You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Poem-A-Day Challenge’ tag.

The prompt yesterday was shockingly not about Earth Day, but rather, work. Now, I could have done a piece about how we all have work to do to improve our ecological karma, but you all know that already, right? So, this one is more personal, because work, and what it means to me, are very much on my mind lately. I did attempt a sonnet, though Shakespeare would probably shudder…

I read the Help Wanted section for fun
Even though there is nothing there for me.
I scan the freelance sites with ambition
that’s not reflected on my resume.
I work at home with kids all around me
and have little to show when I am done.
Between dishes, diapers and the laundry
I squeeze in blogs, poems and sometimes work on
some novels that may never be ready.
In the eyes of many, I’m just a mom.
There are some who know the real me,
writer, teacher, reader, thinker, and some
who are glad I am there every day
willing to put aside work just to play.
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Tuesday’s prompt was a “2 for Tuesday” meaning we got 2 prompts. First- write a “Clean” poem; Second- a “Dirty” poem. That is to be interpreted however you please. Writing both is optional, and I am not sure which one I chose:

It doesn’t matter
how many times
I pick them up
and put them back again.
If I turn my back
or take a break,
they only keep
coming back again.
I put them in boxes
and baskets
and bags again,
but I don’t know why
because they’ll be back again.
I bend up and down
and have been
back and forth again
and again,
but it only goes in
one ear and out again.
So, here I go, again
to pick them all up
before the kids come in…
Oh no!
I threw my back out again!

Finally posted the poem from Sunday, so here it is for you. The prompt on Poetic Asides was to write about a landmark [and Robert Lee Brewer’s is rather amusing]. Mine’s a bit mushy, and I can’t share a pic since it doesn’t really exist anymore, but it is the landmark that stuck in my head, so:

It’s not there anymore,
but I still look anyway.
When I was young, it marked
the line between our town
and the next one on the
unremarkable interstate.

In the middle of the median
grew one leftover tree.
It mysteriously changed
with the seasons and we
eagerly waited to see what
its new blooms would be.

In Spring sprouted eggs,
and flowers for mom.
Summer saw ties in June,
and plenty of red, white and blue.
As leaves fell in Autumn,
our tree grew things like
chalkboards and apples
and of course, jack-o’lanterns.

Some secretive samaritan
snuck onto the median
to bring joy,
smiles and thoughts
to anyone who happened
to drive by and look.
It became a tradition
for thousands of strangers
who grew to expect a tree
bearing maize and other gifts.

Traffic may have been lighter then,
but still, cars sped past in the dark
as stockings and baubles
were hung there with care.
And then one day,
it stopped.

Progress set in, or Time.
The highway has grown and
eaten the median
and a tree could not grow
there anymore, even if those
hands were still here to tend.

Tradition and sentiment
hung hopes and hearts
on another small tree,
on another road,
off the highway
(and in close proximity to the mall)
so seasonal shoppers
can still see the glitter
and new eyes will wonder
who watches over that tree.

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