Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Day 5 Silly or serious poem

An “F” In Commonsense

There once was a boy as bright as the sun.
On each of his tests, he missed not a one.
One day he fell and broke his arm.
I’ll tell you how he came to harm.
For many years people did scoff.
He had sat on the branch that he cut off.

PAD Challenge Day 4

College Student

Finals have been getting to her,
her bed--unslept in, candy machine--empty,
Russian tea and M & M supply--about out,
so she and her friends climb fire towers at midnight,
sled ride down icy sidewalks on stolen food trays,
wear false noses and mustaches to the donut shop.
College –does it truly prepare you for the real world?

Sunday, April 3, 2011

PAD Challenge Day 3 The World Without You

If I Never Existed

my dad would have gotten
more squirrels and rabbits
the hunting season of ’58.
My mom, without a fourth child,
would have had more time to paint,
and when the surprise baby came
nine years later, instead of six, Mom
would have been even more surprised.
The Shannon family would have fit
around the kitchen table better.

My sisters would have fought less,
mowed more grass, had less fun,
and would have wondered why
no one in the family had brown eyes
like my mother. They would have
never known the thumping on the porch
was a beagle on a rocking chair
because they were too scared to go out.
And they would have missed laughing
at me being afraid of the “Muffler Dragon.”

Four sisters would have one less life-long friend.
The littlest would have had no one to spy on
and no opportunity to steal a diary.
A guy or two’s first kisses would be delayed,
there’d be 2,500 less poems written, and
at least two people would probably be dead
if I hadn’t prayed. A Cheyenne man would
have been bored the summer of ’77. But worst
of all Lori and Eli wouldn’t exist which means
less laughter, intelligence, and TLC in the world.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

PAD Challenge Post Card from Home

Dear Poets,
Wishing you were here in Southwest Colorado.
Together, we would word paint the beauty
of the snow-capped mountains glowing in the distance,
Mesa Verde looking regal, and more inviting
since the ice has melted off the narrow cliff-side roads,
the calm expanse of foothills and flatlands, sage brush, horses,
cows, elk, deer meandering about beneath a brilliant blue sky.
The rhythm of our words would sound out
the drums and chants of traditional Navajo dancers,
the lonely narrow-gauge train whistle,
the low flute-like call of a mourning dove,
the high-pitched squeal of a bull elk.
Our imagery would manifest the earthy smells of sage and cedar.
We’d word weave the feel of cool evenings, rocky foot paths,
and icy mountain water. We’d make our readers salivate
at the thought of Navajo fry bread and authentic enchiladas.
Yes, come play in this poet’s playground.

Friday, April 1, 2011

PAD Challenge What Got You Here


Stubbornly, I resisted ideas
molten underneath
tempting me to jot down
a few lines of poetry.
No way. Just fluff.
Only fiction merited my time.
But despite my resolve,
passion expressed itself
in rhyme, meter, word paintings.
When I recited, I saw the same joy,
zeal, sorrow I had experienced
evidenced in my listeners.
I was hooked. I am a poet.