Tuesday, April 14, 2009

A Poem a Day #14 Love & Not Love

Today is Tuesday, which means two prompts.

First prompt: Write a love poem.


I'm sorry
You first
Let's share
Remember when...
Let's try again
This is for you
I thought you
might like it
Can I get you
You rest
You deserve it
You make me
You make me
You are the
heart of me.

Poem by Vanessa V. Kilmer © April 14, 2009

Second prompt: Write an anti-love poem.

Your Fault

You are ugly
You are stupid
You are worthless
You made me do it
You are useless
You are dumb
You are fat

Poem by Vanessa V. Kilmer © April 14, 2009

A Poem a Day at Poetic Asides
And be sure to treat yourself to this video by clicking on the word DREAM. I guarantee you will not regret it and this woman's dream deserves to come true. She will make you cry but in the best way possible.

A Dream That Should Not Die

Jay from Bailey's Buddy put up this video. I didn't have time to figure out how to load the video but here is the link. Do yourself a favor and go watch it.
This was one of the most amazing, goose bumpy things I've ever seen and this woman deserves to be heard.

Monday, April 13, 2009

A Poem a Day #13 - Drawing

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem that incorporates a hobby (either yours or someone else's). That's right: Now is the perfect opportunity to write about your comic collection or your scrapbooking activities. And for the purposes of this challenge, I also think activities such as fishing, running, bowling, photography, birding, and gardening count as hobbies.


A line flows from my pencil after
traveling from my eye to my brain and down
my arm through the muscles
of my hands, the flexing of my fingers
appearing as if by magic
without my control, never to materialize
as the image I envisioned when I
first looked, when I imagined something
different it became new with time
stood still, hours passed
into the being of a creation beyond
my first thought.

Poem by Vanessa V. Kilmer © April 13, 2009

A Poem a Day at Poetic Asides

Sunday, April 12, 2009

A Poem A Day #12 - So We Decided

For today's prompt, I want you to take the phrase "So we decided to (blank)" and fill in the blank. Make that your title and write a poem. Some possibilities include "So we decided to plant a tree" or "So we decided to burn a hole in the sky."

So We Decided To Keep On Living

So we decided to keep on living,
me, myself and I.
Much too soon to stop from giving
up, rolling over to die.

So we decided to try once more,
to rise another day.
Looking at life different from before,
seeing it in a new way.

So we decided to keep on going,
one more chance,
for all my selves just knowing
to continue with the dance.

Poem by Vanessa V. Kilmer © April 12, 2009

A Poem a Day at Poetic Asides

Saturday, April 11, 2009

A Poem A Day #11 - Blind

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about an object (or objects). Though you don't have to confine yourself to straight up description, I do want you to focus on object and/or make it a central piece of your poem. One of the more famous poems of contemporary literature does this wonderfully in William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow."


perched out in the open

atop long spindle legs

cornflower turquoise against

a baby blue clear sky

hiding lazy hunters

Poem by Vanessa V. Kilmer © April 11, 2009

A Poem a Day at Poetic Asides

Friday, April 10, 2009

A Poem A Day #10 - Man Friday

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about Friday. Do you like Fridays? Despise Fridays? Of course, you can also write about something that happened on a Friday--or write an ode to Fridays. Or, as you know, I'm all for seeing you attack this from an angle I haven't thought of yet.

Man Friday

I wish I had a Man Friday,
a servant to do what I say:

pay all the monthly bills,
pick up my prescription pills,

throw out the rotten fishes,
clean up the dirty dishes,

feather the two inch dust,
grocery shopping a definite must,

the floor would meet the mop,
dinner would be more than slop,

wash the piles of dirty laundry
and never charge me a single fee.

What I need in my life
is an old-fashioned wife.

A Poem a Day at Poetic Asides

Foto Friday #7 - Rainbow

"Rainbow 1"
Photograph by Vanessa V. Kilmer © April 3, 2009

"Rainbow 2"
Photograph by Vanessa V. Kilmer © April 3, 2009

Thursday, April 09, 2009

TWT #9 & PAD #9 - Attic Attack

Today is Quilly's Three Word Thursday #9. These are this week's words:

jussulent - full of broth or soup

tenebrous - dark; gloomy; obscure

ebullient - overflowing with fervor, enthusiasm, or excitement

I have combined them into A Poem a Day. It's a Twofer. Aren't you glad?

For today's prompt, I want you write a poem about a memory. The memory can be good or bad. The memory can be a blend of several memories. I suppose it could even be a memory that you're not sure you remember correctly. Take your time finding a good one (or good ones).

Attic Attack

self-contained child
lost in her world alone
not lonely solitary
annoyed mommy
repeatedly repeating
unheard falling
on deaf ears ebullient
angry martinent
imprisoned child
garret tenebrous black
screaming banging
adolescent manipulator
neighbors interfering
grandma to the rescue
fed her jussulent
abject misadventure

A Poem a Day at Poetic Asides

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

A Poem a Day #8

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about either a specific routine or routines in general. Maybe something related to taking out the trash each week or washing the dishes every night--or something more bizarre (yet still a routine).

Wax On, Wax Off

Remember to get your chores done
Or you can't go out and play
Understand that repetition's fun
Tasks needn't get in the way
Immerse yourself, don't run
No matter what some folks say
Eventually you will have won
Sameness really is okay.

A Poem a Day at Poetic Asides

Tuesday, April 07, 2009

A Poem a Day #7

Today is our first "Two for Tuesday" prompt of the month. On these days, I offer two prompts. Don't worry: You don't need to write a poem for each prompt (but you're more than welcome to if you feel up to the challenge).

Prompt #1: I want you to write a clean poem. Take this however you wish. Clean language, clean subject matter, or cleaning the dishes. Of course, some twisted few will automatically link "cleaning" with hired hitmen. That's okay, as long as your poem is somehow linked to clean.

A Real Woman Does

each and everyday
run the vacuum
clean the floors
on your knees
laundry basket
always is empty
clean the dishes
right after dinner
dust the furniture
morning and night

Prompt #2: I want you to write a dirty poem. Take all that stuff I wrote in the first prompt and twist it upside down. The opposite of clean is dirty; so, do what ya gotta do to produce a dirty poem. (Gosh, I hope this challenge doesn't get too messy as a result.)

Down on the Farm

Warm cow manure squished
between bare toes
mud crusted
knees and elbows
twigs leaves brambles
tangled wind blown hair
dirt caked fingers
black moon fingernails
ripped shorts
sweat covered t-shirt
squished grasshopper in pocket.

A Poem a Day at Poetic Asides

Monday, April 06, 2009

A Poem a Day #6 - Joe Schmo

For today's poem, I want you to write a poem about something missing. It can be about an actual physical object or something you just can't put your finger on (like "love" or "the spirit of Christmas" or something).

Joe Schmo

There once were a feller, Joe,
who had fewer brains than dough.
He opened his yap,
foot into the trap:
he lost way more than his toe.

For more on A Poem a Day, go to Poetic Asides.

Sunday, April 05, 2009

A Poem a Day #5 - McCrossen's Dockside

Poem a Day - For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about a landmark. It can be a famous landmark (like Mount Rushmore or the Sphinx) or a little more subdued (like the town water tower or an interesting sign).

McCrossen's Dockside

Watering Hole

Halyards clanging against masts
pointing into clear blue sky
from bright white boats
lined up in dry dock
sailors at water's edge
sipping vodka on the rocks


Sportsters tucked between hulls
silence rumbling the air
after announcing themselves
with deep throated cries
bikers lounging at plastic tables
imbibing neon margaritas


Expensive automobiles
segregated in small packs
polished couture coterie
draped in gold chrome
financiers taking over bar stools
knocking back beers


Bright flowered shirts
knee-length baggy shorts
Sneakers and flip-flops
kicking up dust
geriatrics gone wild
hammering double shots


For more about Poem a Day, go to Poetic Asides.

Saturday, April 04, 2009

A Poem a Day #4 - Copper Chickens

Poem a Day - For today’s prompt, I want you to pick an animal; make that animal the title of your poem; then, write a poem. You could be very general with your animal title (“Bees” or “Lion”) or specific (“Flipper” or “Lassie”). You could even be very silly with something like “Tony, the Tiger,” I guess (that tiger on the cereal box).

Copper Chickens

Barnyard fowl
roost in an aerie

strut in the yard
all bright and airy

copper chickens
with a nod and a bow

flap tawny wings
perched on a bough

plump fat hens
sisterhood clique

sing solidarity
cluck, clack, click

For more about Poem a Day, go to Poetic Asides.

Wordzzle #57 - Sean the Vampire, Part 3

These are the words to Raven's Wordzzle game. I have taken the words but changed the rules a little.

To see the directions and other players, visit Raven.

Ten Word Challenge will be: apoplexy, doctor, hummingbird, shallow end of the pool, brigadier general, mustard, greed, parallelogram, slumber party, casual

Mini Challenge: Mount Olympus, arsonist, portraits, birch trees, "that car needs a new muffler"

Part One

Part Two

Sean took a casual look for a map. He looked around and saw portraits of "The Most Wanted" on the mustard colored walls. He decided to approach his search for bad-men-food like a brigadier general on campaign.

He ignored the greed in his veins calling for immediate release. This would be no slumber party. When you hunted a serial killer, rapist or arsonist, there was no need to be careful or kind. He looked forward to causing apoplexy in someone.

Something rushed by his head. At first he thought it was a hummingbird, but he knew no living beings were in the town. An apparition appeared in front of Sean the Vampire. This was the Ghost Toasty he had smelled earlier. Its vapors were singed on the edges.

"Call me Doctor Death," said the specter, "I can help you find all of sinners you can eat." The haunt swooped around Sean's head.

"How did you die?"

"I went for a midnight swim
in my parallelogram shaped natatorium after a day spent snorting cocaine, diving into the shallow end of the pool, hit my head and died."

"Not too bright," said Sean.

Doctor Death turned up the wattage and Sean had to shade his eyes.

"I know the first person on your menu lives in a mansion called Mount Olympus, surrounded by birch trees. You will need to go in with iron to protect yourself from his magic."

"Um, vampire," Sean said, pointing at his chest.

"Can you shape-shift right now or fly?" asked Doctor Death.

"I am weak right now from lack of blood, but I'll manage."

"Follow me."

The phantasm floated through the wall at the back of the store. Sean followed through a door into an alley where a cherry red Mustang sat.

"Get in," said Doctor Death. "Let's go."

Sean the Vampire got behind the wheel.

"Who's car?"


"Why would a ghost need a car?"

"The person before he became a ghost needs a killer car," said Doctor Death. "Start her up."

Sean turned the key. A horrendous rumble and a mean growl erupted from the running motor, shaking every inch of the vehicle. The vibrations made Doctor Death's vapors shift and quiver. Sean turned the car off and got out.

"What are you doing?" asked Doctor Death.

"That car
needs a new muffler," said Sean.

"Begging vampires can't be choosy."

Friday, April 03, 2009

A Poem A Day #3 - The Problem with Happiness

"Beryl's Castle"
Photograph by Vanessa V. Kilmer © April 3, 2009

For my dragon loving friends, this is Beryl. He lives on my front porch. He loves the sunshine. He told me he wants a castle like the one I painted on the saw. When we win the lottery.

A Poem A Day - Today's prompt: Take the phrase "The problem with (blank)" and replace the "(blank)" with a word or phrase. Make this the title of your poem and then write a poem to fit with or juxtapose against that title. For instance, you could have poems with the titles of "The problem with government," "The problem with advanced mathematics," or "The problem with bipolar penguins." You know the drill: have fun, be creative.

The Problem with Happiness


To see A Poem a Day, go to Poetic Asides.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

TWT #8 - Birds of a Feather

Quilly has a weekly game called Three Word Thursday. This is Week 8. Learn how to play and learn some new-old words.

I am fashionably late this week.

These are the three words this week -

propinquity: nearness in place, nearness of relation, affinity of nature or nearness in time

susurrus: a soft murmuring or rustling sound; whisper

nescience: lack of knowledge; ignorance

Birds of a Feather

Rose grew up on a small farm, on a small planet, in a small part of the universe. Her herb garden and her small flock of barnyard fowl made up her world. Her entire memory consisted of this small place. Some vague shadow in the recesses of her mind of a sweet old woman named Ma-sha intruded from time to time but she could not really say if it was a dream or a blip from a past reality.

Small herself, standing at just under five lengths of the current Emperor's boot, her lack of stature and her nescience of a world beyond her own, did nothing to hinder her happiness. Rose was perfectly content (most times, anyway.) Some nights around the full moon, she felt a restlessness. The tingling on her skin at night when the silver rays of the moon touched her went away fast enough in the bright light of the sun, replaced by the sweat of hard work.

Rose passed her days plucking weeds from between the delicate stems of ruffled parsley, fragrant mint, sharp lavender and intoxicating rosemary. Her herbs grew throughout the year, either in her open garden during Spring, Summer and Autumn or on the sills of her kitchen windows during Winter.

The five copper chickens in her yard provided her with plump brown eggs, each of which always contained two yolks. She assumed magic floated in the air to give her such bounty.

The girls followed her around the close, clucked at her when she washed in the morning and roosted on her bedposts at night while she slept. Each had a name which they answered to when she called them.

The big auburn one, whom Rose always thought of as the oldest, she called Sienna. The reddest one, she named Scarlet. Poppy, slightly orange in color, preened when shining objects reflected her image. The one with the fiery temper, Phoenix, made the most noise. The smallest and youngest one, Flann, always followed last in line. The propinquity between them and her should seem odd to her but she knew it existed just the same.

A little old lady from Wooded Glen came to Rose's garden once each new moon to collect a basket of herbs Rose gathered for her. In exchange, Rose received a silver sickle coin, cheese, tree sugar and grain flour. The crone would deposit her payment on Rose's table, pick up the basket, touch her finger tips to Rose's cheek and then leave without a word spoken.

No one else visited Rose.

It was almost time for her to come again. Rose took her time choosing only the best stems and leaves from her plants. Some were in flower, so she nipped a few heads off to add as a special treat for the woman. Kneeling in the afternoon sun, Rose noticed a susurrus over her left shoulder. When she looked, she saw nothing. She bent back to her work. This time, a whisper in her right ear disturbed her. A light breeze blew threw her hair. She rose to her feet. She looked into the woods, the direction from which the sounds had come.

The beldam tottered her way through the fields to Rose's garden fence. She hunched her shoulders. She watched her feet shuffle the dirt into small clouds of dust. She looked older than ever before, with gnarled knuckles, spotted skin and a dingy dress.

Rose's clutch of chickens pecked at the gray dam's skirt hem. She did not kick at them as usual. Rose shooed them away. She took the hag by the elbow, led her to the stool under the eaves and sat her in the shade. Rose fetched her a ladle of cool, fresh, well water. The woman barely lifted her head as she sipped the liquid. A sob escaped her lips between sips. Her shoulders shook. The hens clacked at the enfeebled biddy.

Rose lifted the woman's chin and saw the tears pooling on her lashes. Rose saw something she might be missing reflected in those sad eyes. Pity and compassion overcame her. She kissed the old woman on the mouth. A clap of thunder rang out. Rose fell on her ass in the dirt. Her head hit the ground.

When she looked up, a handsome young man sat in the place of the ancient. He cried into his hands.

"Forgive me," he said, "forgive me."

Five, red-headed sisters stood around the man. They poked and prodded him.

Rose looked behind her. There stood Ma-sha. She helped Rose up.

"Be still," said Ma-sha. The quintet cowered at a look from her.

"I see the arrogant, young, Prince Brendan, is arrogant no more," said Ma-sha.

"No, mother," he said, "These many years in your shoes have taught me many lessons I will always value."

"Then, you may leave to start your life anew."

He stood. He kissed Ma-sha on each cheek. He bent down on one knee in front of Rose and took her hand.

"Your kindness broke the spell," he said, "I pledge my life to you for eternity." He brushed his lips on her fingertips, stood and walked into the woods.

The fivesome followed him.

"I see they have not changed," said Ma-sha. She shook her head. "They need a few more years with a new perspective." She flicked her wrist. Rose had five, fine, fawn-colored cows in the pasture.

A Poem a Day #2

Today's Prompt: "Today, I want you to write an outsider poem. You can be the outsider; someone else can be the outsider; or it can even be an animal or inanimate object that's the outsider."

Outside Looking In

Glass barrier
rain embossed pane
of iron gray
firm, hard, impenetrable
to comfort

Glass wall
mist stained pane
of cold silver
frozen, stiff, impassable
to warmth

Glass facade
tear sullied pain
of empty slate
fragile, brittle, impermeable
to rest

To see what this is all about, go to Poetic Asides.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

A Poem a Day #1

Today's prompt: "I want you to write an origin poem. It can be the origin of a word, person, plant, idea, etc."

I Pity the Fool

The year of our Lord, Fifteen Eighty-Two,
Long, long ago, long before me and you,
Gregory, His Holiness, reigned as the pope
His calendar inventor, Aloysius Lilius, was no dope.

They replaced the Emperor’s calendar for clarity:
A moment, a blip, of a common sense rarity.

Those who were faithful to Julius Cesar
Did not make their lives any more the easier.
While they thought their loyalty very cool,
Each was the first to be called, “April Fool.”

Go to Poetic Asides to see the daily prompts.

Quivelers, Poets and General All Around Goofballs

From Writer's Digest:

April Poem-A-Day Challenge

April is National Poetry Month, and Poetic Asides blogger Robert Lee Brewer is calling all poets (and even non poets) to take part in his annual Poem-A-Day Challenge! Last year, more than 400 poets posted more than 4,000 poems during the month of April and turnout this year is expected to be even greater.

Participants who complete the poem-a-day challenge will receive a certificate, an online badge (for display on your blog or website) and will be considered for publication in a free eBook designed by Writer's Digest's own wonderful designers.

Participation is free. All you have to do is show up to the Poetic Asides blog on April 1, write a poem a day, and have a great time. For more details, visit:
Poetic Asides.

And a Rabbit, Rabbit to one and all.

A Rose By Any Other Name...