and there it was
buried in the midst of hundreds,
for what seemed like hours or days,
Hey! Here I am!
I have been waiting for some time,
some long time,
to be found
onto the page
it jumped, landing where it belonged;
just the next
Prompt: Write a Surprise Poem
(And with that… it’s the end of the April Poem a Day Challenge!)
The call came early
one January morning,
leaving me speechless,
broken, unable to find my next step,
The flight back was long,
loud and quiet,
made, still in a fog of disbelief,
sooner than I was prepared for,
but not soon enough to prevent it.
The hugs and tears and refusal to believe
filled the day, and night.
Seemed that was all that was left,
as sleep wouldn’t come,
and joy had long fled.
Heard the story once, twice,
more times than I wanted.
Strangers hugged and cried.
I walked, in dress and heels,
mascara running, to see for myself.
It’s the only way I could believe
he was gone.
Prompt: Write a Sight Poem
Controlling and Rude
Sometimes a prude
Lovable and Light
Aunt and Mother
Granddaughter and her brother
Up and down
Good and bad
Quick to laugh
Easy to please
Believe it or not
You’re all of these.
Prompt: Write a You Are (Blank) Poem
The bee, landing gently on her head,
touching every strand of golden hair
as he walked about.
Not once did she feel his presence.
Too light and sure-footed was he.
The wheelchair, rammed into the kitchen door,
scraping the metal footrests
and denting the wall.
Only through sight did he witness the impact.
Feeling, lost long ago in a blur.
The babe, lifted from her womb,
covered and wrinkled and
She, not conscious of the scalpel’s intrusive work.
Drugs, strong enough to dull most pain.
The call, late at night from continents away,
soft and real and honest, lasting for
hours and hours into daylight.
The love, he feels always and near.
For his heart she touched long ago.
Prompt: Write a Touch Poem
What was once new is now aged,
fine like wine and cheese.
Ev’ry day, two artists who
go on painting.
Prompt: Write a Response Poem
(In response to Maya Angelou’s “Passing Time” below.)
Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk
One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a
she fancied herself a dreamer
from a very young age
taught to view the world
with open eyes and grand imagination
she wove stories of
all that was to come
and the joy and adventure
her life would hold
dreaming became an art form,
a motivation, a way to escape sadness
she studied, she grew,
she did what was expected
only what was expected
wasn’t always in her dreams
what was expected
often belonged to others
she’s had a good life
possibly, a great life
filled with love and joy,
family and friends
she’s recently started dreaming again
Prompt: Write a Dream Poem and/or a Reality Poem
The fingers of time
brush across my face
and I half-heartedly wish them away.
I’ve noticed their presence
almost daily recently.
They’re usually gentle,
so light I can barely feel them.
Some days though,
they have such a tight hold on me
that I barely recognize myself in the mirror.
They really dug in last year,
knotting themselves in a handful of hair
with such force it went nearly white overnight.
Other days, I feel them tickle their way
over my hands, painting on new
age spots here and there,
or twisting my neck so masterfully
that I don’t feel their presence until the next morning.
I have no delusions of aging in reverse,
of waking to find my 20-year-old
self has returned.
And the touch of time does not scare me,
so much as wake me to the present and
push me to carry on.
The lines and wrinkles and grey
that are brought to me are
welcomed on some level…
and I embrace my lifetime’s caress.
Prompt: Write a Touch Poem
uncertain most days
head, heart, soul always searching
finding only fear
Prompt: Write a Fear Poem
They’ve all left
and the house is so quiet
it makes me physically ill
Sun rises bright
while birds sing their morning hymns
but all I can see is black
Day is done
and the room is empty, yet
I can still hear the voices
My head hurts
I make no move to stop it
At least I can feel something
have passed and I have just one
last question to ask… what now?
Prompt: Write a What (Blank) Poem
When I saw her there
it was as if the wound opened fresh.
There was a catch in my breath,
and in my step,
causing me to lean against the giant oak,
in the park where they’d meet,
before she knew of me.
Only a yard or so away
I spied the purpose for her presence.
A young girl, playing quietly,
wearing a bright red bow.
There it was,
the thing I couldn’t give him.
And that red…
rushing to my face now,
like it had rushed from my body that day…
but for only a moment.
And that moment was enough.
As I turned to walk away,
I felt the first tear fall.
Prompt: Write a Six Words Poem
(A poem using at least three of these six words – or a six word poem for each word: Bow, Lean, Park, Saw, Tear, and Wound)
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