tomorrow is May,
the birth of flowers
Wish we all could stay
within its bowers

and write our verse
through sun and storm
waking with a thirst
for each new dawn

What goes `round comes `round,
many people believe
Someday we are bound
to come back and achieve

a new set of shared poetry--
just ask Robert Lee.

It's been a fantastic experience writing poetry each day with you all... and being able to read so many poems! It should be poetry READING month! Great stuff has past through these halls. MUCH THANKS TO ROBERT for bringing it all together.


When Summer Ends

The rain falls,
tick, tick, tick,
from the creaking eaves,
rain barrel bursting to full,
the hummingbird feeder
runs on empty, tired, spent.
The leaves, the shrivel,
show their pale bottoms
as they ready their leave.
The spiders make their way indoors,
begin their season's end.
And the boats are lifted,
oars inside. chairs
and life jackets collected,
lined against the walls
of an overstuffed boathouse.
The smell in morning
is that of red. And loons
they whisper where before
they howled their place
in summer's song.
The annuals have been pulled,
spoke a coloured twang
in the last night bonfire
as flames shot
their tattered tales
to a heaven now enshrined
by wintering clouds.
When summer ends
the adirondacks come inside
and dream of springs to come.

In answer to Elizabeth...

On my desk sits a book, On the Road by Jack Kerouac. The book mark sits at page 156 but I know the next time I pick it up I'll have to start at page one. Eleven times I've tried to read it but that runaway-train pace always kills me... I ride the train til life, sleep or good Cuban rum (the kind you guys can't get) gets in the way and I put the book down. Sure as your born its impossible to re-mount that train, he wrote it in one go , you have to read at his speed and the thing that drives me crazy is that he is my hero, I write that way, think: 5 or 20 minutes or a month:then it flows, straight from the pen or the fingertips
til its done and in a flash (it seems) its done.... So why can't I read that darn book?

Mike, I've liked your stuff al the way but that for me is the best.

Glenda, Matthew, don't know that I've seen much of your work before but I am sooooooooooooo impressed. KUDOS!!

A couple of days late...my (stream of consciousness) sestina
I'll post it where it belongs, too...

Viciousness

I can't get out of this vicious loop
running through my head, like a bad book
which won't end, a waste of paper, of trees,
of sunshine raining down out of the blue
skies, summer sun beating down without a cloud
to insinuate itself between it and you, no pause

of thoughts which wind round and round, pausing
for nothing, no rest, no stop, just loop de loop
above, below and through the scattered clouds,
moves the Red Baron would hesitate to book
his plane through, high and low, out of the blue
above, high above the sprouting trees.

Those leaves, new offshoots on budding trees
below the Baron, his thoughts have no pause
as he maneuvers my thoughts through the blue-
black murk that descends upon me. The loops
my thoughts run around, the boulevards, the book
they could file, like James Joyce describing clouds

billowing overhead, underground. My mind reaches the clouds,
the ephemeral, the chimera that hides behind trees.
Those thoughts bind me to myself, like books
are bound in leather and string, allowing me to pause
as I flip the page. An unchanging, circuitous loop
of connection between mind and body, blues

and music, life and death, spirit that soars, blue
and red and white, floating above as a cloud
roils and boils as heat and thunder form a loop.
An unending circle, whipping the limbs of trees
as it churns the oceans, water pounding without pause
as I flip these pages, lost in the clutches of this book.

No flood of thought, no peace of mind fills me, booking
none for the travel plans I form, the horn, blue
notes spilling forth into the still air, no pausing
for breath, no pausing for speech, the clouds
overhead bearing forth sustenance for the trees
underneath. No thoughts break free of this loop,

unending, vicious loop, no thoughts end up in books,
saving precious trees, avoiding the green earth blues
poured forth under black clouds, circle overhead, no pause.

Endings

Life consists of many endings.
Friendships fade, romances break-up, jobs are terminated,
children grow up, parents die, neighbors move away.

Some endings are quick.
When I quit a job, when we moved across town,
or when the youngest child went off to college.
Others are more subtle.
When did my grandchildren finish their time of being babies?
What happened to a friend, who seemed to just fade out of sight?

Perpetual firsts and lasts.
With each ending, a new phase of life begins.

We are empty nesters now.
That means we’re free to travel
and no more college tuition to fork out.
It means more leisure time
and more together time for the two of us.
It means kids and grandkids visiting,
and quiet time after they go home.


Thanks Robert for an inspiring month of writing and sharing poetry. I loved every day of it!

April 30th day 30, final



Final, Something we can’t change like; if you
Marry the wrong person, or Become an
Christian or Kill your neighbor or Share
Your body
or Birth
A child
Or Pull
a Tooth
Today!
Yes they are final acts, today
was yesterday Before it became
tomorrow,
the acts are
recorded
on the disc
of history, .
to be played
Over and
over and
over .What
Will the
record say
about your
Today!

Ileana - great comments!! Thanks for the nod! I had briefly thought of trying to compose a poem out of all our names and then decided I would probably go quite mad!! So I liked how you were able to mention quite a few of us in your comments.

Again this has been a truly wonderful experience - thanks Robert!

Now I have even started composing a Sammy Snake Mascot poem!! (And I hate snakes - so I'm glad he's a cbyerspace snake - at least for us!! I feel for you Heather I really do!)

Good-bye, New World

When I was a teen, and murderous gas lines
crisscrossed the states, petroleum rationed
like altar wine,
Jimmy Carter preached the virtues of solar energy
with a squeaky zeal ,
making oil sound like
sin, and therefore, all the more
luscious.
We had our moment,
but disco felt good,
and that is what it all about, you know,
a needle in the arm,
a needle in the earth,
pleasure.

I thought I'd go out with a sonnet:


How It All Could End

Perhaps a burst blood vessel in the brain,
or some drunk swerving into me head-on.
If it’s nukes, I’ll be like Colonel Kong
in Strangelove: ride a bomb down from the plane
to target, bronco-style. But please, no pain –
I want it quick and clean. Perhaps a long
shot – chunk of space junk on my head, a prong
of lightning lights me in a storm. The main
percent of us don’t get to pick our fate –
our swan song could be sung at any time.
So why complain about gas prices or
my noisy neighbor, when it’s not too late
to take a walk, breathe in spring air sublime –
my next breath is the only one that’s sure.

SUNSET FROM THE SHORE



The sun setting
Touching my eyes
My mind
Flowing with my soul
Red gold
Waves of emotion
Watery commotion
Still
Like glass.
The moments pass
With passion into fire
Now I retire
Into cool ice and breeze.
The eyes of night glitter
Hiding truth under a blanket
Of blue glaze hue
And shimmering black.
Shivering
I relax back into my chair
And stare into the fire-light
Piercing the night
And wonder where the setting sun
Has run to now.
If only I could follow
The sun setting.



Thank You, Robert.

And so it comes

to this...
letters strung
together, words
rambling over infinite white -
poems times pi -
coalescing into coherence,
a mobius strip
of meaning.
The omega?
Perhaps...
but each word
launched, a seed
ripe for planting
a new poem.

---
Thanks for the marvelous ride, folks. Hope to see you on the next journey (whatever Robert has up his sleeve!). At the least, next April. Travel in peace, write with joy... Linda

DAWN


Moon-set.
Streaks cross the glowing atmosphere.
Deep breath in.
Slow blow out.
Twinkle, twinkle
Stars in the sky.
The night says goodbye.
It's time for you to hide.
Good day
To the sunrise.


One more for the road.

expires 04/30

the end of me
of what I was
& of who I am
was so sudden
a faint flash
in the frying
pan of this
universe - 20
insignificant
years...spent
here on Earth
now coming to
their unassum
ing end for i
can no longer
pretend: i am
not that baby
girl who open
ed her eyes
to this world
on 30 january
in a freezing
hospital room
i am not even
that college
student whose
4th semester
started three
months ago no
now my second
decade's well
three months
past its end
now i am like
someone else
in brand new
skin, and i'm
digging my---
my way in and
so i declare
that the end
of one Me is
really just a
beginning of
another:alive
reborn & free.

Callan, that is beautiful...YAAAAY!

End Result

Poem complete,
I click the mouse in a final salute
to the challenge,
as the custodian sweeps
the words on the editing room floor
into
the recycling bin.
LBC



And that, my dear poets, is not all she wrote.
Thank you for sharing your writing. Thank you for showing me that I CAN make time for my personal writing.
Thank you to Robert for sharing his time and talent.

Since this is “the end” I thought I would push myself to write something I hate writing—a villanelle.

There are some things we cannot mend
Some diseases prove incurable
The impermanence I cannot comprehend.

Should I go through life trying to pretend
That the endless fear is endurable?
Still, I embrace the coming of the end.

Stopping for me, Death becomes my friend
Where the inevitable is unreliable
The impermanence I cannot comprehend.

Acceptance something I did not intend
My mortality justifiable
And I embrace the coming of the end.

Each day an invitation to transcend
To live moments as fully as I am able
The impermanence I cannot comprehend
Still I must face the coming of the end.

Satia. nice one! So now at last I know what a Villanelle is...
Much nicer than a sestina or a bloody sonnet! Did I mention I hate Sonnets??!

Last Sip

The first taste is always the sweetest--
the tickle of bubbles on the tongue,
the cold wetness of it, so refreshing.
This time, it tastes like the first time.
This last time, nothing gets taken for granted.
Every drop must be cherished, even
the flat dregs at the bottom.
The crack and fssh of an opening can
has already fallen into memory.

Ack! I had a hard time with this prompt--I think because I don't want it to end. Congratulations, everyone, and thanks for your generosity and humor, and thanks to Robert for the prompts.

Not Such an End

Like an anchor in a sea
of dirt, it stays, resists
all my pulling, my
implements, red
handles and rust.
I hold the green
and leafy top
while no bigger
than my thumb,
the end of the tap
root weds the wet
ground, its plant
memory
ready
to grow,
flower
again
gold.

I Don't Fear Goodbyes For Long

Leaves and petals fade,
cascade to the ground
stems wilt
grass turns brown.

What gives me comfort
is that each spring
brings
rebirth.

Robert, this has been a real pleasure! What a great group of poets!
I put copies of all of my poems on my blog, and I will be selecting some to whip into shape:
http://gnatfeathersandbutterflywings.blogspot.com

IleanaCarmina,
Thank you... hate to see it end
Debra

“This is the end,
Beautiful friend.”
*The Doors*

“So, this is it? It’s over?” His words were
sad, like he was giving up, giving in. “Yeah,”
I replied. “The time has come. We knew it
would.” He sighed, reached out a hand. I

took it, held on tight to a wonderful friend.
“How do we say goodbye?” His question hung
in the air between us, like a thick veil, obscuring
us one from the other. “Maybe we don’t have

to say goodbye.” He smiled at me, my naiveté.
“You always have to say goodbye, my friend.”

Susan, I've been humming this song by the Doors all day in anticipation of this last poetry challenge. Peace, Linda

4/30/08 –

GOODBYE

The end has come for our journey.
This ride was worth every long night and tired day.
How do we go back to life in the normal?
When what we have shared has surpassed the formal.
I look back now and smile at our time.
Memories overflowing within my mind.
How do I go each day without you?
When everyday shared was like a dream come.
Then I realize it really isn’t the end.
Just the beginning to a new start within both our hearts.

For life is paved with rocky roads and sometimes mountains are endless.
When you reach the point that is untold, remember the beauty that was sinless.
For you I would cross the burning flames, travel deadly seas, and barren planes.
To share just one more magic moment I would shed a tear…so goodbye and hello.
Because my pen is always near.

Dedicated to Writer’s Digest for introducing me to this challenge and helping me to realize that the journey is always worth the struggle…you helped me remember why I write.

My Angel

My angel arrived today
Carved with precision
In the form of you

She must have known exactly what I needed
How much you are missed
How her work could keep me with you

One for me
One for him
I had them made in your memory:
Claire 8/7/07

A final goodbye to the best friend I ever knew
Packed in a box
Whittled out of wood
Hands in prayer
Thick, long hair
Wings to get you through

I’m crying, my friend
Crying tears that have been held in
That will never stop

She did us proud
You
Me Rusty

I love you, Claire
Heather

Is it over?

In the silence, I fear
it really is over.
I may pretend otherwise,
but for me the silence speaks volumes.

I haven't spoken to you
in over a month,
so don't be too surprise
when I finally admit it's over.

I still have my concerns
becase of the sap that I am.
Tread very slowly, my dear one,
in case someone pushes you over the edge.

Take my heart as a consolation prize
that I fear it was for you anyway.
I doubt I'll be using it so freely
as I slowly shut the door on love.

End of the School Year

The calendar stretches
from September to June,
July and August belonging
to some alternate universe.

At the dawn of May, it begins to end:
children once cautious have become demanding, impatient,
knowing somehow even at six,
that they have accomplished something
momentous and are ready to move on.

They have learned to make it
all the way across the monkey bars,
can walk edge of the playground wall without falling, are willing
to share snacks and crayons.

They write goodbye notes
to their teachers, to their friends,
adorned with asymmetrical hearts
filled with “I love you XOXO.”

The day has crept by:
Bed rest, sleep,
journal, reading,
poems (or lack thereof).
Time for sleep again.
See you tomorrow
for whatever Robert
bestows upon us.
It's been fun.
Good night!

I have 1 last poem. A bit of politics from a mad bastid!

Revolution (an end of sorts…)


Virgil Strange is
My name and I rode on
The Southern Cross
Til so much cavalry came
They made me think again
I sat with Robert E. Lee
And I sat with General Grant
Neither one had a clue
As to what their people might want

‘Twas the summer of ‘69
We were hungry for justice
And the will to survive
Had gone, was lost
For
So many, don’t ya know

The night they drank
Old Dixie down
The night
They quaffed and vomited
All that was good and fine
And they sang

Na na na na na na
Na na nanana n ana

And now I sit with Bush
And he has no idea
Either, just gabblin’ on
Like a southern preacher
… ‘Twas the summer of ‘08
I hurried but I was much too late...

The night they burned the third
World down and everybody
Was singing, the night
Oh! The night that Christ let them down

And they were all just
Wingin’ it…

Na nana nana nananananana


Goodnight & may YOUR god bless you...

There are currently too many endings and closures happening in my life right now to write about any of them comfortably. Then I saw my latest PD James novel sitting on the table and the poem just seemed to happen! Great prompt! Sorry I haven't been too faithful in getting my poems out here on time:-(

The end

Turning the last page
Emptiness knocks me down
Like that huge wave in the
Bahamas--turned topsy-turvy
My sunglasses and contacts
ripped from my face
left me blind and vulnerable
on a foreign beach. The epilogue
completed--not a single word left
leaves me hollow and floundering
reaching for a life preserver in
the waves of loss and confusion.
She sucked me in--tossed me
into an articulate oblivion of
personality, philosophy and beauty
to no end.
My gluttonous reading has left me
gorged and unsatisfied
The End cut off all hope of escape.

This poem is more of a wish than reality, I've still got TONS of grading to do. But when it's done . . . . .


END OF THE SEMESTER

The hallways are deserted, computer labs empty
the parking lots bereft of illegally parked cars,
the gym opens late, Starbucks closes early,
the cafeteria won’t open at all.
I’ve written comments on papers
no one will pick up from
the box outside my door.
I’ve judged the contents of their essays
against criteria in the rubric—
did they summarize, analyze, synthesize, critique?—
I’ve tallied the abscences, recorded the grades
filed away the advising forms
and cleared off my desk.

Bring me novels and journals and poems to read,
bring my children, I think I remember their faces.
Bring the car for a trip, bring the dog for a walk.
The semester is over. Let summer begin.

I am reposting this poem because for some reason my line breaks were not right.

End of the School Year

The calendar stretches
from September to June,
July and August belonging
to some alternate universe.

At the dawn of May, it begins to end:
children once cautious have become
demanding, impatient,
knowing somehow even at six,
that they have accomplished
something momentous
and are ready to move on.

They have learned to make it
all the way across the monkey bars,
can walk edge of the playground wall
without falling, are willing
to share snacks and crayons.

They write goodbye notes
to their teachers, to their friends,
adorned with asymmetrical hearts
filled with “I love you XOXO.”

Renee, te quiero xoxo! Do you know what that is in spanish?

Iain - always wonderful, always fun, always dead on, I still need to blog ...

Heather - that was a beautiful poem about Claire. She was love, and you carry her memory beautifully.

Patti,Thanks I love you too! Its 4:45a.m. her can't do no more.
Love you all g'night.

I try to be graceful, appropriate but I really will miss this. Yes, it took up a large part of my "working" life but, who cares about that. It strengthened my other side, the one I really like.

Anyone got a rag for my keyboard?

I got Jelly Roll Morton playing Rag(time) on his keyboard, if it helps?

It's helping a little

Could throw in some Fats Waller? Now ya jivin'...

Would love that!!! By the way, I'm not 242lbs, I'm 241 :)

Why did today have to be the last day? I got behind on yesterday's and today's prompt, because of a looming deadline on a newspaper article. But in a way, it inspired me to write about "the end" of something.

"deadline met"

deadline: yesterday
dear editor:
i fell asleep last night
and didn't finish
what had to be
written.

and so, today,
my brain hurts,
my neck aches,
my fingers cramp.

but, you'll be glad to know,
it's done,
it's finished,
it's complete.

and now is the joy
of pushing
"send"

And another one...

"school's out for summer!"

we tap our feet,
drum our nails,
stare beseechingly at the clock,
utterly
Impatient.

then we burst out of our desks,
like a newborn screaming its first breath,
like a stone skipping across a stream and, then, Splashing.

Oh,
the sunny possibilities,
the slip-and-slide anticipations,
on this
last
day
of
school.

GOODBYE FOR NOW

The struggle was long now comes to an end,
It hurts to see you suffer and me helpless.
You were so much more than just a friend,
Now the end is near you'll be sadly missed.

It becomes more painful as the end is near,
I don't want to say goodbye.
Without you I'll live my life in fear,
Though why you must go I don't know why.

241lbs o' natural born boogie 241lbs o' soul... tell it to me!

Right now Blind Willie McTell is telling me that: Baby it must be love!

Well, I still need to write a new sestina, but time is growing short and I this poem was begging to be written, so here it is! Thanks for the amazing stroll (and sometimes tripping, stumbling and face-planting) along this poetic journey. It has been great.


So Long

After thirty days I’ve come to the end
of my notebook
(though some might say to the end
of my wits!).
Pages filled with words
swirling about, landing
haphazardly, shoving,
pushing, stepping aside.
Here, I curtsey, smile—
all the right moves
at the end of a dance—
before going in search
of the punch.

And one more...because, as you can see, I'm having a hard time letting go. But this is it, the end, the last one. I promise.

“At the End”

When all is said and done,
and I’ve shouted my last hurrah,
turned the final page,
put an end to things

it will be as if my days
stretch behind me,
ahead of me,
and around me.

And my mind will
wrap around what it never could
grasp,
and my eyes will
see what was always hidden.

And I will have release,
into the love I always knew
was there,
but could never fully
fathom.

And my
joys,
faults,
successes,
failures

past,
present,
future

will
collide into
Grace.


(Robert--Thank you SO much for this wonderful month of challenges. I am not a poet, so I went into this to be "stretched" as a writer. And I will have to say that you grandly succeeded at doing this for me. I feel renewed and revitalized, and I thank you for it! I will miss the wonderful prompts, the beautiful poetry I had the honor of reading each day, and the camaraderie here on the blog. Blessings to you, Robert, and to the rest of you!)

Salute and Good Night

Drunk with words
aged but thirty days
(and younger)
cup held aloft
in praise, adulation
we make the last toast
of merry thanks
sweet relief
and drink the sensory delight of
swirling, heady complexities
and then to bed;
tomorrow to begin again…

Cheryl, you so is a poet!
Nite all!

This is the last poem that I will ever write
(the audience cheers)
Wait! I’ve changed my mind again
(the audience jeers)

Thanks to everyone for all the great poems and thanks to Robert for orchestrating this symphony of words - most of us won’t be able to quit our day jobs, but it was fun, fun, fun!


"the end and the beginning"

What are you doing? she said. I’m burning
all my magazines that have anything to do
with writing. Why, what happened? An
epiphany my dear wife, a goddam epiphany.
I continued to move between the now red
hot chimera on our back patio and the dining

room table where I had stacked the multitude
of magazines pulled from within an antique
Chinese kitchen cabinet in the family room
and the built-ins of my second floor study.
The chimera was now glowing like a new mother
as the New Yorkers and writing publications

I had collected throughout my many years of
reading and not writing provided the fuel.
Well, it’s sort of a fire hazard she said as
she turned and walked back inside our brick
townhouse, a stone’s throw from the lake, where
we had lived for the past two years and change.

I continued to poke at the incendiary diorama
of superfluous advice on “how” to be a writer
as she returned with a Marlboro Light and the
torch I used to light my cigars stored in the
humidor atop a 1940s mahogany buffet in our
antique laden dining room. Are we going

somewhere or is this your haphazard attempt
at spring cleaning in the dead of winter?
Yes, we’re going somewhere I said. I don’t know
when but I do know where. Any guesses my
dear? Argentina she said as she snapped the
lighter shut, her cigarette glowing red exuding

shadows behind her that danced on the brick
wall two stories high. The moon was full, directly
above us, shining like a spotlight from the high
heavens as if to aid in the recording of this
important moment. Argentina she repeated as
she walked to the corner of the patio and stared

towards the lake. It’s beautiful here she said, so
beautiful. But I do understand. We can live in
Buenos Aires on your military pension alone.
When do we leave? Soon, very soon I said, and
then to myself, time to stop pretending. Time to
write like my life depended on it. I finally realized

that it did.

Iain - keep an eye on Heather - she's not 242 or 241 - she's beautiful - there I've said it!

And I'm me, writing, trying, never stopping.

Look forward to May everyone!

Cheers Sammy!

Patti-
Don't give me away!!!! I want them to love me for my words :)
You're so kind (blushing) . . . I'm an AMAZON compared to you. That aint no lyin'.

Its damn near a.m. & I AM going to bed...

To plagarise the late great Spike Milligan:

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder... get it out with Optrex!

And while we're stealing from Spike...

Twinkle, twinkle little star,
how I wonder what you are
a piece of rusting rocketship
an interstellar rubbishtip

Spike Milligan ( deceased)

The brackets would have made him laugh.

Have you ever heard the expression: Mad as a bag of snakes? Thats me !!

Good night John Boy ...

We love it when you plagarise!!!!!!!!!!!

T'was the last night of the poetry challenge
and all of the writers were restless
not wanting it to end, the prompts
were all nestled safe in their heads
oh what a challenge they had brought.
while me on this computer each night
read as many as I could
not wanting to miss any of the good ones
each had the poet's charm
writing about true things and some that were not
when out of the words there sprang
new friends and new ideas in much abound
As the nights were to come to an end
each one had found a new strength
and new appreciation for the words we all write!
now dash away dash away all to write more poems
for the next challenge to come your way!


I know this may not be totally in the flow it is to be but it is late and I have to bring this to an end!

Thank you for helping me write each day and to have so many others to read as well! I will try to get the sestinal written soon!

Thank you everyone for the beautiful and stirring poetry. I know I will come back and reread all of the poems, because I read some too quickly. We've all been on this fantastic journey using our fingers as oars in this sea of poetry. Sorry for the metaphors, but after a month of writing poetry it had to affect my prose writing.:) Robert can't wait to see what you have dreamed up for an encore! Don't want to write the last poem of the month, because that would mean it was the end. I have the title of a book, Then We Came to the End, running around in my head.

Justin - hard subject to write about, but love what you said. I agree 100%.

Barbara

Then We Came to the End (from the book of same title by Joshua Ferris)

After days of pouring out our hearts
onto blank computer screens
we finally came to a day when
a poem was no longer necessary
no words needed to be written
no thoughts translated into verse
my nights expanded to fit the
extra poem writing shrank to
normal and sleep
swept into the background
gained its rightful place
In my documents sat
thirty poems like mounds of
rising fresh dough
little globules of poems
tossed off to satisfy arbitrary prompts
hit or miss and once a home run
but back to the baking metaphor
because after a few months of waiting
I'll mold and knead them into the form
and size that feels right until they
are the right shape and words fit
in a comfortable way

Coming to the end
reminds me I won't
be reading poem after
poem so good I'm jealous
after the third one
poetry that sparkles off the
page and whose images bring
tears or laughter as I scroll down
to the empty comment section
where I'll put my day's offering
occasionally recognized by at least
one person who reading these
found meaning in my words.

We've come to the end
but it's really a beginning as
so many have said
for with these thirty poems I've
begun again to think of poetry
after years of prose and visiting
only rarely I've come home to
my first love.

Things Your Poems Do After You Die


Not all poems sink into the ground after your death. Some go on as ghosts, moving from place to place to find lost music. Some get married. Some donate themselves to science, ground themselves down into multivitamins that taste like eggs. Those poems not anatomically correct go as unclaimed as luggage, or worse—taken on tour for the entire world to see. Some turn themselves into the renewable energy of prose, warming homes, becoming sources of heat so intense they ignite a city. I have seen a few taken as political prisoners, swearing not to leave until every poem of conscious is returned to this world safely. Sadly, some get sold, chop-shop style, with poets like grave robbers scouring dead lines for words and rhymes. There are never enough poems to meet demand, so they are put on a donor waiting list, the recipients ever so grateful, fearing death, fearing a life beyond what we risk dreaming.


****

This poem is a found poem that I completely absconded from a CNN.com article. The link is on my blog.


****

I have a NaPoWriMo meme on my blog. Feel free to tag yourself and participate.

ENDINGS

I was never good at endings –
relationships, jobs, stories, poems.
It always feels like abandonment
that pulls on my heart
releasing my tears,
flushing out the old
but not yet ready for the new,
a vacuum on the inside.
Saying good-bye
doesn’t feel good at all
but everything ends eventually –
thank goodness for beginnings!

© Maureen Sexton

Last Gasp

When I think about it now
I can’t believe I did it
And find myself staring at my hands
Wondering at their treachery
Your face floats before my eyes
The way it looked before we started
As lovely as summer
Your mouth slightly off-centre
And those baby-blues of yours
As usual held a question
But little did I know
The one they held that day.
We knew you had been sinking
My father and me
We’d driven you to the clinic often enough
But I, at least, thought you were on the mend
You put paid to that, didn’t you
My friend, my best friend
As you reminded me
Best-friends forever will do
The hardest things, you told me
You’d do the same for me
And I believe you would
You were always the loyal type
Of course at first I was horrified
And couldn’t say no loud nor fast enough
But then you got so upset, your breathing
Became so laboured and I could hear
How very ill you actually were
You tried to make light of it
Saying you just didn’t want to drag things out
Becoming a wasted ugly thing
You wanted to go out
Looking your usual beautiful self
And then you laughed until you cried
And I cried with you but I couldn’t laugh
Finally, we decided that the easiest way
Would be for me to help you drown
In the river, our favourite place
You were afraid you would lose your nerve
And try to surface and get some air
My job was to see that you stayed beneath the waves
Until you breathed no more
It was a logical way to go
You often went rowing alone
Early in the morning
And we could pretend that you had fallen over
Hit your head or something
And that was that
It was foggy on the day
A bit of a problem
Would you really have rowed in the fog?
Maybe, since your time was growing short
Most of it is a blur to me
But I can still recall your eyes
You never closed your eyes
Just watched me, unblinking
As I kept my hands on your shoulders
I barely had to push down
You had weighted yourself with stones in your pockets
Very Virginia Woolf of you
And you didn’t struggle at all
In fact, I didn’t see even a bubble escape your mouth
Until you were dead
And a multitude of bubbles let go
I remember sobbing underwater as I emptied your pockets
Trying not to take on water as I wept
I think I hugged your body before I swam to shore
Then walked home and waited for the call.

S.E.Ingraham

Would just like to add my voice to the chorus of kudos for this exercise. I know I haven't partaken every day but have enjoyed both reading and writing, and, bonus - had new poems to enter some May 1st deadline contests!Thanks to Robert (and Barbara)for both the idea and the enormous effort. Sharon Ingraham

Thank you all so much for this wonderful and challenging month. Thanks especially to Robert. I have loved all the reading and writing, but I don't see this as the end, it's just the beginning. I have over 30 poems to redraft, edit and polish up. And I'm looking forward to whatever else is coming next on Poetic Asides.
Maureen

The Good Sport

The soccer season ended
as it started--
with tears and a loss.
Grace sat out the final
game on the bench
recuperating from surgery
to repair the broken
leg she sustained at the first
match--her only, her own last--
of the season.

Iain, wow, thanks! I take that as a big compliment!

It's been a joy writing with everyone on this page, and particularly having the opportunity to write 30 NEW poems this month! True, I'm not entirely happy with some (thank goodness for editing!) but it's been a definite blast!

What is an ending?
Other than the great end, death
It’s just a pause to breathe
In—out—in—out
Reflect if you can
It’s over and on to the next
Grand right and left of life.

The worm Ouroboros bites its tail
Making a ring around what we do
A cycle of our lives
And maybe beyond
Repeats and reruns
Passing this way again
Nodding to the same tree
Treading on the same grass.

It only looks the same.
It is always different.
The river has new water each second
The bay mixes today’s water with
Yesterday’s runoff and tide
The tree is too wide to hug now
The grass blades are new
They’re chartreuse not Kelly
There is always an end,
Not never an end.
But it’s all the same
Non-end forever.
Only the now exists.

Goodbye for now, I've enjoyed all of your felt images this month. Laural

Not an ending
But a mere begining
Not to shutup
But to keep singing
Alas, one says
That it must stop
But I beg to differ
My rhythm won't drop
It is true a circle never ends
An infinity of line
Of curve and of bends
A continuum of thought
And a circle has no end
So when you reach the top
You must begin again.

Hey, everyone. It just turned into May 1
(California time, that is)
and aren't we all happy to have completed 30
days of poetry writing?

Thank you, Robert Brewer, for an inspiring
challenge. I took it up on a whim (not
considering myself a poet; more of an essay-ist,
I would say) and found that writing poetry is
simple fun. At least for me. It is amazing
when the hidden voice inside comes through with a
message I didn't even know existed ... until I sat
down at the keyboard or pen/paper.

Thanks again. Words are wonderful!

Perpetuity

The dance never ends
but the dancers change.
The music never stops
but the songs aren't the same.
What's in an ending
save another start?
One grand finale
is still just a part
of a play. The show
must go on again
when the overture's
ready to begin.
The music never stops,
Notes dancing in air;
So the dance never ends,
the music's always there.
###

Decision

The waiting room had cheery paint
and greening life in potted plants,
to ease the mind and calm the
uneasy thoughts and twisting fingers.
The hallway, long and empty, lay
like the last long mile to "Old Sparky"
but led only to the room,
the blinding white and sterile room.
They entered quietly, masked like robbers
come to steal some precious gem,
And did the deed.
At the end reluctance lay slain before relief.
Back up the hallway, out the door and
into the green, green day; a seat on a park bench.
Sudden tears for loss and ending
with no do-overs, no take backs. Gone.
Last traces of the past wiped away
with a soft white tissue. Over.
Now beginning again, rising,
Going on, but still with closed eyes
in passing the sign, CLINIC.
###



Almost didn't get this posted at all, pc was acting up all night.
I guess it thought it would be abandoned now that April's done!
Great job and congrats to all who hung in for the month! YAH!

Perpetuity

The dance never ends
but the dancers change.
The music never stops
but the songs aren't the same.
What's in an ending
save another start?
One grand finale
is still just a part
of a play. The show
must go on again
when the overture's
ready to begin.
The music never stops,
Notes dancing in air;
So the dance never ends,
the music's always there.
###

Decision

The waiting room had cheery paint
and greening life in potted plants,
to ease the mind and calm the
uneasy thoughts and twisting fingers.
The hallway, long and empty, lay
like the last long mile to "Old Sparky"
but led only to the room,
the blinding white and sterile room.
They entered quietly, masked like robbers
come to steal some precious gem,
And did the deed.
At the end reluctance lay slain before relief.
Back up the hallway, out the door and
into the green, green day; a seat on a park bench.
Sudden tears for loss and ending
with no do-overs, no take backs. Gone.
Last traces of the past wiped away
with a soft white tissue. Over.
Now beginning again, rising,
Going on, but still with closed eyes
in passing the sign, CLINIC.
###



Almost didn't get this posted at all, pc was acting up all night.
I guess it thought it would be abandoned now that April's done!
Great job and congrats to all who hung in for the month! YAY!

End of a summer day

kids out playing
while the sky,
full of stars,
weighs twilight
to the ground


Thanks Robert for an amazing challenge and all the inspiration. Thanks to all the poets for a month of great reading. -- Mike

Finale

Out of the darkness, a bright light blinds.
Shadows move restlessly.
One more tortured soul between them and the freedom of the night.
She's shaking, with nerves, fear, excitement, confidence.
Suddenly, a heavenly sound erupts from the depths -
the shadows perk up and take notice.
Puccini through the filter of a novice
nevertheless haunts the spectators with visions of grandeur.
Then it stops, shimmering silver still hanging in the air.

Nothing.

Then the shadows erupt.

Wow, January, I LOVED that found poem - brilliant!

Robert, thanks again - even though I did the first six days on my own, I don't know if I could have got through the month without your prompts. And watching an active poetry community develop on your blog was something to behold. Some really excellent poetry here - keep up the good work, everyone!

Yesterday, I could not get the site to accept a single thing.
So, late again. But I have now submitted 30 poems, or at least I will have in a minute...

End of the Line

Every morning we sit,
face each other in

this faceless society, this
sub-world, hurtle down tunnels

Trains rocket, we sway
look away,

contemplate the state
of everybody's shoes,

marvel at the green, pointy-toed pair and
wonder where they came from.

at the end of the day
we hurtle back home,

still faceless,
still strangers at the end of the line.

Iain- I got Spike Milligan's autograph when I was living in London for a semester. He was great! And he was all over the talk shows, pushing his book. I loved his humor and his depth.

The sun has set
The show has come to an end
Find something new.

I'm still stuck on that bloody sestina! It even blocked me from other poems until just now. Grrr.

Even though I missed a bunch in between, and some that I thought that I sent in never seemed to have made (maybe I typed the code wrong?, I did make it to the end, and will fill the missing spots for a complete set. Congratulations to all on their great efforts - it was fun!


The Last Rose I See

The last rose that I see,
most assuredly, will be yellow,
like the one that clings to the fence,
outside the glass sliding door
by my recliner.

They appear and fade away,
these roses.
Beauty against a faded fence;
the color of buttery stars,
sunny days,
summer daisies;
a living portrait of summer.

Each rose petal,
reflective of my varied nature;
similar but not exactly the same.
Joined at the stem,
connected to so many other branches and leaves
in ways I can only begin to unravel.

Roots spreading again
into the soil of life;
receiving nourishment,
joining me with the universe.

This rose I see,
yellow and bright
connects me.
This image will be forever.


Gene McParland
North Babylon, NY

Elizabeth, Yeah, Spike was a comic genius. I once met Sellers but unfortunately not Spike

Hey Robert, Thank you so much for this challenge. I had so much fun doing it and reading everyone else's poems. It really boosted my confidence and my attitude toward writing daily. I appreciate all the talent, effort and support from all of you who participated. I felt such a kinship. Here is my poem. I really don't like endings, so it's short and sweet. Bye for now. - Carol

Endings
-----------

Happy endings are a good thing.
they’re what I prefer
but if an ending must be sad or harsh
I want it quick
in and out
don’t drag it out

Life doesn’t always have happy endings,
although they say
that when one door closes
another opens
it’s good to hope
that there’s reason to hope

Some endings are dreaded
some are a relief
but either way
all things
must end

- the end -

Wrapping it up

It is Samhain, a night of endings
and new beginnings.

How appropriate! Here I am
at the ending of this sad
long struggle for understanding
between we two
who love so deeply and yet
cannot find peace or joy
in each other.

I look back.
When you were a small boy
beautiful and bright,
You patted younger babies
gently on the head, absorbed
in the wonder of them.

The teenager, rebellious,
yet was sweet and thoughtful,
walking with me hand in hand
to the shops and talking.
You don't remember that now.

Even the young man
was full of light, turned out
in his smart suits, laughing
for sheer, exuberant life.

But that was yesterday.

Now you don't like me,
nor I you. Now we are done,
can't even live and let live.

You give me the gift
of new beginnings.
I have shed the influence
of your loud beliefs and opinions
and rediscovered my own.
Wouldn't have done that
so well without you!

I give you release.
May you have the full experience
of this wonderful game called life
as I shall.

© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2008

Iain....The Goon Show!!! Ooh-la...how I used to laugh at that!

When we're on that island...and drunk enough...I'll tell you a tale about Cali the Cobra.

So...erm...are we all pacing around, waiting for Robert?

Happy Beltane...May Day to all...washed my face in the morning dew...supposedly the secret to a peaches and cream complexion!

Oy de bleedin' vey mate...the friend who sent me the link for this invite, just sent me another...to write a novella over the Labour Day Weekend. I believe my answer was....AAAAIIIIEEEEE!!

I had so much fun this month. Everyone was really having a lot of fun on this last day! I love reading all of the poetry and all of the comments back and forth. I am looking forward to joining the forum and continuing to get to know all of you more. I am so excited to begin reworking all of these poems I have been stretched to write this last thirty months. Thanks to Robert and to all of you for all of your contributions!!!

--------------------------------------------------------------

Vacation

We all drag out of bed
and roll out to the car.
Sherri doesn’t even
brush her hair. We squint
up into the sun at the
Motel 6 sign. We had
some good times here
the last few days
but now we’re home-
ward bound. We’ll be
on the road for at least
eight more hours today.
And once we get home
we’ll all fall into bed.
Then tomorrow it’s
back to work and on
with life again. But
right now we all just
sigh and smile –
remembering our
vacation.

finally made the 2600 miles destination and the internet was down...
alas, a day late

an end
less than instant
a beginning

a death
and then
rebirth

it does not feel
like that
looking at the
breathless body.
it feels final
permanent
done

the struggle is done
the struggle to breath
the struggle to let go

where did you go?
the love of you
the joy of you

reborn in
that ray of sun
coming through the
blooming dogwood

The End Of Us

What will it be like in the end for us?
Will it be you on your deathbed, or me?
Will we grow unfond of each other
and part not-so-amicably?
Will it require lawyers and judges
or surgeons and transfusions?

Maybe we will grow too old to live
and instead take a cruise somewhere warm
and throw our stooped and wrinkled selves off
the stern into the inky waters in the wee hours.

Or maybe you will drift away one day
in our bed so that I don’t even notice
until I wake and find you cold.

It could be that all this worrying
might cause me to have a heart attack
one day while washing dishes at the sink,
my knees buckling as my soapy dripping hands
clutch my chest as my lips turn blue
and you try to remember your CPR.

I don’t know what I’d wish for
if I could have my way.
I can’t imagine what would be worse
to die or be left behind.

Holy cow, I missed the last two days. It's been a whirlwind - interviews for a cool job which looks like it is going to happen. I will post on the final prompt, and forego the exercise one, which will put me at missing 2 days. I'll have to come back and read these later.

Once upon a time, any ending
felt like
every ending, all endings, combined into a furious, gnarled root
deeply embedded, and wrestling to free itself,
wrenching my innards, whipping my world into a frenzied panic of sorrow.
I could not allow this escape, for
it would surely kill me.
And then, it occurred to me to simply let it
happen. And it did, and I lived.
And that was the end of that.

Robert: So many thanks for getting me/us back to writing poetry regularly. You are my hero. Lyn

For Amandine

Our French exchange student, here
for only a week, shadowing my same
age daughter at school, staying in my
college son's room, has been a good will
amabassador extraordinaire for France,
or maybe just herself as I haven't noticed
that any of the other exchange students are
as friendly and polite, never fawning,
animated without being immature or obnoxious,
able to express a definite opinion but
still flexible about dinner menu choices
and activities. She is also a doppelganger
for Jill, except a few inches shorter.
I swear I am rethinking whether
I really had twins 16 years ago, or maybe
knew her mom and just thought I had a baby...
But most of all, she has been a joy to
be around, my absent French and
her hesitant English a perfet match,
all our communication only approximate
but clear just the same, so much so that
when I say "goodbye until I see you again,"
I hope she'll reply "je reviens."

Lyn Sedwick

The end, ahead

Reverses the usual flow

Like salmon
swimming
for species survival

Like clamoring shaky-legged down the mountain
before scaling upward

Like sighing and wiping your eyes at the credits
before knowing the scene that made you cry

Who says
left to right
top to bottom
front to back
start to finish
is the right order

Life is nothing
but flexibility
direction change
impossibility made possible
and vice versa

See
the bright yellow finish line tape
ahead
fluttering in the wind

Lungs and body heaving post-race

Over, done

Rest, recovery

To come: the first step of a new day

The end, here

You never have friends like when you're growing up
Never again someone so trusting
Someone so honest
Someone so caring
And it seems like your ties
No matter how much you try to strengthen them
End up fading away

Day 30 End

When you called the other day
and asked me out to lunch,
I was surprised. We went to
Tierneys and you said
you were sorry you hadn’t
supported me more,
that walking away from me
and three teenagers might
have been a mistake.
It’s too late now, though.
I managed to earn a real PhD
and buy a house down the shore.
where you and your girl friend
come to all the family gatherings.
Then you wanted money for your sisters’
Memorial at MacMurray College
The $125 made me part of the family.
again, you said. I smiled at the irony.
but it’s your children
who suffer still.

Suzanne Poor
PoorSue@aol.com
973-857-5161

Oh, sadness! My post from really late last night didn't post. Argh! Now I'm on my work computer and won't be able to post that one. So here's a different one, just to close out the month:

Last Call

He smiles when he gropes the girls
His drunken version of a hug
Leaning in closely to yell, spittle flying
His drunken version of a whisper
I've turned to watch him one last time
His eyes meeting mine from
Miles away; eons away
He's so far from who he was
Where his face used to be
Is just a beer label
Claiming ownership
He's already gone in this moment
No longer a friend
Just a promise of future awkwardness
As we recognize each other in bars to come

After Taste

If I could I would
Savor the flavor of
The after taste and all
The musing and exploring

Minds engaging, rearranging
While riding over distance
Set, but not in stone
On in astral charts

Until we came into the ending
That was not arriving at the
Beginning but going on
And not exactly without

The other and completely
With the treasures opened
To wet sky and thick
Velvet covered night

And we moved so easily
Across the heart that
Was not dancing only
Patience waiting beyond

Another distance separating
Where we are apart in unison.

©Jane Penland Hoover
April 30, 2008

A semi-autobiographical ending...

Two mirrors mounted across from each other
Looked back and forth and sighed, “Oh Brother!”
“Is that your reflection?”
“Am I looking at me?”
They cracked after losing their identity!

-----------

And a non-autobiographical beginning...

The baker had died, but on his death bed,
He swallowed some yeast and rose right from the dead!

Lifelines

I watch you sleep,
your head on the pillow next to mine,
lined with memories--some shallow, some deep,
The dry river beds of life.

Reaching out with gentle fingertips
to trace each time line of your face--
The birth of a child brought a smile to your face,
A bill unpaid that caused your brow to furrow,
Your father's death gave a crease to your chin
when you tried to hold back the tears.

I wouldn't wish to wake after all these years
to a smooth face on the other side of the bed
nor would I seek to erase the wrinkles
I, myself, have earned and wear proudly.

Just like nature carves the face of the earth
with canyons and valleys and mountain ranges,
So too it does our human face
and I would never wish it otherwise.

Go Out in a Blaze of Glory

At the end of the day
At the end of my rope
Where will it all end?
Is there any hope?

Does it ever end?
Happily ever after
In the end
With songs and laughter

The song that never ends
Sing it loud, sing it strong
The End
Sing it loud, sing it long

Smoke rises above the
Red brick chimney
Circles slowly
plummets ground-ward
Air is heavy around my heart
Tatters of cornhusks lie birds-wing white
Circle drain ward in the near empty bin
The current catches the smoke
And travels
Parallel to the staunch silver river
Grumbling its way eastward
Soon the seagulls
Many miles from sea and storm
Will follow the plows
Circling white flashes of sunlight
before they
continue on
riding the currents
leaving
like you left me

Intertwined

Sometimes endings and beginnings
are intertwined. They can be
a multifaceted knot with each strand
tugging on your heart.

I remember when our church
became part of a much larger church.
I was not prepared for the
emotions caused by the physical changes

Yes, there was excitement in the air.
However seeing the new church sign
and noticing the missing missionary
information was quite a jolt.

So was the change of the recently
renovated nursery into a more
adult-oriented room.
I needed a friend’s hug to deal with that.

Now, four years later,
our new church seems like home,
and the happy strand is the main one,
but for a while the intertwined knot was my own heart.

Wow! These poem are great and I am not surprised because ya'll can really write! In fact, I wanted to write about this challenge, how it is a stepping stone for me (even if it is not the direction I hope to follow I thought it might jog the brain for a bit of creativity), how it was not just about learning to write poetry but about learning discipline and in the end meeting new people,snakes on the run, cats in the fridge....and, of course, the beauty of words But I just couldn't come up with anything that sounded right. I just kept thinking about orange tulips. So, here it is.


Lovely Orange Tulips

He planted, weeded, and tended
To make the garden splendid,
An opulent array
Of vibrant colors on display--
Yellow daffodils standing tall,
Blue morning glory climbs by the wall,
Pink roses on the trellis,
(How they made the neighbor jealous),
Just a touch of columbine
And the tulips so divine.
Yes, the orange tulips he adored,
(And he went overboard)
Planting more and more each year,
And I'd laugh when I would hear
Him say his little quip
'Bout how he loved my two lips
And would give me more than two,
"To show my love for you"
He'd say with a grin,
And every time I'd melt within
'Cause I knew his love was rooted deep,
With weeding and tending our love would keep
Growing and blooming every Spring.
But life isn't a certain thing.
God replanted him way up high
In His garden in the sky.
Yet each Spring he says hello
When the orange tulips grow,
And to him I reply
That our love will never die.
It will live forever more
Till I am at heavens door
And with me I will bring
Orange tulips under wing
To my love so true
And we'll plant our love anew.

I loved your poem, Linda.

ENDINGS

There are endings everywhere
endings of the day, of a job,
of relationships. Endings of
books, papers drafts and
comics. Endings of shows
and plays and endings to
meals and trips. Endings
of vacations and visits.
With beginnings you will
most always have endings.
And this poem is no
exception. The End.

Susan
April 30
Day 30

The End

I write a poem because my mind, hands, and
spirit alert me that it must be done.

I struggle through, try and try again until I get
something that resembles what I want to say.

Then I take a line or two of what is just right
and start the process over again.

I always sign my name at the end and date it.
No sweeter way to end another poem. A way
to honor me for sticking to it.

At the end

I’m not going to change my mind,
I’m not going to suddenly realize
that my whole concept
of reality was wrong.

I’m not going to let fear
get the best of me.
I’m not going to feel
the need
to repent for sins
I never believed in.

I am afraid to die
just like everyone else.
But I am not afraid
of accepting my fate.

Sorry if this disappoints you.

On the End Begins…

Round
And round
And round
Again.
Up
Is down
And right
Is in.
The end
Circles by
Never-ending
Never-die.
Round
And round
And round
Begins.
Start is finish.
Finish is open.

4-30-08

No Endings

In two days she'll wave
heart in throat
and walk with her companions
to board a jet.

A few days ago
I sent my daughter a photo-text.
The picture was of a piece of jewelry.
A delicate detailed rose,
shades of peach,
tiny stem with detailed leaves.

I wrote:
I meant 2 show u the ring i m wearing 2day.
Bought this native-made mosaic gold ring
on ponte vecchio-vecchio bridge-in florence italy
35 years ago-when i was 21.
Now its ur turn!

Our daughter is 21 and Italy-bound
and what was beautiful and wondrous for me
all those years ago had to end
but it really didn't
because it helped mold the mother
who reared the daughter
who will drink in the same delights
and more.

So nothing we do ever ends
does it?

I was reading through each day to be sure I didn't miss one, and realized I made a mistake in the one posted above. here is the repost, with corrections:

"All good things must come to an end"

Pleasure is in the moments and the breath of
babies and the glimpse of sun on the water,
reflecting more than just what is seen but
what is perceived and what is experienced.
It's in the memories captured as they happen,
sitting by the fire laughing, sharing time
with friends and family, singing off key with
heads bent together and eyes lit up, loving
more than can be expressed and hoping they
understand how much they mean to you.
It's recognizing that perfect song at the perfect
time, with the perfect person to share it with
and knowing it will never be quite like this again.

Pain wouldn't be so painful if we didn't
perceive the pleasure. It's in the goodbyes,
the endings, the farewells, the growing apart
or away or just not growing at all. The goodbyes
that you try so hard to pretend are not just around
the corner, a shadow of darkness in the perfection,
a bringer of gloom in the midst of sunshine. Farewell,
sometimes there is no chance to say it, sometimes it's
just the end. No more. Goodbye, your heart whispers
but there are no words to say. And you remember those
picture perfect moments so carefully stored away inside
and for just a second, eyes closed, half smile on your face
you remember. You remember and the sun breaks through.

I always want more

By Ian Phillips

I always want more
I want a space between now and the ending
I want pauses before the credits to absorb what I have seen
I want extra time before the final whistle blows
I don’t want the bill, I want the starter again
I want to be handed the menu.
I want my choices again.
I want to keep the engine running
as my destination approaches,
I don’t want the song to complete
it’s final fading chords,
I don’t want to turn that final page
And feel words concluding, ending
before turning to white.