Wednesday, April 21, 2010

A place to share poems

Feel free to share your poetry in the comments of this post throughout April.

The Poetic Asides blog has been a little crazy with its commenting function, so I'm offering up my personal blog as a place to (hopefully) post a little easier.




Oh yeah, I haven't announced on my personal blog yet, but I am in the running for Poet Laureate of the Blogosphere. Click here if you wish to vote for me (or even someone else, I guess).


S said...

Hello From Sara V (Robert-thx for letting me "crash" at your pad) :-)

The comments are from yesterday's poems

Maggie E--really lovely

Marie Elena--glad you enjoyed the "teenage boy" poem--didn't think anyone would see it, posted so late! Thankyou--Congratulations on 19 years and a lovely poem
Also, love Naples, and Marco Island, but truly you can have Sanibel...:-)

De--done nailed it again

RJ--made me laugh--again--been there! well said

Ellenelizabeth--in "quiets of winter storm" wonderful words

Thank you to everyone for comments and beautiful poetry--such inspiration!


Looking back
It's easy to see
Missteps made
Words misspoken
Roads less taken
Promises broken
Each's a lesson
A step in a future
And while
I might wish
For a life that's
Doesn't come
That easily

Greener on the Other Side

A crystal globe
Sparks of
Gauzy shapes
Taking form
A weedless garden
A straw-hat's brim
Sun-warmed skin
With a slight breeze
Lifting wisps of not gray hair
A toddler girl or maybe boy
Or maybe both
Or maybe two bouncing
Joyful dogs
Rolling on the spring green
Bliss, peace
At last

Twisted Neck

Looking back
All I get
Is pain from
A twisted neck

According to ________

According to Past Experience

I should be able to
Put in the magic code
And post
A poem or two
Maybe hello
or Way to go
But no
Not on day 20
or 21
Instead I'm

Robert Lee Brewer said...

Good to see you here, Sara V.

I'm sorry the Poetic Asides blog is being so problematic.

Robert Lee Brewer said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Anonymous said...

The winds blow,
steady like clocks,
tick-tock, tick-tock.

The bougainvillea climbs,
thus time’s apparent,
reaching rooftops high.

The waters rush,
across sandy bottoms,
cutting presence awry.

Mountains ever present,
ascending with time,
lustrous colors lie

—where tombstone’s stand—

amid green grass,
their sorrows grow,
thus farewell’s told;

where winds blow,
steady like clocks,
tick-tock, tick-tock.

Jodi said...

This is the "looking back and future" poem.
It took me 17 times to post on Monday night. Last night I gave up and after 7 attempts today here you go:

Mrs. Carlson

With a dignity that shows in old, elegant photos
Scattered through a house filled with
Memorabilia, dust and Tole painting,
Mrs. Carlson bides each remaining day.
The television shouts rubbish at her
Though she can’t hear a thing
So isn’t really bothered
But likes the company
Of daily soaps and dreary re-runs.
A basement filled with possessions
She hasn’t seen in years
And will rely on someone else
To judge their worth.
Images of a life spent
And now waiting for the inevitable
With patience and perhaps a little understanding.
On a lower shelf sits
A gilded frame encircling her
With three friends, dressed in a rainbow of satin gowns
In Norway, before she learned a new language and eventually
Became the person she is now,
Not completely aware of who comes and goes,
But smiling with firm satisfaction
At a hot cup of weak coffee.

Monica the Author said...

This is from the 18th:

To sell, to bring in money,
to cajole people, to get
and keep their business,
to sell, sell, sell- my
purpose, my curse.

Monica the Author said...

Hey, this is easier! Thanks, Robert!

Anonymous said...

Oh yeah; I've written only a few poems. I'm new at writing poetry. I've never even read a [how-to] book, so I welcome any suggestions.

Anonymous said...

Looking Back

The nameless wife turns
back to see her home dissolve
like a wafer on the tongue.

One last look before
her own body crumbles into
a mound of flaky crystals.

There are so many ways
for a woman to aggravate that
God. Sometimes I wonder

why my sisters do not
notice or reject the considerable
burden of their bond. I wonder

what great stone they carry
buried deep inside their bellies that
they so willing vow themselves

to a God who rewards
them for their suffering with
only more suffering.

--Christina Hile

Korie said...

Here's mine, I tried posting to the other site like ten times and nada, so...

According To Me

There are some times
When you just need to

Stop speed-walking

And watch the ducklings

Anonymous said...

It is a repulsive day in this dim ugly existence, because—unlike those before me—I live another wondrous day in this rotting world. The stench of [hate] thou doth reach my nostrils, like tendrils of lust between two lovers; I do turn to pinch, like a marrow sucking dog I seek, reaching my face to a slit of unruly life, amongst the [pure] that evil abounds...their backs turn from me in fear; hate is mine... take, to crave, to swim in, like a swine in mud; like the blue flame that dances, burns and destroys. I love hate, like I hate, the enemy of those I've turned... hate, upon this rotting world, amidst this torturous day, I will always be, for I am fed, fat from hate; who am I, but an imp, a hellhound, an angel turned. Get thee hence you say. Is it [love], is that your name?

Love, as in nature, forever enduring; like a gift he has; like the life of a newborn baby suckling at its mother's tit, or those who come together in hardship; it is upon these things we, which hath the vigor to chip the walls away, break the long held barrier down and bring together those that hate. Its antagonistic brother, inferior to loves touch, embrace or kiss. Love supreme, sovereignty over lust of hate; loves strength is mine...

De Jackson said...

According to No One in Particular

According to her high school college
prep English teacher, she had real talent,
get out there, young lady, get your stuff together,
get published.

According to friends, family, those who
love her, her words hold value, mean
something, when she gives them
a chance.

According to some valued poets
and patrons whose own work she adores,
sometimes they even

According to her own self-deprecating
spirit, inner critic and daily doubt,
she is one helluva hack.

According to her own calculations
this is a profound passion that
doesn’t always give back.

According to various publications,
she is mediocre at best
enthusiastically rejected, largely ignored,
wanton heart worn on sleeve.

According to its discombobulated beat,
most days it’s hard to know who to believe.

de jackson

Monica the Author said...

Today's prompt:
According to the world of models,
I am fat. I would be airbrused
even more slender than what
I am now- they would make me
disappear. According to the world
of mdels, I could always be
thinner, fitter, better looking.
So many women are killing
themselves to have a body
like mine- the world according
to models is warped and wrong.

Reesha said...

According to the apple on my desk

Today is a good day.
It's been sitting there
since yesterday and it sees
that today I packed
candy bars and fruit juice
and salty snacks for lunch.
It knows I won't eat it.
According to the apple on my desk
today is a good day.

S said...

Lilaspecs--Nicely put--I love watching ducklings!

De--I cannot believe that anyone would reject your glorious words--phooey on mediocre, the only "M" word that describes you is "Magnificent" :-)

Candelyn--loved your "tick tock" very soothing and lyrical

Monica--that is a pet peeve of mine, nicely said

Reesa--liked your apple perspective--it is a good day

S said...

thank you for the space!

Anonymous said...


What would be your reading recommendation for someone new to writing poetry? I've heard the word stanza, but other than that, I don't know a lot about the technical aspect of writing poetry.

Unknown said...

According to the box

According to the gaily slanting letters
On this multi-colored box
Our product make you
Happy pretty too and funny style

As if determined by a cell
Of linguistic terrorists
Dangerously dangling prepositions
Bent on blowing
Fascist grammar up

Or perhaps it was a dozen
Thesaurus-toting monkeys with a typewriter
Who broke into the warehouse
And after swinging from the rafters
Left their longings on the page.

Shakespeare it is not
And yet this phrase compels me
With its newly minted spark
Of awkward mangledness
Funny style I like
But oh to be happy pretty.

MarianV said...

Looking Back

Now I am so old that the past I remember
Has disappeared like something in a dream
That dissolves upon awakening or a book
Read once whose name has been forgotten.

I can remember the events of yesterday
And the day before, but the week and
Months have tip-toed off the scene and at
The edge of the horizon, the figures of
Years clutch their canes for support as
their eyes cloud over with disbelief and
that world vanishes forever..

How could a world, once so firm and solid
Just disappear? Those cities of the industrial
mid-west with their splendid down-towns, the
showcase department stores, towering office
buildings where the decisions of the world
were brought into being? The public squares
with monuments and statues, beautiful park-
like spaces celebrating every holiday? Are
they still locked in someone’s memory?

Once I had to reach up to hold my mother’s hand
As we approached Cleveland’s Public square,
Kitty-cornering around the Soldiers and Sailors
Monument as we hurried from the terminal Tower
Complex to the streetcar stop on St. Clair Avenue.
We had been visiting Higbee’s Christmas display,
A whole floor of holiday treats – my mother
Clutching a few bags, the important purchases
On the way to Delivery.

We had lingered on our downtown visit so that
We could see all the Christmas lights that blinked
On at twilight. Our time had been spent strolling
Down Euclid avenue where every store window was
Trying to out-do each other in amazing and original
Holiday themes. Strolling groups of carolers and
Musicians mingled with the shoppers and jolly men
In Santa suits held up cans for donations. A chill
Wind blew from Lake Erie, but we did not notice
It in the midst of all the holiday glitter.

Darkness fell as we rode in the street car,
But we would not have to walk up E. 120th.
Street in the dark. My father had driven
The car to Baum’s grocery store and was
Waiting for us at the street car stop and
He would drive us safely home.

Carolee said...

thanks for letting us post over here. :)

i tried 5 times at Poetic Asides. :(

according to the recipe: day 21 done!!!!

Kim said...

According to

the weather man, there will be thunderstorms
the allergist, the pollen count is high
the news, volcanic ash still disrupts flights
the Farmer’s Almanac, it’s waxing moon
the secretary, boss’s day means work
the driver, bridge’s under construction
the vet, some ticks carry lyme disease here
the coach, a trade for first-round draft choice
the kid, a well-oiled glove catches flies
the Mom, more flies are caught with honey glue
the Dad, the taxes go up every year
the poet, the blossoms scatter like jewels.

Kim Yvonne King

Very frustrated with the other blog. Tried from yesterday afternoon through today to no avail.
Thanks, Robert

S said...

Candelyn, I know that you asked Robert and he has lots of books that he recommends on Poetic Asides website--I really love Mary Oliver (a poet) and she has a good book on writing poetry. Also (I have to go home and look it up, there's another really wonderful survey of poetry writing distinguishing types etc. I'll post later. However, just writing from the heart you're doing a beautiful job..:-)

De Jackson said...

Candelyn, in the interest of just pure footloose and fancy free poetic fun, I recommend "Poemcrazy," by Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge.

De Jackson said...

THANK YOU to Sara V. I love your "Wisdom."

MarianV said...


According to the experts, those scientists who study
The movements of the earth down to its core,
This recent spate of earthquakes is not unusual,
Certainly not a reason for alarm.
And as we watch the pictures in our living rooms
Of victims in some devastated island nation
We try to aid them in their plight.
Though before the week is over another sight
Of shaken earth, a republic far to the south
Of where we dwell which also causes great
Waves of water on far off Asian shores.

Bad news from the middle East is nothing new.
Once again they’ve had a shake or two.
Asia, with its giant mountain cores
Also woefully familiar with unstable ground
Their building codes are not as good as ours,
We nervously re-assure ourselves. Is there
Something drawing closer day by day? Or
Does our advanced communication only
Make it seem that way?

Anonymous said...

Wow! Thank you S (Sara V-?) and De. This is great; your responses are very much appreciated.

I'll get back on later this evening in hopes to seeing Sara V's additional post and will also check out Poemcrazy and Mary Oliver.

Omavi Ndoto said...

"According to a Star"

We are less than a speck on the huge blanket
Called the sky
There are such things that are brighter, greater,
More illuminating molecules lived and died
In the millisecond between eyelid open closed
Numbers greater than quadrillions exist for
One quadrillion plus 1 times our 100 revolutions
Around the ball of fire that controls the switch
Of the breath we need to survive
Yet still ignorantly sneering at everything around
Claiming greatness we destroy damage defile
All that does not look equal in our eyes
Never even trying to understand the overwhelming
Knowledge even a moot of dust holds inside
Blindly thinking greatness comes from speech
An ability to reason that doesn’t include sight
Beyond the greedy yearnings that even viruses
Overcome to guarantee succession in the line
Eroding everything necessary for the continuation
Of this short story that humanity lies to itself is
Equal to the greatest of epics
And the youngest star never even noticed

“Omavi está muerto.®” Wednesday, April 21, 2010
©2010 Omavi Ndoto. All Rights Reserved.

Genevieve Fitzgerald said...

Thank you Robert!
Here are mine from yesterday and today:

Day 20: Looking Back (or not)

The saddest part about angry separation
Is the blip in my past
Where it swallowed
Good memories,
For surely there must have been some.

Day 21: According to

According to Miriam
She followed the recipe exactly
Halving everything
Since she and the twins
Didn’t want too many cookies
(We’ll just end out eating them all!)

According to my tongue
Miriam followed the recipe exactly
Except somehow half a half cup of sugar
Became a quarter cup
Of the other white granular stuff
(No worries about eating them all!)

Nancy said...

Yesterday and today (I tried about a thousand times to post. No luck. Do you think it could be virus? I get all these little "transferring data" messages across the bottom.

Today's poem;
According to Everyone Else

According to her granny, she had the Burgess bite,
but her other grandmother recognized her
family sneeze. According to her big brother,
she wasn’t really theirs; her parents had found
her abandoned in a ditch and felt pity.
According to her daddy, she asked far too many
questions—just like your mama—while her
mama thought she was the spitting image
of her Aunt Lil. According to her first grade
teacher, she was too quiet, but by second
grade, the teacher thought she should hush.
According to her high school guidance counselor
she was not college material and should consider
learning a trade—do hair or nails. Become a nurse.
According to her first boyfriend, nice girls did too;
and she learned from her next beau that he
had claimed she did anyway. According to
the Myers-Briggs, Rogers Indicators, and the
Strong-Campbell interest inventory, she would
be a perfect school bus driver, acrobat.

According to the last note she left, they were
all dead wrong.

Looking Back: Almost a Sonnet

Spare me the timely metaphors, she groans.
She’d lost her distant vision years ago;
now she needs drugstore glasses just to read
the phone book’s tiny print, the daily news.
Though never one to look too far ahead,
she’d often thought her hindsight served her well,
but lately she’d been slipping, losing threads
of conversation. Names she should have known
now hover taunting just beyond her grasp.
What happened last year, last month, yesterday,
now shift into amorphous, hazy forms.
What once brought pain’s now just a cold, dull ache.
The faces she once loved now merge as one.
Dark clouds obscure the view as she looks back.

PurpleinPortland said...

According to Dreams (Pantoum)

According to your wildest dreams
there is nothing that you cannot do
Play croquet against the Red queen
or sip tea from a cup cut in two.

There is nothing that you cannot do
grow taller nibbling a mushroom
or sip tea from a cup cut in two.
Cheshire cats grin like a crescent moon.

Grow taller nibbling a mushroom;
grow smaller by swallowing a pill.
Cheshire cats grin like a crescent moon
as the white rabbit runs up a hill.

Grow smaller by swallowing a pill.
Play croquet against the Red queen
as the white rabbit runs up a hill,
according to your wildest dreams.

Robert Lee Brewer said...

Here are a few quick references that I really like:

* Writing the Life Poetic, by Sage Cohen
* Leaping Poetry, by Robert Bly
* The Poetry Home Repair Manual, by Ted Kooser
* A Poetry Handbook, by Mary Oliver
* The Poetry Dictionary, by John Drury

Also, anyone interested in publishing their poetry should check out the 2010 Poet's Market, edited by moi.

Anonymous said...


Thank you for the list. I'll check them out/add them to my personal library.

Anonymous said...


Burgess bite? My last name is Burgess, so I was curious about the phrase you used.

Jodi said...

Nice one, Omavi.

lovebeatsthedemon said...

What A Resemblance...!!!

The Mirror Looks So Lonely,Sad,And Angry When Your Not There...
Broken But Smiles Back At Me With Double Vision Like You Have No One Here...
Shattered Pieces Of Despair Staring At A Hopeless Vision Wanting To Some It All Up And Make Things Clear...
Cutting Through The Diamond,Ruthlessly Rough As All The Hatred Is Stripped Bare...
Reflection Of Demons Vacant As They Disappear Into The Blissful Air...
Searching To Cut Off The Lifeline Of The Evil Stare...
I Winked And Grinned Back To The Ghost Sitting In My Rocking Chair...
The Mirror Turned Golden,Thats When You Knew My Heart Had No Fear...

Pain Looked Me In My Eyes And Cheered...
What A Resemblance...!!!

Darryl said...

PAD 20 (Looking back/looking forward poem)

Dust and Ash

Hands filled with dust and ash
relentless cycle of earth, moon, and sun.
What was once future blurs into past;
tendons ache as we try to hold on
to that which we cannot grasp
victimized by gravity
as life implodes upon itself
into a new sense of reality.

Darryl said...

Oh, and thanks Robert. Much better. I cannot post on the Poetic Asides site although I can on the Poetic Asides community. This is still much better.

lovebeatsthedemon said...

What A Resemblance...!!!

The Mirror Looks So Lonely,Sad,And Angry When Your Not There...
Broken But Smiles Back At Me With Double Vision Like You Have No One Here...
Shattered Pieces Of Despair Staring At A Hopeless Vision Wanting To Some It All Up And Make Things Clear...
Cutting Through The Diamond,Ruthlessly Rough As All The Hatred Is Stripped Bare...
Reflection Of Demons Vacant As They Disappear Into The Blissful Air...
Searching To Cut Off The Lifeline Of This Evil Stare...
I Winked And Grinned Back To The Ghost Sitting In My Rocking Chair...
The Mirror Turned Golden,Thats When I Knew My Heart Had No Fear...

Pain Looked Me In My Eyes And Cheered...

What A Resemblance...!!!

Melinda said...


I done the poem challenge last year and never heard anything so can I use my poems for other avenues to get published

Please email me asap

Thank you

Melinda Elmore

lovebeatsthedemon said...


She Stood For So Much Without A Ounce Of A Mistake
Her Tears Flowed Onto So Many Pillows,With So Much Pain To Take
The Wispers She Spoke Of Gave Beleife To So Many
The Thoughts She Possesed Saved Not One Soul But Any
So Passionate,So Flawless,So Patient
The Simplicty Of A Single Movement While Standing Still Was Amazing
Each Peice Of The Puzzle So Anxious To Shine In That Moment Of Clarity
Each Significance Of The Eternal Lament Yearning For That Peaceful Silence
Self Expression Begging That It Was Blessed With The Class She Had
Darkness Suffering Without That Illuminent Love That It Wanted So Bad
Can The Mission Be Acheived Before The Question Is Conceived
Without Our Grace Would We Be Able To Handle The Demise We Receive


Matt Blair said...

I'm posting my NaPoWriMo drafts here:

lovebeatsthedemon said...

Cum Wit Me,My Perfect Woman...!!!

Not a second of the day goes by that you aren't on my mind.
Awake I fantasize of your soft touch and soft lips touching mine.
You passionately consume my dream state.
Your beauty has my thoughts seduced.
Butterflies enter my bloodstream each and every time I see you.
Your beautiful smile and bedroom eyes has my soul hypnotized.
I visualize of holding you in my arms, sun up to sun down, morning, noon and night.

I could feel you.
I could taste you.
I want you.
So adorable, so classy, so sexy, a woman so perfect.
Cum with me.
Cum with me.
A woman so perfect.

Your presence fills all of eternity with sunshine.
Never have I laid my eyes on a precious being so fine.
My daydreams are addicted and surrounded by you.
So Glamorous, a Queen, a Mother, a Princess.
I know it would be easy falling in love with you.

I could feel you.
I could taste you.
I want you.
So adorable, so classy, so sexy, a woman so perfect.
Cum with me.
Cum with me.
A woman so perfect.

I want to create every climax you have inside.
Falling asleep inside of you when we are done making love all night.
Softly caressing every part of your flesh
You got a problem, my shoulder's here for you stress to rest.
My tongue gently massaging your body from your head to your toe's.
Inside and out,all of you I want to know!!!

I could feel you.
I could taste you.
I want you.
So adorable, so classy, so sexy, a woman so perfect.
Cum with me.
Cum with me.
A woman so perfect.

Soft kisses starting with your mind
Down to your ears, lips, neck, then chest.
Vanilla ice cream slowly getting licked off your stomach.
We both are shivering numb but this passion aint cold.
Going down further until your orgasm is running into my soul.
Are you ready to cum with me?

I could feel you.
I could taste you.
I want you.
So adorable, so classy, so sexy, a woman so perfect.
Cum with me.
Cum with me.
A woman so perfect.

S said...

This is from Sara V

De-Thank you!!

Candelyn, Wouldn't you know it? I can't find the poetry book I was looking for. (sorry to end with a preposition...) I'll keep looking.

Robert loved the "nature eating nature" line! Lovely images.

Down to Earth

Crumbly brown dry dirt
Black gooey wet
Making stripes
Under my fingernails
Sun overhead
Sweat trickles off
My temple
And drops
onto the earth
Returning the salt
Sprinkled on the
That I picked

Earth Space Continuum

Blue green spinner
In endless ebony
Surrounded by
Sprinkles of stars
Turquoise, red, green
Companion planets
A flamboyant star

S said...

Tried to post 5 times

Robert I used Firefox and Chrome. With Firefox, I cannot even see the code to enter. With Chrome I enter and it seems like it's going to go through (though it takes about 5-10 minutes to process) and then just comes up an asks me for the code again.

This morning after clicking on the comments section to post, it took about 5 minutes for it to come up, so while it loaded I came over to your blogspot and posted my poems.
I'll see what happens on the Poetic Asides site

S said...

went back to see and realized I did not give you all the info.
1. I'm on a PC
2. I don't receive an error message
3. I have a high speed internet connection
4. Time 10:47 Date 4/22/10
PS I think we should ask Walt what he's using, he seems to be the most successful :-)

S said...

Sara V here again--
Candelyn, the name of the book is:
Poem-Making by Myra Cohn Livingston

S said...

Tried 5 times (again)
Definitely cannot use Firefox because I can't see the code to enter
Used Chrome and didn't get an error message
Entered the code and it takes about 5 minutes for it to bring up the comments again
Your "header" comes up pretty quickly, but not the comments
11:00 to 11:18 AM 4/22/10
Thank you to the tech folks and you Robert
Sara V

Essa Bostone said...

Robert, so many thanks to you for letting us post here...being unable to post is almost worse than finding out you've run out of coffee while you're still in your pjs or whatever you don't wear to bed.


If it weren’t for the earth
Where would we be?
I hear that it’s hot on Mercury

There’s too much love on Venus
And war is waged on Mars
To get to the big guy named Jupiter
You have to pass many stars

It’s freakin’ cold on Saturn
Its moons number thirty-four
And you could ice-skate all day on Uranus
There’s just that, but nothing more

Poor little Pluto got kicked out
Of the line-up for number nine
When his path went awry
All over the sky
Though I hear he’s still doing fine

So for now we are staying on Gaia
Though we’re trying to find a way
To keep what we have and go after
Other spots in the Milky Way

I don’t think we’ll find any better
No matter how far we roam
Just like the beautiful good witch told Dot
There really is no place like home

Anonymous said...

Thank you Sara V. Wow. You were up late.

Essa Bostone said...

I think we all agree Robert's blog is so much cushier...even the fonts are easier to read for old eyes. And I love the title. I spend a lot of my life saying my name ain't Sue (as in a Boy Named....ala Johnny Cash) and it ain't Suzy (like a very spoiled nippy little white poodle I once knew and didn't love)

Can't thank you enough Robert!


Two dogs in morning
Eating cookies on a rug
Sunbeams are preferred

MarianV said...


In the chill of early morning
Dew drops decorate the clothesline
Like a string of tiny pearls.

Green clumps of leaves
Emerging in the garden
Have spread a little wider,
A little taller. They are almost
Ready to burst into blossoms.

The regiment of King Alfred daffodils
Stand ready to repulse any invaders
But already a swag of brambles swings
Across the path, showing off a row
Of buds opening into tiny prickly leaves.

At the edge of the woods, Bluebells
Are beginning to open, each bud reflecting
Tiny pieces of the sky.

Everything is bright with dew
Like the world has been sprinkled
With holy water,
Everything is blessed.

Carolee said...

hi! i sent you an email about the posting troubles. here is my earth poem for day #22

Barbara Ehrentreu said...

I sent you an email about my problem. To everyone else, it took me 10 tries and then the comment was deleted on the Poetic Asides website. Thank you Robert for this opportunity to post our poems here. I didn't do yesterday's, but I will later today. I do love the effortless way you chronicle a moment in your poems.:) Here is my poem for today:


My feet sink into the sand on the beach
The soil’s fertile loam nourishes brilliant flowers
along the fence.The air caresses my cheeks as
I walk along the water’s edge admiring
black billed ducks and the curve of swan’s
necks gliding along the surface of the water

Meanwhile on a rapidly diminishing ice floe
polar bears struggle to find food
their cubs hunted to the point of extinction
Baby seals are clubbed to death while their
mothers unable to destroy the predators
watch in horror

An oil rig has an explosion creating an oil slick
sure to destroy helpless sea creatures swimming
by the alien structure. In rainforests loggers cut a swath
through the majestic trees cutting the air supply
of millions for years. Meanwhile people cry for the
preservation of our animals and our land

The earth is our home
Would you allow someone to come into
your house and kill your children
destroy your plants, spill oil on your carpet
and in your bathwater?

The earth exists, though there are questions as to why or how
It isn’t pleasant everywhere. She has her problems, such as
erupting volcanoes, hurricanes slamming down trees, noreasters
shattering glass and uprooting trees,earthquakes burying thousands
creating ruins in seconds.

It’s earth
We accept her faults like we would a loved one
always ready to love her.
But are we ready to kick the butts of anyone
who won’t preserve her goodness?
We are the caretakers of earth and must stand
guard with drawn swords when anyone tries to
lay waste to her.

PurpleinPortland said...

Ways in Which Earth is Used

He’s the salt of the earth
She’s an earth mother type
The good earth is not always fertile,
but it contains the greatest show.
The aliens said to the earthlings,
“This book is called, How To Serve Man.”
Here I sit patiently waiting
for the meek to inherit the earth,
hoping for an end to the quaking.

PurpleinPortland said...

Brian Slusher: Don't know if you will get a chance to see this comment,
but your According To poem had me hysterical. Excellent!

Korie said...

The Maps Were Right

The Pirate Ferdinand Del Ray
Decided that he would one day
Commission a brave and rowdy crew
To sail across the ocean blue

Ferdinand had a lust for fame,
A crazy streak no one could tame,
His ship, it was his joy and pride,
And he lifted anchor with the tide

They sailed for days and nights on end
The sun did rise and then descend
Over the endless stretch of brine
Until one eve they saw a line.

Yes, a line that stretched out of sight
Endlessly both left and right
And that was not all there was in store
For then the crew heard the growing roar

Of water rushing off a massive cliff
And sure enough, the ship went with
And Ferdinand thought, "How 'bout that,
The maps were right, the world is flat!"

AC Leming said...

According to silence

the silence
between us
screams louder
than words

AC Leming said...

Oh, yeah, that's kimik = ac leming

Stephanie Barbe Hammer said...

Hi -- here is my earth poem for April 22nd. Tried to post repeatedly. thanks!


last night we spoke of deserts
how the middleast has become
the wild west a place situated
as savage and that we -- will tame
with guns and oil. we being the
disinherited, now become cowboys
and settlers with guns. we spoke
of roses and how they seem to bloom
well on the edge of deserts when they
are near to the sea. we spoke to a lady
about southern california and water and
culture, and we spoke of money, and of houses
and of land. then we parked
and you said look at those cacti
spindly and strange. and a bird
perched on the frame of the car
cocking its head at this strangely
ground where surprising ideas
of peace startle us with
their plenitude.

Mary said...

Instead of one long poem, I wrote several very short "Earth" poems. I tried probaby 50 times to put them in the blog with my own computer, but ended up giving up and giving them to someone else, who has more luck with posting, either. Maybe I will try later, but for now 3 hours of trying is enough. Here they are:


After a hard winter,
There is nothing like
the feel of the warm earth
between my fingers
at flower planting time.


Frst tulip that emerges
is always the most
beautiful of the season.


Why is it that the nasty
crow has the loudest call
and the peaceful robin
little voice at all?


Late April, and not all trees have
budded. I look around , wonder
worry that some ever will. Perhaps
they didn't survive. I wait, watch,
hope. Winters are harsh, life fragile.


Spring grass is always greenest, not
baked by the mid-summer sun. Newly
emerging it reminds me of life's renewal.


Earth's spring season, every day better
than the day before, every day greener,
with more colorful flowers, eggs laid,
babies born, hope renewed each year.


Oh how I love the earth and its bounty,
which gifts us unselishly without asking
anything in return except that we take care
of it, renew its gifts when possible, enjoy
and be thankful to God who created all.


Anonymous said...


A narrow log bridge crosses over a dark
pond, the raindrops falling on the water make
a pattern of bullseyes. There is nothing else
except an oak tree where a heron sits in the
metal-colored early morning.

A nurse delivers medicine, looks out the
window, tells me it's mating season. As
I swallow, she tells me it's not such a big
deal once you've seen it a few times.

The oak tree sprawls its limbs above the
pond, but it's the heron I see. The kink of
his long, grey neck curls like the letter S.

He lets out several husky squawks before
folding his long, slaty wings back into
himself. He is not like other birds.
Maybe it's the way he sits, so patiently
all morning, anticipating love.

--Christina Hile

Jodi said...

Earth’s conveyor belt, the ocean, is

Always moving her changing ecosystems, in

Rotation, while her atmosphere is

Terrorized by the burgeoning

Human population, the overwhelming majority

Damning themselves and generations to come

Aware only of their own needs,

Yet constantly complaining of climate chaos.

Unknown said...


Everything under the sun,
Anything with a spark of life,
Resides on planet Earth.
There is no other place for us.
Humans must treat her well.

Darryl said...

PAD 21 (According to)

According to the Coal Miner

Digging in the darkness of Donbass
is no easy task. You descend
a thousand meters, into the womb of the world,
and midwife coal. I know each day could be
my last and the mine my sepulcher.
I suppose life beneath the surface
made me see beneath the surface of things,
perhaps even into the things of the spirit.
Who knows? I am just a simple miner:
a digger bound to the tools of an era
past, who remembers the names of the dead.
There was once a time when a shaft
of life penetrated deep into
this heart of darkness and I recognized
the faces of the living, the nameless children
of those whose names I recalled. Now
I dig in another place: the heart of a child
Once I was a midwife of earth
but now I witness the birth of heaven.

Darryl said...

PAD 22

Unmended Things

The earth is a living thing
and we are living with it.
The earth is a broken thing
and we are broken with it.
And so the healing of the earth
is tied to our own.
But creation cannot be cured
by those who are ill .
Unmended things cannot mend.

marigolds2 said...

Well, holy smokes - can you possibly read all this stuff? What I'm doing here is posting a link to the blog I just made for my PAD poems, since I have no idea about Twitter and hashtags and so forth. I'll be sending in five of them in a few days, but just wanted to get this on record. The blog is Poetic License, and the link is

S said...

I read about the comment on the blogosphere voting page and I am DEEPLY offended. First of all who died and made her goddess of all that is "good poetry?"
Second you write beautiful poetry and have done so much for poets in general and in particular this poet's soul. You gave us a forum, you gave us community, you celebrate poetry every day of April and November and every Wed in between. You work your tail off to provide us all with interesting people that you interview, interesting prompts, you twitter, you facebook, I don't know how you do all you do. It exhausts me to think about it (look, there's a poem I could have done!)
You totally completely abso-floggin-lutely deserve to be poet of the blogosphere and the universe! As the Latin scholars said "illegidimi non carburendum" We, and all others in the blogosphere are blessed to have you.

Mike Fedel said...

Day 22 - prompt is earth

The Denver Mint

Earlier today, between the phone call
scheduling this weekend's family outing and
the phone call telling me they were done
replacing my brake pads, I walked out into
the parking lot.

Along the back edge of the parking lot was
a line of trees. They stood not unlike sentries
protecting our Intellectual Property
from prying eyes. Maybe. Maybe they housed spies.
Who knows?

I noticed something shiny in the dirt. I picked it up
and rubbed the dirt off between my fingers. It felt good
to feel that gritty feeling. I raised it to my nose,
smelled the slightly damp earth. I was standing
in my grandpa's garden,
the huge forty by sixty foot rectangle across the alley
behind his house. He built the house,
they dug the basement themselves, him and her.
He always had ripe tomatoes. Sometimes, he let me spray the
soapy water on the green plants. It kept the bugs off.
That was before they invented chemicals, I guess. It worked
just as well. Probably better. There were no
dead rabbits in his garden
dead from eating poison
that kept the bugs away.

The penny had a small D. It must have been from
the Denver mint. I looked down at Abe's face. He was

as usual.

I thought about Abe Lincoln. I thought about the
Civil War. About slavery. About chemicals. I thought
and thought
and thought.
Then I put the penny in my pocket
and went back into the building.

I will think a lot today
to prepare for my three o'clock meeting
then at the meeting
then recapping the meeting

that will not keep the bugs out of my garden

Egnar T. Seinnhoj said...


We live in a times new roman.
Embeded with any sound or sight we can think of
at our fingertips. We have arial access
to just about any information you can think of.
And info you cant imagine.
Help 24/7. Online courier.
Indians with faux names.But wait,
Spellcheck this out, people can learn anything
but waste every opportunity just to create
false identities.
With PCi & ethernet we can be whoever we want.
So long as we're plugged in.
Criminals can be normal, normals can be criminal.
Busty blonde beauties leave the keyboards lonely.
Activating sticky keys.
Dressing up for friend requests,
commenting on the most pointless things in hopes
of being considered KEWL by someone you don't know.
Following is uber kewl lulz.
Our typing becomes very clear
as text must be, in order
to fully and correctly express our emoticons.
Pretty soon, this will be all we have.
This will be our world. Just a grid. No more life.
Only plants of power and HTMLephants.