2010 November PAD- Day 13

My poem today is my response to today’s PAD prompt of making the title of the poem a question, and then going on in the poem to address the question. It is also my entry for the WD Poetic Form Challenge: Rondeau. Two birds with one stone… 🙂

Why Turn Back (the Clocks)?

Why turn back the clocks, I say,
there’s still twenty-four hours in a day.
At the setting of the sun,
in spite of the change, the day is done
and darkness descends anyway.

To think we can hold the dark at bay
by adding an hour to a single day
is nonsense, we can’t outwit the sun—
Why turn back?

Shifting the clock only causes dismay,
disrupted sleep is the price we pay,
so let’s face it, winter has begun,
with shorter days, and less hours of sun.
What’s an hour more or less either way—
Why turn back?

2010 November PAD- Day 12

PAD, Day 12. I’ve noticed that my responses to the Poetic Asides prompts keep getting later and later each day. I think I better start earlier tomorrow! Today’s prompt was to write a “forget what they say” poem. This was too much fun– I could go on and on… and on…

Conventional (Un)Wisdom

They say curiosity
killed the cat, but I say
lack of curiosity
can be equally deadly.

They say a bird in hand
is worth two in the bush,
but I say a bird on the wing
is worth the most of all.

They say a stitch in time
saves nine, but I say
there’s more to be learned
from nine stitches, than one.

They say still waters
run deep, but I say
it’s equally true
of turbulent waters.

They say lightning
never strikes twice
but I say
why take the chance?

2010 November PAD- Day 11

PAD, Day 11. The prompt today was to write a poem with the title “No One Wants (blank)”.

No One Wants to Know

When someone asks, “Hey, how’s it going?”
they don’t really want to know that your washing
machine is on the fritz again, or your cat just died,
or your mother-in-law was recently diagnosed
with Alzheimer’s, or your insurance won’t
cover your surgery, because it is a pre-existing
condition and you haven’t met your waiting
period yet. When someone asks, “Hey,
how’s it going?”, what they really mean is “hi”.

2010 November PAD- Day 10

Today’s PAD prompt is… LOVE! This is a prompt that crops up every PAD challenge, and it’s fun to keep trying out different takes on the theme.

Love Is

Love is remembering our anniversary,
or failing that, at least remembering
that we have an anniversary.

Love is never having to say you’re sorry,
or failing that, at least knowing
when to say you’re sorry.

2010 November PAD- Day 9

PAD, Day 9… The prompt was to write a “slow down” or “never slow down” poem. I chose the former.

In Slow Motion

Time takes on a whole new perspective, when the pathology comes back positive.
It becomes segmented into its constituent days, hours, minutes,
each one special, miraculous, unrepeatable,
to be held onto greedily
until there are
no more

2010 November PAD-Day 8

PAD, Day 8… “write an agreement poem”. What could be simpler? This is a riff off of my earlier “Sleeping With an Open Window” haiku, which appeared in Four and Twenty, Volume 1 Issue 2, November/December 2008. 🙂 Other responses here.

Agreeing to Disagree

Frogs, he says.
Crickets, I insist.
We listen.
Crickets, he says.
No, frogs, I insist.

November 2010 PAD- Day 6

PAD, Day 6… the prompt today was to write a “Looking for…” poem.

Looking for… (I Forgot)

Looking for the number
but I can’t find my glasses

Looking for my glasses
but they’re not on my desk

I decide to check my email
’cause the computer’s on anyway

Surfing on the web
I lose track of the time

Reaching up, hours later
I discover my glasses

Sitting all this time
on the top of my head

Remembering for some reason
That I needed my glasses

But the moment’s gone
and it’s time for lunch!

2010 November PAD- Day 5

PAD, Day 5… a metamorphosis poem.

Good Cells, Gone Bad

You can’t see natural gas,
or smell it or taste it either,
yet it is deadly all the same.
That’s why they attach a
scent to it, like rotten eggs.
Early stage cancer is like that,
invisible, operating by stealth,
slipping just under the radar,
until one day, it shows up as
a grainy white patch on an x-ray,
or as a sudden hard lump,
that wasn’t there yesterday.
If they could attach
a warning scent to malignant cells,
what would it be—
rotten eggs, or brimstone?