Day 29 PAD 2023

 

This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2023 challenge and will be revised.

“I am Here”

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.


Poetic Form: Prose

PAD 2022 Day 2: Second Chance

 This poem is presented in its rough draft form for the PAD 2022 challenge and will be revised. 

PAD Prompt: Second Chance

Poetic Form: Prose

“Yesterday”

There are times, when the past calls me to follow it down the stairs. Promising no harm, yet the light switch never works. The darkness whispers to me, drawing me down seldom used stairs. Each step creaking as I step back - back to any moment in time that I could have been important to you, both of you. I could have been loved like a son. Protected. Tossed a ball to. Had someone there on Parents’ Night.

My feet touch the concrete floor. My eyes adjust. The outlines of memories are visible, I recognize them because I lived them. I feel the darkness that sits in the middle of their existence. I admit to a heavy desire to bring them up the stairs, into the light. Hoping against hope that I can refurbish them. Freshen the paint. Make each memory joyful.

I touch the edge of an old black and white TV. One of the first memories of you wasted on a bed that lays on a floor. The sunlight making the dust dance. I watch a movie about giant spiders. I am hungry, you do not respond. I am four years old and know not what to do.

I hold the tears back, knowing that none of these memories can give me the power to write a different story. The darkness holds me there, even as I want to leave. My chest tightening. Starting to panic. It feels like you are here, stepping from the depths of yesterday. I feel the air move backwards. I am on the edge of fear and anger. I break for the stairs. Feel a hand brush my shoulder blade as I reach the top of the stairs, entering into the light of today.

You do not deserve a second chance.

Poetic Form 81: Haibun

 A Father's Gift

A man, shoulders soft from time, stands next to his child, who is now taller 

than him. The man holds a box, a gift, for his son. Wooden, carved with 

calligraphy of the past. The box is heavy in the man’s hands. His son lifts it 

with ease. They smile; one is bright, the other scarred. In that moment one 

can feel time shift in the son’s favor. The man’s chest falls and rises through

earthquakes of memories. The son opens the box to find,

fall leaves ---

crumbling on to

his path

 

Poetic Form #81: Haibun

The haibun form combines a prose poem with a haiku. The form was popularized by the 17th century Japanese poet Matsuo Basho. The prose poem and the haiku communicate with each other in some way. The prose poem usually sets a scene in an objective manner. The haiku follows the rules for haiku.

Poetic Form 57: Anagrammatic Poetry

 Depression

I open prisons

in deep sessions

pressed in sin

I rope prose

I pen depression

See, no one

rides 

or sends

roses 

I spin desire

on spines

open sneers

a siren 

resends pride

on poison Id

I ponder

in deep sessions

open prisons

Poetic Form #57: Anagrammatic Poetry

Anagrammatic poetry uses words that come from the letters found only in the title. 

That means you can use a letter more than the number of times it appears in the word.

 For example, if you only have one “E” you can still use the word “been”.

 

Poetic Form 20: Prose

Bring me down

6:24 p.m. June 24, 2020

I’m driving on interstate 80, headed to a Henderson to pick up my son. We are down 
to one car after he hit a deer a week ago.

I’m counting memories like the mile markers on the shoulder, when the song “Landslide” 
(Smashing Pumpkins’ version) comes on the radio. And I am panicking to keep the tears 
at bay, but when the chorus starts, “Well, I've been afraid of changing / 'Cause I've built 
my life around you...” I feel all the yesterdays run down my cheek. Inside I am standing
there, arms filled with snap shots of zoo trips, basketball tournaments, visits to a dinosaur 
museum now closed. I can’t hold them all. They fall from my hands, fluttering like dead 
leaves in an autumn storm. I scramble to catch them. Left arm hugging memories tight, 
while my right sweeps through the air grasping at the moment my wife and I had a flat 
tire early in the morning. My heart heaves, more moments shift in my arms, then ambushes
me. The photos of my life cascade in front of me. Joy and frustration. Happiness and 
exhaustion. Victory and sorrow. All swirl in a colorful avalanche that buries my soul. I almost 
pull over in fear of being blinded by the rumble of living. 

“Well, the landslide will bring you down / Oh, the landslide will bring it down”

6:27 p.m. June 24, 2020

I’m driving on interstate 80...

Poetic Form #20: Prose

A prose poem is written as prose, without traditional line breaks. The poem still makes use of 

poetic devices such as repetition, rhyme, metaphor, and other literary elements.

Poetry Challenge Day 11: Control

 

Life is a Sonnet

I read a book that said life was written

As a sonnet to follow the control 

Dictated by the rule of the word in

powerful pen and paper to unroll.

We are then free to compose the meaning

Of our lines inside that dictated rule,

To love or laugh, even hate our enemy.

The pen is in our hand to love or fool.

But no one wants to follow a clear chosen

Path to a life defined by universe

Dictated stars. Man desires prose in

Free form. Ultimate control is a curse.

So, dear writer, take your pen to paper,

A sonnet written is a life happier.