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Thursday, May 5, 2011

"On the other hand Poem"

My prompt has arrived
my heart, content
my palate, satisfied
with the delivery
of another dainty
morsel of
poetic asides

The day has passed
the hour late
Shall I post a poem?
For this I debate

My eyes are heavy
Vision, foggy
Thoughts, cloudy
Endurance depleted
But in my chair
I'm still seated
Still trying to decide
Sleep or post?
On Poetic Asides

In my left hand is my forehead
In my right is my pen
I've decided
I must write, and write,
and write again

I've been torn in half
Right down the middle
One half is sleep
the other rhymes in riddle

On one hand is my head
upholding its weight
On the other hand poem
even though its late

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

PTPW Syndrome

PTPW:  Post Traumatic Prompt Withdrawal Syndrome

The prompt has withdrawn
The comment section a vacant box
The refresh button has been clicked
And again...
And again...
In hopes of a swift delivery
Of the daily prompt
But nothing for the feed
Only to bask in its emptiness,
Its disappointment
Its memory
Of what once was
Of what had been
A prompt and a poem
A sweet couple
A sweet memory
Become a mist

Monday, May 2, 2011

The Day after the Parade

The Day has come
The parade has ended
The procession has ceased
The cymbals are silent
A south wind has arrived
To sweep away the remains
Of a faint  joy into memory
I try to hold onto them
But the wind too strong
I wave goodbye
As I see them fluttering at a distance

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Leaving, left, gone

I'm leaving you
That's all there is to it
No more make ups
No more late nights together
No more cuddling together
With a hot cup of tea
Hitting the refresh button
craning for the next post
So, tonight, consider me
Left already
For tomorrow I'm gone

But I'll come back to visit you
on Wednesdays...

I'm leaving but not gone

I may shy away for a time
veil myself from the crowd
contemplate, speculate

Step back and ponder anew
every gem
of the PAD thats through

Let each of your words
grow, take root
rob the PAD of its gems
clean house, gain loot

Of Kings and Queens
of Knights how royal
of a thirty day trial
yet olympic spoil

I've cultivated an appetite
for the daily prompt
But now, I'll starve
at least for a week
The daily bread
I wish, I seek

Those dainty morsels
those sweet-coined cakes
that mustered poets
collectively makes

There is a time to greet
for when we meet
Just as a time to weep and cry
A time to say hi or a goodbye
Even though we all shrug and sigh

There is a time to leave
and a time to grieve
We're all leaving...
but not gone.