The PAD prompt for April 16th was to write a city poem.
a city on a bay it’s a lightning city with thunderstorms and hurricanes it’s a cigar city with hand-rolled goodness it’s a walking city with people on the streets day and night it’s azalea and hibiscus it’s bougainvillea and palm trees it’s Spanish music pouring from open windows with ethnic markets and breweries a river runs through it with alligators and a riverwalk it’s neighbors and cracks in the sidewalk it’s my city now
The PAD prompt for April 12th was to use at least three of these six words: convict, great, play, race, season, voice. I was able to use them all.
Slow Down do not silence the voice the one that gives convictions the one that says slow down the one that whispers you did it the one that gives convictions and now confidence the one that whispers you did it you finished the race and now confidence a season of rest you finished the race the great one a season of rest time for play the great one now behind you time for play do not silence the voice now behind you the one that says slow down
The PAD prompt for April 17th was “Waiting”. But, I got to thinking, the poem I wrote on April 3, with the prompt of “Communication” could have done just as well here.
The past ten months I have done a lot of waiting. Waiting on hold. Waiting on mail. Waiting for the right house to come along. Waiting on other people. In all of this, I have waited on the Lord. Not always patiently I am sorry to say.
Wait on the Lord; Be of good courage, And He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the Lord! – Psalm 27:14
So, here’s my poem from April 3rd.
Communication Press one Your wait time is 14 minutes For the next available representative Name Phone number Date Of birth Last four of your social Repeat Press two Your wait time is 23 minutes How may I help you? I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with that Let me transfer you Repeat Press three Please remain on the line I’m sorry for your loss Your husband’s date of birth Date of death Last four of his social Call us if you haven’t received it in 60 days No, it takes up to 14 days after processing No, it takes up to 28 days Repeat Press four A death certificate A driver's license A marriage certificate Repeat Press five Your address Your former address Beneficiaries My supervisor isn’t available Leave your name and phone number Repeat Press six I’m sorry, our office is closed
PAD. Poem a Day. Poetry month.
I’ve been writing everyday, some good, some not so good. Most of my poems tend to center around Chuck, but yesterday I took a lighthearted turn. The prompt was to write a persona poem.
Ruby
who do you think you are,
walking down the sidewalk there
or in the street
I’m sounding the alert
you must mean us harm
this is my house
my yard
how dare you knock
or ring the bell
oh, hello
yes, come on in
let me sniff you
of course you may pet me
hey, don’t stop now
I’m going to follow you around
I think I’ll lick your hand
and sit at your feet
come back soon, okay?
In this upside down time there is still something I look forward to and that’s April. Because, for me, April means poetry.
This week has been so different from anything I’ve ever been through. My husband is now working from home. Bless his heart, he kisses me goodbye before he goes into his office and shuts the door. Before all this COVID-19 hit we had already made the decision for an early retirement and to put our house on the market. So, this week I have been decluttering, packing, cleaning, and facetiming with the grandkids in Florida. We are going to go ahead with our preparations, trusting the LORD to move us or not according to His plans for us. If we don’t move, at least we’ll have a clean house and a pretty yard!
Back to April.
I think this will be my 11th year or so doing the PAD challenge via Writer’s Digest. I also hope to participate in the Poetry Super Highway April Poetry writing prompts. I feel like over the past years I’ve been motivated to write some of my better work during April. I’m one of those people who get mores things done when I have a lot to do. So, again this year, I should be able to crank out at least a few noteworthy poems. I enjoy the process and I enjoy the interaction with other poets.
So, today I played around with some black out poetry, using the book Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson.
My Journey
worst comes to worst
I would rather hope in time
to improve the world
the sun shining between two prayers
born quick and slow
I say no more
The Sea
the sea
deep to the end of it
I looked to see truth
on every side
the sea with a thick mist
I shivered
wondered
I waded in
by God’s grace
hope was the more sure
in all ways
hope buoyed me up
the sea
more alive
In I went into the sea
PAD is drawing to an end for another year. Today’s prompt was to remix a poem from earlier in the month. I decided to remix my poem from Day One. You can read both below.
Can’t Fool Me
April first brings ice on the windshield
to try to fool me
to say it isn’t spring in Alabama
But I’ve seen azaleas in bloom
and green shoots springing up
between winter’s dead blades
I’ve opened the front door
felt the breeze flow in
then out the back
being thankful for the screens
though they can’t stop all the pollen
from creeping in
to coat the porch in yellow
Longer days make me lose track of time
as I savor the sunshine
and postpone supper
All this says spring
You can’t fool me, April first
Not Fooled
April tried to fool me
with ice after azaleas
but now the lawn is green
the air a sweet perfume
mornings are cool
afternoons balmy
when the roses said hello
the pollen said goodbye
spring is loud and lovely
I listen to her and smile
yes, April tried to fool me
but May is on the way
by Compello
Day 11 was a dedication poem. I based this on Rudyard Kipling’s poem “If”.
Thanks to Rudyard Kipling and Teachers Everywhere
(this is for those who choose the high road)
If you can keep your head when all
– the government who has no clue
– parents who put blame on you
– media who love to prey
– colleges who lead astray
— test companies who line their pockets
about you are losing theirs
– the solution is common core
– and what’s more
answer this hard to read, complicated word problem and you know math
If you can trust yourself when they tell you
you should be in another field
(don’t yield)
If you can wait for supplies that never come
and feed the hungry with snacks brought from home
or be hated by that one kid
for something you know you never did
yet be wise, but not a know-it-all
If you can dream but know
dreams don’t all come true
If you can think for yourself
not just on cue
If you can meet with fire and intruder drills
and keep the children all around you calm
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
twisted by students in their parents’ ears
or watch the pencils you gave your money for, broken
but continue to build up skills with broken tools
If you can make a heap of all your earnings
plus a little extra on the side
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
to hold on when there’s not much to hold on to
If you can talk to crowds
or walk with principals and not lose the common touch
If all kids count with you
no matter size or hue
If you can fill an unforgiving hour
with sixty minutes worth of all you have
and repeat
your’s is the job and everything that’s in it
then – which is more – you’ll be a teacher, my friend!
April, 2016
Mom was born April 9, 1936. She would have been 83 today. It’s been 14 months since she died. So many little things happen throughout the days that knock me back, that remind me over and over that she isn’t here. I wrote the following poem in April, 2010. It was the first year I completed the PAD Challenge. I never really shared my poetry with her. Haven’t really shared it with anyone much in my family. Perhaps I should apply these words of Ray Bradbury…
“Self-consciousness is the enemy of all art.”
Mother
There at the end of the line
The hand of my dear mother
Her sweet comfort, it was mine
Never a woman so fine
There is not another
There at the end of the line
Her spirit, gentle, kind
None else would I rather
Her sweet comfort, it was mine
Growing round her like a vine
Myself, my brothers
There at the end of the line
So lovely, so divine
No, there is no other
Her sweet comfort, it was mine
For days of old I pine
Yes, one after another
There at the end of the line
Day four’s prompt was to write about a painter. I chose Mary Cassett.
Thank You, Mary Cassatt
no need to be a mother
to portray the loveliness
tender and soft
of mother and child
but her woman’s touch
and child’s heart
has given us a glimpse
of a love so real
her courage as a woman
in a man’s world
has given us beauty
has given us joy
in the high calling
of motherhood
graphic-OStock Inventory
So, PAD started on Monday. Poem-A-Day for those of you who don’t know. This is my 7th or 8th year participating – I’ve got to check on that. Anyway, I am super excited and motivated now because for the first time I’ve had a poem accepted for publication in a literary magazine. More on that later.
Tuesdays during PAD are always Twofer – two prompts to choose from or to combine, whatever suits the fancy. This Tuesday it was Worst Case/Best Case. I’ve been reading a lot of stories lately where there is much hardness, tough times, sadness – scenarios I cannot always relate to.
A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest J. Gaines
Hannah Coulter by Wendell Berry
I began thinking about what to write for “worst case”. I’ve worked many different jobs over the years: babysitter, fast food, retail, home daycare, customer service representative in a credit department, house cleaner, freelance writer, janitor at a school, teacher, substitute teacher, tutor, general office worker. Plus mothering. I remember the worst job I ever had. It didn’t last too long. I found something else, but I don’t remember what. I worked for a company that went into retail stores and completed an inventory. That job inspired my poem.
Worst Case
that time she worked for the inventory company
left her babies to ride in a van
full of people she didn’t know
who laughed over last night’s escapades
and told dirty jokes
for an hour and a half
to a hardware store
in a podunk town
with dust covered shelves
where she counted boxes of nails
and smelly bicycle tires
she couldn’t hold it any longer
so went into the dirtiest
bathroom she’d ever seen
used all her muscles
to not touch the toilet seat
Not In This Soup Alone 