tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39007217383397483432024-03-04T22:20:16.736-06:00Creative CornerMy little corner of the internet to share my poetry and prose. Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.comBlogger326125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-3199034006660200382023-04-30T08:33:00.003-05:002023-04-30T08:34:23.172-05:00 Day 30 PAD 2023<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivY2ZCYn9Ag7PwWDk9pPRvc-cSNFoK8t0-EvuinYk8h4LU-QctkCF-EUqkG-FoJTCygVaBK8kRPBlfK9DShTtxE6j83sBKkIp7GexNBI-5mTxG-TanBOyvQZmiKphbRyvvtzJg-NwLIzcedrViR91WCJ_r8pbnk4Kxo2ZgHJMZIJtKfRRipeOT6pOA/s2240/Again.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivY2ZCYn9Ag7PwWDk9pPRvc-cSNFoK8t0-EvuinYk8h4LU-QctkCF-EUqkG-FoJTCygVaBK8kRPBlfK9DShTtxE6j83sBKkIp7GexNBI-5mTxG-TanBOyvQZmiKphbRyvvtzJg-NwLIzcedrViR91WCJ_r8pbnk4Kxo2ZgHJMZIJtKfRRipeOT6pOA/w400-h225/Again.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />“Again”<br /><br />Surprise, you’re just not good enough - again.<br />The stage lights shine through the cracks<br />of your armor. The faults can’t be held back,<br />fear and doubt mix like a spring hurricane.<br />Surprise, you’re just not good enough - again.<br /><br />You feel the rumbling of hope on the tracks.<br />Turn in anticipation, adjust the backpack<br />you carry your future in, to see a runaway train.<br />Surprise, you’re just not good enough - again.<br /><br />A lucky step saves you, a flashback<br />whirls in your ears of times you unpacked<br />hope with trembling hands, but in vain.<br />Surprise, you’re just not good enough - again.<br /><br />You feel the gravel in your sole, falling back<br />to here and now, the horizon turning black<br />as the dust on your coat of arms. Nothing but pain.<br />Surprise, you’re just not good enough - again.<br /><br />Poetic Form: Dansa</span></p><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-67414773750424994882023-04-29T12:11:00.002-05:002023-04-29T12:11:19.296-05:00Day 29 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6NYEYM1XYOpsLZ7KxQBnToDf2y5QINuQIV83l7XrrwI05zoxz9Lb1O588i7TLji7Lk0t38XfE9c7YUjeq0ZJjUWNW3yQDdCGAU0YVax9KWM-8Bq3GpV0yV_a0aWfobzjD7I7pMjikBBFOXWAqak8390zVyrVBuHl5xnPBM1GhxGKltWfyTYuGrqmN/s2240/I%20am%20here.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6NYEYM1XYOpsLZ7KxQBnToDf2y5QINuQIV83l7XrrwI05zoxz9Lb1O588i7TLji7Lk0t38XfE9c7YUjeq0ZJjUWNW3yQDdCGAU0YVax9KWM-8Bq3GpV0yV_a0aWfobzjD7I7pMjikBBFOXWAqak8390zVyrVBuHl5xnPBM1GhxGKltWfyTYuGrqmN/w400-h225/I%20am%20here.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">“I am Here”<br /><br />I watch my shadow move in front of me, the wind, still angry from winter, assaults my face. My stride is still as quick as my youth, just not as strong as my shadowed legs wobble with another burst from mother nature. For a second I feel my presence cutout of the air around me. I am here. The world is beneath my feet. The wind has to move around me. My gumline stings as I smile. My shadow reflects my existence on the concrete. I am the moment. But then my shadow moves without me, and now I am trying to catch back up with the day.<br /><br /><br />Poetic Form: Prose</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-31909922695921736352023-04-28T20:12:00.002-05:002023-04-28T20:12:35.292-05:00Day 28 PAD 2023<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZl1_I-G12laApPj5X4kzKawuf6IBxmzLue2_uZGPmeu2GktbCU7ZBnx733OAKfMsPZU0-iIvoAWwz8_XGkg6_dfteOob1QiWD0yN74pz0FaTcoTlO7DTyQq4I2l7Y4dYPCMa4LOpwsFEVw-l9A5xw11DB4ETSwvHKrC7aYB0w5o7ilsIcbnTfLFBf/s2240/Forgotten.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZl1_I-G12laApPj5X4kzKawuf6IBxmzLue2_uZGPmeu2GktbCU7ZBnx733OAKfMsPZU0-iIvoAWwz8_XGkg6_dfteOob1QiWD0yN74pz0FaTcoTlO7DTyQq4I2l7Y4dYPCMa4LOpwsFEVw-l9A5xw11DB4ETSwvHKrC7aYB0w5o7ilsIcbnTfLFBf/w400-h225/Forgotten.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">"You are Forgotten"<br /><br />There are unnumbered days,<br />lost between pages not read.<br />It hurts when you are forgotten.<br /><br />Chalked boxes on cracked driveways,<br />are as faded as a past lovers’ touch<br />There are unnumbered days<br /><br />we keep in locked journals packed away.<br />Desires written with cursive initials,<br />lost between pages not read.<br /><br />And you find that the world doesn't stop<br />spinning, no matter the number for today.<br />It hurts when you are forgotten.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Poetic Form: Cascade</span></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-70551078302777635352023-04-27T19:12:00.008-05:002023-04-27T19:12:53.435-05:00Day 27 PAD 2023<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZOcbgmCdd9ips1vU15-9cVG8ExbfXRwoU33eVqpx__w8DMbYypUiYO4sVFwHCLzhYqF237euPjpUrQfU2XOXie893qyn1iYd3eiyTMwcJ7395dxuixEahxuSanrJjzys2RQXr2jd8E4fhfAc75LcmqOmMawP4P3jbso-uQY1sLWHvIv21pfAbGgZ/s2240/Rains.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZOcbgmCdd9ips1vU15-9cVG8ExbfXRwoU33eVqpx__w8DMbYypUiYO4sVFwHCLzhYqF237euPjpUrQfU2XOXie893qyn1iYd3eiyTMwcJ7395dxuixEahxuSanrJjzys2RQXr2jd8E4fhfAc75LcmqOmMawP4P3jbso-uQY1sLWHvIv21pfAbGgZ/w400-h225/Rains.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />“When it rains…”<br /><br />It pours forth second<br />chances to redeem our hearts.<br />If we would only<br />let the rain drench all that is,<br />instead of running away.<br /><br />Poetic Form: Waka</span></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-31254010466969412632023-04-26T12:15:00.000-05:002023-04-26T12:15:35.652-05:00Day 26 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_N5CyXOZ7LnhvAHikUE21XdkraHHzSQKa6drr6Ou7FAZbQTFZ7ZLml0dGSEWcEbwSvkVWR896C7jpi1Od8vD7RCt22hwqqTxenqm5bxKMINCtqDTqg9bYRcvfefUZUUzTWUuyhu1jjEqKXIIilQMrQIKZpECXm2eD31JXK48-hEerdZafK5yowu2-/s1640/Used%20to%20Love.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_N5CyXOZ7LnhvAHikUE21XdkraHHzSQKa6drr6Ou7FAZbQTFZ7ZLml0dGSEWcEbwSvkVWR896C7jpi1Od8vD7RCt22hwqqTxenqm5bxKMINCtqDTqg9bYRcvfefUZUUzTWUuyhu1jjEqKXIIilQMrQIKZpECXm2eD31JXK48-hEerdZafK5yowu2-/w400-h225/Used%20to%20Love.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br />“Used to Love”<br /><br /><i>After - Parachute’s “What I Know”</i></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Every time the path turns, I'm<br />lost again. Returning to find another him in<br />your arms. You promise me it’s not love,<br />and I believe. Taping my heart with<br />the way you smile. Then you found someone<br />to walk down the aisle with. What else<br />could I do? You became a she<br />I used to love. But that’s not what my heart said.<br /><br />Poetic Form: Golden Shovel</span></p><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-62065623321104018422023-04-25T13:15:00.004-05:002023-04-26T12:06:15.846-05:00Day 25 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-w-NkDLJ4iqkjq3TyPhxr1_FjBGT90lPEEQZ9SeRS5483MWUSr1BVrLkxpkFMQttlqbf5UN4TmUKuCZNE1QCH-_7bpnamLvbFBkKXdp5LOQt8CWXIj3HMTI2jgA_vYyQnXGJqG0ubUDEauFC__FXVDMOj1EAdGm9r423UpSKCqIYdjUkKeqTkAj5/s1640/A%20dream.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-w-NkDLJ4iqkjq3TyPhxr1_FjBGT90lPEEQZ9SeRS5483MWUSr1BVrLkxpkFMQttlqbf5UN4TmUKuCZNE1QCH-_7bpnamLvbFBkKXdp5LOQt8CWXIj3HMTI2jgA_vYyQnXGJqG0ubUDEauFC__FXVDMOj1EAdGm9r423UpSKCqIYdjUkKeqTkAj5/w400-h225/A%20dream.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />“Just a dream?”<br /><br />The road is lonely at night<br />as the mind departs from life.<br />Rewriting the script from the<br />hours I spent trying to sift through the strife.<br /><br />I walk on paths filled with stars.<br />Friends move in step as we walk<br />then they fade away into<br />trees, a forest rising around me. A hawk<br /><br />gives me its feathers, strong and<br />beautiful. I run, take off,<br />finding flight to be just as<br />lonely as walking. I decide to cut-off<br /><br />my wings, falling back to the<br />starry path, a crash landing.<br />Blood dripping from the old wounds.<br />The forest sways. I feel my fear expanding.<br /><br />Poetic Form: Endecha</span></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-27484755665564111412023-04-24T10:40:00.002-05:002023-04-24T10:41:10.432-05:00Day 24 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggT8U_E8MlizinVUqkbUxJ5cWVu-5JI9oR-6JFPZB-_3V66Ht-I7c7xisktUSKvRQ3A31kiDroDjviNz9I5zUPsLX249YIb3VWY84CTOhTKpoGhjcmkktbW54NARIcS8sicOj0vhNgsgO4JsyX_eNUyX3pZ3euzLYFX85mRSjf_Oi2hVM95LcNScBP/s1640/Voice(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggT8U_E8MlizinVUqkbUxJ5cWVu-5JI9oR-6JFPZB-_3V66Ht-I7c7xisktUSKvRQ3A31kiDroDjviNz9I5zUPsLX249YIb3VWY84CTOhTKpoGhjcmkktbW54NARIcS8sicOj0vhNgsgO4JsyX_eNUyX3pZ3euzLYFX85mRSjf_Oi2hVM95LcNScBP/w400-h225/Voice(1).png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div>Poem for day 24 of the poem a day challenge. Prompts form Writer's Digest.</div>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-81605471756979344512023-04-23T16:39:00.007-05:002023-04-23T16:39:36.357-05:00Day 23 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWV_C-btfUV4Oa32ZOHB5UJl9oCL5hVy6mgHiiHeknAEUr_FTG0tNGpSzHCz0TnPOyKjd8N41YdbRQbiOaMItQL2sRgF9ZNqpk5_HoKWcDpZui82i-MKa4sb2aCF3FlPeTJPeKqiPzRhKKLIeA8XKoSfU4u4JJyPZfycc4rueFCjvp0t0QHaTA7Qax/s2240/Fear.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWV_C-btfUV4Oa32ZOHB5UJl9oCL5hVy6mgHiiHeknAEUr_FTG0tNGpSzHCz0TnPOyKjd8N41YdbRQbiOaMItQL2sRgF9ZNqpk5_HoKWcDpZui82i-MKa4sb2aCF3FlPeTJPeKqiPzRhKKLIeA8XKoSfU4u4JJyPZfycc4rueFCjvp0t0QHaTA7Qax/w400-h225/Fear.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br />“Fear …”<br /><br />Fear frames<br />Faith<br />For family<br />For friends<br /><br />Fear freezes fortune<br />Falling feathers<br />Found<br />Frozen<br /><br />Fear forges<br />Fangs<br />For feeding<br />For fading<br /><br />Fear finds fame<br />Favorite<br />Fist<br />Falling<br /><br />Forgiveness forgotten<br />Face facts<br />Fear…<br /><br />Poetic Form: Tautogram</span></p><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-8376235322639087022023-04-22T10:48:00.004-05:002023-04-22T10:48:32.775-05:00Day 22 PAD 2023<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj518fgOaP2fmYUy3qB4VsDSonFdcfRkbBVd1xRYCGaf_DIlKdsBDPkF7m1F8AqDg7TMFa4BZy8cQ3kxbzEeXHo-D2xU3yGn9JTR4_mRrWYIEuDnsjJ_ZxV0eFeMMNqzwfPvnN4TXiKiaxwCVMqd8cl4juqMMKQTkzEzpJ_8EqRc-_rr3y7zxbdc_Q6/s1640/What%20of%20a%20Breath.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj518fgOaP2fmYUy3qB4VsDSonFdcfRkbBVd1xRYCGaf_DIlKdsBDPkF7m1F8AqDg7TMFa4BZy8cQ3kxbzEeXHo-D2xU3yGn9JTR4_mRrWYIEuDnsjJ_ZxV0eFeMMNqzwfPvnN4TXiKiaxwCVMqd8cl4juqMMKQTkzEzpJ_8EqRc-_rr3y7zxbdc_Q6/w400-h225/What%20of%20a%20Breath.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><br /><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“What of a Breath?”<br /><br />What of a breath? The first - the last<br />and all the ones in between that<br />we forget to count as we live<br />without guarantee of the next?<br /><br />Hands shaking, chest too tight to breathe.<br />What of a breath? The first - the last.<br />Years of sweat and tears coming due.<br />Sweet taste of air when dreams arrive.<br /><br />The one held before the first kiss<br />then lost when she smiles goodnight.<br />What of a breath? The first - the last.<br />Moments that change your views of life.<br /><br />Holding hands as life fades away.<br />Too many questions to ask but<br />knowing that all you have is now.<br />What of a breath? The first - the last.<br /><br />Poetic Form: Quatern</span></p><br />Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-44412468198339136412023-04-21T08:44:00.007-05:002023-04-21T08:44:53.103-05:00Day 21 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlrTVQCLJGcWwghRcdeZmZBnOSKzDnepV4VDxBp1OYkgcjYY0HC-WAqijQephmhiPqyhD1_wW4aB4VpbdeLDe_VI55RvbZ2cj7m7mCAJ40i7w5rbhC1Z0lx6bD8nAJOUfNquVX8KO8eyKVN0zDydxIeuH95ShqduX7aY_q6af8YfTd6li_1xCwzND/s1640/Six%20Words.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlrTVQCLJGcWwghRcdeZmZBnOSKzDnepV4VDxBp1OYkgcjYY0HC-WAqijQephmhiPqyhD1_wW4aB4VpbdeLDe_VI55RvbZ2cj7m7mCAJ40i7w5rbhC1Z0lx6bD8nAJOUfNquVX8KO8eyKVN0zDydxIeuH95ShqduX7aY_q6af8YfTd6li_1xCwzND/w400-h225/Six%20Words.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Special challenge from prompt: write six six-word poems, each using one of the above words.<br /><br />He<br />pulls back<br />love’s broken bow.<br /><br />Nothing<br />leans like<br />a child’s eyes.<br /><br />The<br />day breaks<br />on empty park.<br /><br />Demons<br />saw free<br />our deepest fears.<br /><br />She<br />tears a<br />poem for her.<br /><br />Wounds<br />don’t heal.<br />They only change.<br /><br />Poetic Form: Hay(na)ku</span></p><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-62874818898441406682023-04-20T08:41:00.000-05:002023-04-20T08:41:00.600-05:00Day 20 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxAu-qDdZp6PAS2ppkPVN_EMtozrMFZmOymIkCEPJh2EHBxh6BngYFYyHVOlxJs1DMjTAGI5epjE9NG-kUG9vQkoqfgiyqNU0CJJlnal6lBtjjAEovkyY8RF6mW2IggInEk82oL-Igfqd37uP6SrwMePGyB9wTpi2ELgD7yOWT9iz0S2Bwj9kyrT6v/s2240/Fox%20Answer.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxAu-qDdZp6PAS2ppkPVN_EMtozrMFZmOymIkCEPJh2EHBxh6BngYFYyHVOlxJs1DMjTAGI5epjE9NG-kUG9vQkoqfgiyqNU0CJJlnal6lBtjjAEovkyY8RF6mW2IggInEk82oL-Igfqd37uP6SrwMePGyB9wTpi2ELgD7yOWT9iz0S2Bwj9kyrT6v/w400-h225/Fox%20Answer.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">“A Fox’s Answer”<br /><br />The sun draws back the blanket<br />of the night from a banquet<br />of flowers in a field still<br />with dew, until a bandit<br /><br />robs the morning of silence.<br />A flash of red in violets’<br />purple, strikes a joyful chord.<br />A fox lord, in defiance<br /><br />of the questions I have come<br />to ask the sun. An outcome<br />that is now in doubt. I’m lost<br />in the softness, yet still numb<br /><br />from fate’s decisions for my<br />life. The fox stops, looks, its eyes<br />answers questions I do not<br />ask. It trots back toward the sky.<br /><br />Poetic Form: Englyn Cyrch</span></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-62832386036163000762023-04-19T12:54:00.003-05:002023-04-19T12:57:17.174-05:00Day 19 PAD 2023<p> </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRg4pjNT7bTyzuHDc9d_VTfthm0gi81xkDtexaVGLBQGFWehu0Vnsw8kwRcgYlrlcIgRBbW1UK7lutaFo-NoIPnLOS8biBNlUsNBaSPeaHkfOj3EbnUfRxh9b7b7UB2QDTkMzhSHKQY_94a9Ovl-mFvZe1Hj-DTbZ6DWjLIjEA4cO52SAJ5hS155o2/s2240/Back%20Home.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRg4pjNT7bTyzuHDc9d_VTfthm0gi81xkDtexaVGLBQGFWehu0Vnsw8kwRcgYlrlcIgRBbW1UK7lutaFo-NoIPnLOS8biBNlUsNBaSPeaHkfOj3EbnUfRxh9b7b7UB2QDTkMzhSHKQY_94a9Ovl-mFvZe1Hj-DTbZ6DWjLIjEA4cO52SAJ5hS155o2/w400-h225/Back%20Home.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br />“Back Home”<br /><br />So this is what goodbye taste like, saline mixed<br />with what could have been. My eyes water, transfixed<br />by the way the sky is turning blue. It won’t fix<br /><br />the darkness of questions that sit in my throat,<br />scratching my palate with history’s dust motes<br />stirred when we went searching for life’s anecdote.<br /><br />Pictures of your love story, faded, vintage<br />moments of youth. Smiles, with salted glass ridges.<br />Photos of life lived, now a waning image.<br /><br />We let laughter fall between the tears we share<br />with the knowledge that too soon one of these chairs<br />will be empty. We swallow tomorrow’s prayer.<br /><br />Poetic Form: Stornello</span></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-89201788628832248702023-04-19T11:50:00.002-05:002023-04-19T11:50:48.009-05:00Day 18 PAD 2023<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu35OEzOkx_fQTWC4-8uoAZEAWQ5zw0eHXmCoJAfWHpPoI1oaaXYUbxSsBIY92uS6njxm7mBdoBOmHUmT5fjQP82sqHC2gPGWSiqK4JFVQkse5AMSh_hBYrgM4KFR-TEyBLka4nOkjtsqBh-Q0yNlVNC2Pi0KH-wU5C1XMPsW9uhJcdQ_kw3QWOrUT/s2240/Another%20Storm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu35OEzOkx_fQTWC4-8uoAZEAWQ5zw0eHXmCoJAfWHpPoI1oaaXYUbxSsBIY92uS6njxm7mBdoBOmHUmT5fjQP82sqHC2gPGWSiqK4JFVQkse5AMSh_hBYrgM4KFR-TEyBLka4nOkjtsqBh-Q0yNlVNC2Pi0KH-wU5C1XMPsW9uhJcdQ_kw3QWOrUT/w400-h225/Another%20Storm.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />“Another Storm”<br /><br />The night is filled with a thunder<br />that troubles my dreams. I wonder<br />if my sins are reaching<br />for my soul. Calling me to pay<br />for all the times I couldn’t stay.<br />The lightning beseeching<br /><br />me to bend my knees to receive<br />retribution for hearts deceived.<br />I toss and turn under<br />the blanket of an ignorance,<br />of wanting more like Icarus.<br />Now my heart asunder.<br /><br />The rain doesn’t care for my plea.<br />It only wants to share the debris<br />I left on the streets of<br />lovers’ hopes of life together.<br />A reminder, from this weather,<br />that I promised them love.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Poetic Form: Rime Couee</span></p> Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-41232751295829510552023-04-17T13:24:00.007-05:002023-04-17T13:24:48.132-05:00Day 17 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3U8asyK6DW7M_Y7SJclxVGEB_Qa2udSP-65YI1Umee1s7WgNwgLNgSxzhyTWCu87v0l97h7EzhRpeXJVZbtceG8hq1LrzDe2IFGEBvATI6irKToGT26oFjt99oRwniXIFXcdX1K6aMxgP31CMAkp6jIOiqr_K15pfyjO-geEJXxNnr17Mc9DZt42Y/s2240/The%20Night.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3U8asyK6DW7M_Y7SJclxVGEB_Qa2udSP-65YI1Umee1s7WgNwgLNgSxzhyTWCu87v0l97h7EzhRpeXJVZbtceG8hq1LrzDe2IFGEBvATI6irKToGT26oFjt99oRwniXIFXcdX1K6aMxgP31CMAkp6jIOiqr_K15pfyjO-geEJXxNnr17Mc9DZt42Y/w400-h225/The%20Night.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span></p><p><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">“The Night”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Ignite nerves.<br />Candles burn flames<br />dancing, reflecting curves.<br />Skin seeking<br />kisses<br />seeking skin.<br />Curves reflecting dancing.<br />Flames burn candles,<br />nerves ignite.<br /><br /><br />Poetic Form: Palindrome</span></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-89962228534229897092023-04-16T22:17:00.003-05:002023-04-16T22:19:20.838-05:00Day 16 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6eyJ00vA3_bgdgHS72JeKcu2i4DpiyL03u54N6LztAFnGXsGz0EMxHqWgzXIwChCWr20f6eNadHTg2ybvKXgml2GGL3mYynMJIF0beUchm1eoUVw65_Ac-A9bQ9MsX56K-AKrDK-CY2ywi7tYyfA3TPxj4My854uVYQw54JlkQls2y20QzbfKrf0e/s1640/Memory.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6eyJ00vA3_bgdgHS72JeKcu2i4DpiyL03u54N6LztAFnGXsGz0EMxHqWgzXIwChCWr20f6eNadHTg2ybvKXgml2GGL3mYynMJIF0beUchm1eoUVw65_Ac-A9bQ9MsX56K-AKrDK-CY2ywi7tYyfA3TPxj4My854uVYQw54JlkQls2y20QzbfKrf0e/w400-h225/Memory.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />“The Worth of a Memory”<br /><br />The pictures were spread out<br />on the table we sat at for years.<br />Many of them faded, tinted like<br />a filter. We got lost in their history.<br /><br />Seeing their love change with tears<br />of laughter. Hair and glasses revealing<br />the styles of the day. Her eyes started<br />to fill with the pain of this new mystery.<br /><br />A question of why, that the photographs<br />would not answer for any of us. A heart<br />can only take so much, and her’s broke<br />as she grabbed a few photos swiftly,<br /><br />“What good are,” as she tore them apart,<br />“memories now?” she asked through the fear.<br /><br />Poetic Form: Bref Double</span></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-38337743449272095862023-04-16T22:09:00.003-05:002023-04-16T22:10:41.682-05:00Day 15 PAD 2023<p> </p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvvpikyLfSa9zMnHosnR_vZSClUuqZ0G3OraLH81l-7nuZ1nkxE9uz05ArvoInjMyzlK7l3L8Fn-JtIn6vA7V6kQMwkNlj0QD25fVPG3RyYTfuEVIoCVlpc4h-HlG28jjyqft9tklg6LmhEq7GW5EvveN_gIzU8Obs6tGmZbOeF_c-hoYGbDeKKXW/s2240/Shadow.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvvpikyLfSa9zMnHosnR_vZSClUuqZ0G3OraLH81l-7nuZ1nkxE9uz05ArvoInjMyzlK7l3L8Fn-JtIn6vA7V6kQMwkNlj0QD25fVPG3RyYTfuEVIoCVlpc4h-HlG28jjyqft9tklg6LmhEq7GW5EvveN_gIzU8Obs6tGmZbOeF_c-hoYGbDeKKXW/w400-h225/Shadow.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><i><span style="font-size: medium;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span></i><p></p><p><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">"Shadow"<br /><br />Memories flow across my heart<br />Like the shadow of a stratus cloud on<br />The foothills of Wyoming<br />Darkening the budding sage<br />And grass<br />Hiding the early spring sun<br />Until the winds of time pushes<br />The memory away<br />And for a moment<br />A short-horned lizard<br />Pauses on stone<br />Eyes closed<br />Feeling the change of the season<br />Scurrying away<br />As another memories’s shadow<br />Crosses the landscape.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Poetic Form: Free Verse</span></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-53075893417257369302023-04-14T08:31:00.002-05:002023-04-14T08:31:39.969-05:00Day 14 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeg49Fm65M83cBnA6k5WGJVHypHWxzG2ClPwk_C8IVYNKl9qEoY0qF2SpBnNN9kc9e7hdxogxI4dFwWCCNjYNTnaPvPCXazEiOJQqv-bCmIF3ivrKL984_ID9cn-a_JUdOP6D4GCepT9uH2yPzkL6CPu_k2smUpE0pktgsDbhsVhsoWIfFl7ox-oA/s1640/Voice.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeg49Fm65M83cBnA6k5WGJVHypHWxzG2ClPwk_C8IVYNKl9qEoY0qF2SpBnNN9kc9e7hdxogxI4dFwWCCNjYNTnaPvPCXazEiOJQqv-bCmIF3ivrKL984_ID9cn-a_JUdOP6D4GCepT9uH2yPzkL6CPu_k2smUpE0pktgsDbhsVhsoWIfFl7ox-oA/w400-h225/Voice.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Poem for day 14 of the poem a day challenge. Prompts form Writer's Digest.</p><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-75346214427002227602023-04-13T10:16:00.003-05:002023-04-13T12:56:03.951-05:00Day 13 PAD 2023<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXibnS5N_sjfsThM49mM75NdWj-YvF8oxq5BVApdw0MQhCGlJEmvKJatqtyhHfSvbhy14CS3evvQdBZyJWN4QDoXKmdrUlnOLsYa31oWLnB0aRcwEguNUjz3fSfeop485eE7YW1-T5TiueQex1khgceZAZjeBazihBfA8PB0tJuGHl_-GagfDohUS/s2240/Forgive.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXibnS5N_sjfsThM49mM75NdWj-YvF8oxq5BVApdw0MQhCGlJEmvKJatqtyhHfSvbhy14CS3evvQdBZyJWN4QDoXKmdrUlnOLsYa31oWLnB0aRcwEguNUjz3fSfeop485eE7YW1-T5TiueQex1khgceZAZjeBazihBfA8PB0tJuGHl_-GagfDohUS/w400-h225/Forgive.png" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">“Don’t until Tomorrow”<br /><br />Forgive and forget<br />Forgive but don’t forget<br />Don't forget the past<br />Don’t forget the pain<br />Pain of what could be<br />Pain of love not given<br />Given days of silence<br />Given nights of loneliness<br />Loneliness of self<br />Loneliness of family<br />Family name<br />Family gone<br />Gone from tomorrow<br />Gone from hope<br />Hope a small seed<br />Hope for better<br />Better chances to be<br />Better moments to see<br />See the flowers bloom<br />See the road ahead<br />Ahead of the game<br />Ahead of the chase<br />Chase to win<br />Chase a dream<br />Dream of hope<br />Dream a life<br />Life of my own<br />Life filled with more<br />More stars<br />More days of love<br />Love the moment<br />Love the growth<br />Growth of a family<br />Growth of a heart<br />Heart still trying<br />Heart still scarred<br />Scarred with memory<br />Scarred that fade<br />Fade to black<br />Fade from memory<br />Memory of a phone call<br />Memory of a bad goodbye<br />Goodbye to youth<br />Goodbye to yesterday<br />Yesterday haunts me<br />Yesterday taints tomorrow<br />Tomorrow is a gift<br />Tomorrow is not promised<br />Promised…<br />gift…<br /><br />Poetic Form: The Blitz</span></p> Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-52921367168988129602023-04-12T14:10:00.008-05:002023-04-12T14:11:12.277-05:00Day 12 PAD 2023<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjruH42siYXXJAsh56SHhz85WdU2EotT4AhKiN3roKtG_8_jW_PsIJg_47N0_u2B6TTs3dkiXgi5wqF1zE6J7PfBPZLbKEGe0PuhbQ6TOmQOOpHVH_pte5s6KJUoLLqSoLOXX64zsT4zGyZ6NBzLvWjIIuKotKt7d24hu8rW2UBqf_MBg9t05-DXfS/s2240/Awashed%20in%20the%20Past.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjruH42siYXXJAsh56SHhz85WdU2EotT4AhKiN3roKtG_8_jW_PsIJg_47N0_u2B6TTs3dkiXgi5wqF1zE6J7PfBPZLbKEGe0PuhbQ6TOmQOOpHVH_pte5s6KJUoLLqSoLOXX64zsT4zGyZ6NBzLvWjIIuKotKt7d24hu8rW2UBqf_MBg9t05-DXfS/w400-h225/Awashed%20in%20the%20Past.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><p></p><p><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">“Awashed in the Past”<br /><br />The cascade of history<br />bruises my eardrums<br /> <span> </span>fills my lungs<br /> <span> </span>constricts my heart<br /> <span> <span> </span></span>until I have to give in to the drenching<br /> <span> <span> </span></span>rush of what might have been<br /><br />Snippets of the past create a roar<br />against the stones of time<br />I catch a few drops<br /> <span> </span>traveling back<br /> <span> </span>into the stream of memories<br /> <span> <span> </span></span>that pelt my skin<br /> <span> <span> </span></span>sharp, then dissipating on my sense<br /> <span> <span> </span></span>of who I should have been<br /><br />I hear milestones of my past<br /><br />Shotgun blast<br />Broken drywall<br />Drunken speech<br />Dead dial tone<br /><br />But my heart drops me into a moment of possibilities<br /><span> </span>I am your son<br /> <span> </span>sitting at your feet<br /> <span> </span>football in my hands<br /> <span> </span>Waiting to hear “I love you”<br /> <span> <span> </span></span>in the spiral of a pass<br /> <span> <span> </span></span>I catch on the run<br /> <span> <span> <span> </span></span></span>in the backyard<br /> <span> </span>I see your hands raised<br /> <span> <span> </span></span>the air filled with “Touchdownnnnn!”</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A wave crashes into my chest<br /><span> </span>bringing me back to now<br /> <span> </span>my hands empty<br /> <span> </span>wondering what it sounds like<br /> <span> <span> </span></span>to have your father’s voice<br /> <span> <span> <span> </span></span></span>cheer for you in real life</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-31385171016308852812023-04-11T10:36:00.001-05:002023-04-11T10:36:20.643-05:00Day 11 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi385uqmLAflgoCyJeKHBakG9nqhagPqb8rYPWzZu9yZYbHA_kgNkc0rPCcGVAPBLdHc5dYyIGXsDwo8l1NBP5CJZzJdBeS3oA8RxdLbReKrHnl2dgN8_RCOYo385cUlIeDS4EmNi-fDBM5MH6IKQxqSKCrh5HI8EH9XDBnH2lQl70nIWJv14lnERGC/s2240/Game.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi385uqmLAflgoCyJeKHBakG9nqhagPqb8rYPWzZu9yZYbHA_kgNkc0rPCcGVAPBLdHc5dYyIGXsDwo8l1NBP5CJZzJdBeS3oA8RxdLbReKrHnl2dgN8_RCOYo385cUlIeDS4EmNi-fDBM5MH6IKQxqSKCrh5HI8EH9XDBnH2lQl70nIWJv14lnERGC/w400-h225/Game.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“Game”<br /><br />They say this life is a game…<br />What are the rules?<br />I see too many broken hearts on good people,<br />like frazzled shoe laces<br />that<br />trip them<br />as they rush for coffee with a friend.<br />Waiting at the corner as another car runs a red light,<br />being pushed<br />as they try to tie their life together,<br />while so many others collect 200 dollars<br />then buy a home on Pacific avenue.<br />I’m tired of twisting fate’s spinner<br />just to move one space closer to the end of a game I didn’t know the rules to.<br /><br /><br />Poetic Form: Descort</span></p><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-2462218918999335252023-04-10T08:48:00.003-05:002023-04-10T08:48:38.810-05:00Day 10 PAD 2023<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRflBh99UMW7BzoproUSiVaWnCjiT68L0KZOSOCSwkMRp3gqJYj9ZKUmzBI5xPjXEaC-EABiZON2lNHf3XcD5W6jcLDevJmRGYRlH7TWfWxzW9irbAE5ToAL8_Ywg4tmJ5driGAaQB8PFjTO847Ad4QiD8-tZbAinvJiAtcImuyekYtYQ4qUzVT94/s6912/How%20these%20days.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="6912" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibRflBh99UMW7BzoproUSiVaWnCjiT68L0KZOSOCSwkMRp3gqJYj9ZKUmzBI5xPjXEaC-EABiZON2lNHf3XcD5W6jcLDevJmRGYRlH7TWfWxzW9irbAE5ToAL8_Ywg4tmJ5driGAaQB8PFjTO847Ad4QiD8-tZbAinvJiAtcImuyekYtYQ4qUzVT94/w400-h200/How%20these%20days.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br />“How These Days”<br /><br />Oh, how these days simply fall away<br />into moments we wish we could hold<br />onto. Smiles, even as stories told,<br />tainted with regret of passing days.<br /><br />A truth we all ignore, as we pray<br />for the secret to change time; fool’s gold.<br />Oh, how these days simply fall away<br />into moments we wish we could hold.<br /><br />We walk past pictures hung in hallways<br />as if we are wearing a blindfold<br />around our hearts, scared, a stronghold,<br />fear that we’ve only lived for someday.<br />Oh, how these days simply fall away.<br /><br /><br />Poetic Form: Rondel</span><p></p> <p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-53090619586002720012023-04-09T11:12:00.002-05:002023-04-09T11:12:45.460-05:00Day 9 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRA4GE2B5nmGCiXkhSfwBi5oSW1BT9SJBxPVCf71NlJo5YnsIp1DWa5DVeWvNZx44a8p18y04nZXcnTw7Qe0BkEuUDv0XPWAXzKMC9MnU1wUPzJgZjDhMPlHNEuLyQFGAtIvVARGIJuqdeFiZ-NRv5PWqFuNLSDMicOiulnCaoFUjMtyVu0A9Sekxj/s1640/Social%20Media.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="924" data-original-width="1640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRA4GE2B5nmGCiXkhSfwBi5oSW1BT9SJBxPVCf71NlJo5YnsIp1DWa5DVeWvNZx44a8p18y04nZXcnTw7Qe0BkEuUDv0XPWAXzKMC9MnU1wUPzJgZjDhMPlHNEuLyQFGAtIvVARGIJuqdeFiZ-NRv5PWqFuNLSDMicOiulnCaoFUjMtyVu0A9Sekxj/w400-h225/Social%20Media.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">"How to Die on Social Media in 4 Steps"<br /><br />One: Assume everyone actually cares<br />About the food you ate<br />The stairs you had to walk<br />Or that you are having a bad day<br /><br />Two: Try to feel loved with each icon<br />That fills in on the screen<br />Rely on your ego to be fed<br />Be ready for the hunger to stay<br /><br />Three: Smile in every reply<br />Even on the hard days<br />Your eyes have to shine<br />Remember your life is on display<br /><br />Four: Hold your phone at all times<br />Notifications are all you need to feel<br />Those chimes will send chills<br />Better than reality you’ll say.<br /><br /><br />Poetic Form: Nonce</span></p><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-62745427311776037092023-04-08T08:09:00.003-05:002023-04-08T08:09:22.226-05:00Day 8 PAD 2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBhttiQdnethL10K2ZY5ILIwLr5uS29hOy6tMncuhD-WsElrDr9KxwuMF4VQrSYPXGetMrhzu57LD-FeSUnvWw0HvOzMkCcT6_SR2J7mEJeO8zXggy3l3VkRE4Gm6nJg2wM6-o96AJxmkshYyeEq7yIDy1MsIV6TxE4Cei-QajjF1OAaZVLJDK1es/s2240/Untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBhttiQdnethL10K2ZY5ILIwLr5uS29hOy6tMncuhD-WsElrDr9KxwuMF4VQrSYPXGetMrhzu57LD-FeSUnvWw0HvOzMkCcT6_SR2J7mEJeO8zXggy3l3VkRE4Gm6nJg2wM6-o96AJxmkshYyeEq7yIDy1MsIV6TxE4Cei-QajjF1OAaZVLJDK1es/w400-h225/Untitled.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span></p><p><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">Alone, I read the<br />stars. I feel your heart with me<br />between moon and Orion.<br /><br />Sorry, you read those<br />constellations wrong. I am<br />lost in someone else’s arms.<br /><br />Poetic Form: sedoka</span></p><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-43182765798512267482023-04-07T09:28:00.000-05:002023-04-07T09:28:02.272-05:00Day 7 PAD 2023<p> </p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PKmX8owqjEaZDeKFimruckJu_KFFslowzqzQCXiLYUMYCt5hWOwO7Az_rNZlFPIXoRm9z3JAQCUBdgtg_qSZyDO-LCePZT_vqSXiiwRNMTq6I2qH6bqpPg6vfyGmFEZAYTZf1LDWOES2eYl7WBBszIqyZbrm4aHjCGPXZVXDZnLKJ4VjXeF0bN11/s2240/FallinLove.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PKmX8owqjEaZDeKFimruckJu_KFFslowzqzQCXiLYUMYCt5hWOwO7Az_rNZlFPIXoRm9z3JAQCUBdgtg_qSZyDO-LCePZT_vqSXiiwRNMTq6I2qH6bqpPg6vfyGmFEZAYTZf1LDWOES2eYl7WBBszIqyZbrm4aHjCGPXZVXDZnLKJ4VjXeF0bN11/w400-h225/FallinLove.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">“How to Fall in Love”<br /><br />Interlock the fingers, touch palms.<br />Keep your heart calm.<br />Stay with her pace,<br />go anyplace.<br /><br />Talk about the clouds, or just smile<br />and walk awhile.<br />Feel her presence,<br />this will be tense.<br /><br />Find a moment to stop and gaze,<br />at her crossways,<br />then turn to see<br />what this can be.<br /><br />Poetic Form: Minute Poem<br /><br /><br /></span></p><br />Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3900721738339748343.post-37085017887749249562023-04-06T08:42:00.001-05:002023-04-06T08:42:10.776-05:00Day 6 PAD 2023<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBFwyrbOK57Z_Mo6vMmgOwnb_T77evW5aC3F7SpQ2qacsNMOJ7YrVXprcIs5G9BK7L6IwXK3Qwc2IZ2JUt6UmKyV8GjFVnCITtubCo4cPDT5uh3UHL_S9ZzM4P6cs60w7N8QPGT7lV-UeuOjtns8v_L7DMEPAsfLizgRgImTMKr-embFh03pPNZ4zS/s2240/Art%20Exhibit%20Blog%20Banner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2240" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBFwyrbOK57Z_Mo6vMmgOwnb_T77evW5aC3F7SpQ2qacsNMOJ7YrVXprcIs5G9BK7L6IwXK3Qwc2IZ2JUt6UmKyV8GjFVnCITtubCo4cPDT5uh3UHL_S9ZzM4P6cs60w7N8QPGT7lV-UeuOjtns8v_L7DMEPAsfLizgRgImTMKr-embFh03pPNZ4zS/w400-h225/Art%20Exhibit%20Blog%20Banner.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 18.666666px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre-wrap;">This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"> “Winter’s Exit”<br /><br />The rot of winter folds into<br />the wind, warm and wet with renew.<br />My bones ache. Weight of dreams pulling muscles<br />like memories screaming.<br /><br />The song of robins are not loud<br />enough to drown out the rain clouds.<br />My skin tingles from the lightning strike,<br />godlike in wrath and spite.<br /><br />Burning of my sin fills the air<br />with the darkness found in nightmares.<br />The sun scratches the ground, a single stem,<br />a gem for spring’s new crown.<br /><br /><br />Poetic Form: Byr a Thoddaid</span></p>Jamey Boelhowerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17869923279569551542noreply@blogger.com0