Reporting live from…

Here’s the poem from last Saturday’s prompt. Now we’re even, twenty-two poems in twenty-two days with eight to go.

For today’s prompt, write a report poem. I know, I know: Writing a report sounds about as far away from poetry as flying is to a penguin, but many poems report on a moment or an instance or a scene. In your poem (or poems) today, report on something big and important or small and inconsequential (or small and important–or, well, you get the idea).


Reporting live from…

I had a gas mask
unlike the locals
whose misery is porn
for you back home.

I try my best to remain neutral
but amid such suffering, blame
falls upon the most recent attackers.

Our leaders have tantrums,
wet their pants in the sandbox,
treat people like plastic soldiers,
cities like building blocks.

We don’t care who’s retaliating
for what or who’s deterring
whom. Like our neighbors,
these people’s biggest worry
should be if their boss
likes their work
or how their children
are dealing with peer pressure
not if they’ll survive
the night.

Let’s pray for a merciful god
to save us from the whims
of powerful men.

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Squash Blossoms

For today’s prompt, pick a plant, make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Pick a favorite vegetable or fruit, a flower, a tree, even a shrubbery.


Squash Blossoms

Why don’t we make bouquets
of squash blossoms?

Bright yellow Van Gogh stars
swirl in a deep green garden
sky, pistils and stamens
quivering in the breeze
to tease the bees.

In the language of flowers
what does an edible represent
when given to a lover?

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For today’s prompt, write a danger poem. There are various levels of danger out there–from physical danger to the danger of being discovered doing something you shouldn’t (or doing something that might embarrass you–or someone else). Even the act of writing and sharing a poem brings with it the potential for danger.



You make me forget
and that’s dangerous
for all I know
is memory.

You make me believe
it will be different,
this time. I can adapt
and adopt new habits.

You are exceptional,
that’s obviously true.
Why else would I consider
such a foolhardy venture.

If insanity is doing the same
thing twice and expecting
different results,
what is a third marriage?

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She Dances

For today’s prompt, take a line from an earlier poem (preferably from this month) to begin your poem for today. For instance, I took the final few lines of my poem from day 12 to start my example poem below. So scan through your earlier stuff to figure out where to start today.

I stole the first line from my April 4th poem, Let Freedom Ring.


She Dances

So they might shed their burdens,
she dances to distract the puny men,
worn down from living too long.

They pay to see her topless,
though they can’t touch.
They just crave her attention.

They want to hear a female voice
that isn’t sarcastic or nagging
and apparently without judgement.

She raises her glass with their liquor,
laughs at their tasteless jokes,
grins at their clumsy innuendos,

so they might suspend their disbelief
and relive the days long past
when they were young and sexy
like her.

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Loose Thread

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “(blank) Thread;” replace the blank with a word or phrase; make the new phrase the title of your poem; and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “New Thread,” “Old Thread,” “Twitter Thread,” and “Blue Thread.”


Loose Thread

I’m fraying at the cuff,
a little thin in the seat
and noticeably tight around the waist.

I’ve faded over the years
and if you pull this loose thread
my mind might unravel
but I’m only becoming more comfortable
with myself.

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For today’s prompt, write a temptation poem. Nearly everyone is tempted by something: fame, glory, money, chocolate. Today is the perfect day to give in to the temptation to write about your (or “a friend’s”) temptation. Also, I totally understand the temptation to write about The Temptations today.



Turning on the television is too easy.
It should require a crank like early automobiles
instead of pressing a simple button
from the comfort of my couch.

Any given day there’s a marathon
of something mildly entertaining
or I can make my own on-demand
and just slip into a procrastination.

I’ve got a full bag of chips
and some dip that’s nearing expiration.
This wine’s not going to drink itself.
I’ve written enough poems this month.

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Image prompt courtesy Suzanne Olivante.

For experienced April PAD Challengers, today’s prompt will seem familiar. In fact, I kind of tipped my hand yesterday with my example poem of what today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt would be.

For today’s Two-for-Tuesday prompt:

  1. Write a love poem.
  2. Write an anti-love poem.



Beloved bees
Beautiful bugs
Bustling builders
Black and blond
Bumble beasts
Blossom to bouquet
Burdened bullets
Back to base
Barbed berserkers
Buzzy buzzy buzzy


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Teacher’s Pet

For today’s prompt, write a favorite poem. Maybe that sounds a bit silly, but what I mean is to write a poem about something that’s your favorite. A favorite teacher. Favorite movie. Favorite ice cream flavor. I don’t know, because I have my own list of favorites. Only you can do you…and your favorites. Who knows? Maybe this will end up being your favorite prompt this month.


Teacher’s Pet

I went to the morning status meeting
a Senior Software Developer
and left a schoolboy dreading lunch.

Called out by my project manager
for being the only one on the team
to respond to her request for estimates,

I was thrown back to elementary school,
“Why can’t you be more like Bartholomew?”
my teacher would ask the bullies,

guaranteeing a treacherous recess
of indian burns and noogies
or a tortuous walk home.

At least now I work remote
so my aggrieved teammates
won’t beat me up. Probably.

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The Wall

The image came from Suzanne Olivante and the prompt from Robert Lee Brewer.

For today’s prompt, write a metaphor poem. That is, write a poem built around a metaphor. Remember: Metaphors actually take on another object (like “I am a Tree” or “I am a Rock“). This is not to be confused with similes, which are like metaphors (for instance, “I am like a tree” or “I am like a rock”), but not quite. Dig? If so, then you are a shovel or spade or bulldozer. Now poem the heck out of metaphors today.


The Wall
(metaphor stolen from Roger Waters)

Is there anybody out there?
With my ear pressed to the cold,
I can almost hear laughter
or crying, screams, angry
protests, fists in the air,
I imagine.

I’m old enough to remember
when the walls weren’t as high
back when computers were too big
for our pockets and music
came on vinyl instead of streams.

It would be easy to give up hope
but I’m pretty sure that tapping
is some sort of code, a sign of life
so I’ll keep scribbling these poems
on paper, fold them into airplanes
and fly them over my wall.

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I wasn’t afraid of snakes…

My apologies for not posting a poem yesterday. A confluence of unfortunately events left me insufficient time. I owe you one. Here’s yesterday’s prompt.

For today’s prompt, pick an insect (any insect), make it the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “Praying Mantis,” “Ants,” and “Grasshoppers.” I’ll even except other creepy crawlies, like spiders, slugs, and leeches (shiver). Sorry in advance if this prompt gives you the heebie-jeebies; feel free to use insect repellent in your verse.


I wasn’t afraid of snakes, until then.

I was walking along a tourist jungle trail, surrounded by shades of green, humid air making sweat redundant. I touched the trunk of an ancient tree, larger than my car, rumpled bark flaking under my hand, furry vines trying to pull it down.

Something rustled in the vast canopy. One of the branches was moving, telltale geometric markings gliding slowly, the way branches don’t. It seemed the tree was more snake than wood, coiled and draped among the leaves.

Eyes wide, heart thumping, paralyzed, do I return the way I came or continue onwards? Which direction gets me out fastest? The decision was made when something large enough to hug a man to death, languidly fell onto the trail, first it’s midsection, then the tail and finally the head as if in slow motion.

I don’t think I screamed but there were sounds, like waking from a nightmare. I ran the other way as it sauntered into the underbrush.

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