Today is Easter Sunday and Christians around the world are ensconced in thoughts of the Resurrection.

So, for the prompt today we ask you to make a comeback. Write a return or comeback poem. Bring something back to life, or breathe life into an old muse. Give us a reason to celebrate your return.


Returning Breath
She returned to Your gravesite, expecting death.
Her name on Your lips revealed Your identity,
Took her breath away.

I return to You, her story fresh in my mind.
My name on Your lips takes my own mortal breath away,
Replacing it with Yours, eternal.

Inspired by one of my favorite passages of scripture: John 20:15-16. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”

Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means Teacher).



Uncertainty breeds contempt.
And when doubt rears its head
instead of trusting your abilities,
reality says you’re washed up.
But, never give up. Raise
yourself to the heights
to which you have been
accustomed. Come back to start.
Beginning over makes
for better endings.

140 thoughts on “MAKING A COMEBACK – Prompt #50

    • The sonnet is one of my very favorite forms, and yours is absolutely lovely … poignant and hopeful.

      Prayers for quick healing and recovery, Viv. And yes, you are missed!

      Marie Elena

    • Viv, I hope you sense the spring in there and I hope that you’ll soon get out to enjoy all the flowers coming up now. Maybe you already have all the fresh spring colours now down in France. Best wishes!

    • First–get well soon, Viv, so that you can come instruct some of us how to do a excellent sonnet. Thoroughly enjoyed both words and sentiment.

      Take care.

      • A flattering suggestion, Claudsy, but it would be the blind leading the blind. My only claim to sonnetry is to hear the rhythm in my head before starting to write. In this case, the only reading matter left unread (!) on my Kindle was Shakespeare’s sonnets, which put me in the right gear.


    Even as I’m leaving
    this sacred space,
    this precious pouring;
    I can feel the heart of me
    hungry and with yearning,
    longing for the give and take.
    I can sense this is a receding
    purely for the feast found,
    in the relishing of the returning.
    Fed by the momentary distance
    as well as the intimate closeness;
    both integral in this growing,
    in this soul-guided gaining.

    ©H.G. @P.B. 4/8/12

    • Happy Easter everyone and thank you for the feeding in your beautiful from the soul words today.

      Warm smiles to each and every one!! 🙂

      Hope you’re feeling better real quick like, Viv.

        • I’m so glad that you like this! It is almost a continuation of what I just offered for PA today, still in a mind set, I suppose.

          Thank you so much, Marie, your’s is absolutely inspired and inspiring! This is one of my favorite moments and you captured it so artfully.

          • Thank you, Hannah. I wrote that late last night, while trying to keep my eyes from closing on me. I wanted to write a sonnet, but my mind said, “Get thee to bed. NOW!” 😉 I’m glad this touched you, because I was disappointed that how I feel about that passage does not come through my words.

            Marie Elena

            • I can understand how you feel but definitely take comfort in the fact that the poignant meaning behind this poem and passage is not missing in the least.

              Sometimes rest takes precedence, that’s a good thing to heed.

              Hearts to you!

    • Hannah, I read your poem several times now and I don’t understand it – it’s easily translated so it’s not that. I just fail to see the message. Beautiful words, yes, but I simply fail to see the meaning.

      • This poem is about writing for me. I find such a joy in the pondering, the pouring of words but yet I know that there’s a time when the opposite must also become true and I must stop. But actually the receding to come back and rejoin in this soul-filling passion is almost as delicious as the intimate space when I’m totally, “in the zone,” so to speak. Each part has a unique, tangible feeling for me.

        Thank you, Andrea, for your honesty. Smiles to you!

        • Thank you Hannah. I had decided that this time I would write a comment for you – and then I didn’t understand a word. Then I had a break and returned to give it one more try because I would say something to you. Now you explained it to me, I wonder why I didn’t see it. And one more thing: don’t ever stop writing and that sounds kind of funny to me because I know you’ll always be writing.

          • My pleasure, Andrea! Actually, I can see why it could be vague, this really could be referring to many other different types of relationships, I think. I really appreciate your effort to read into this more deeply and that you felt comfortable enough to ask me about it when you felt this way.

            Thank you, for the encouragement around writing. I do hope that I will always be writing, I can’t imagine not doing this.


  2. Pingback: ~COUNTING INTERVALS~ « Metaphors and Smiles


    People on narrow benches,
    stretching their heads to
    getting a good glimpse to

    And He’s up there
    on his white horse wearing his
    golden crown,
    his robe covered in blood,
    dripping and
    just to the right
    there are
    the seven hills of Sejer Island
    having flames above them.

    The light is strong,
    the rime frost gone,
    we shake hands and
    think of
    for ever
    we say,
    so good to see you again.

    • I might have an error in this poem (I don’t use an editor for my poems) because I think I either have to to choose either to say “stretch your neck” or “lift your head.” The worst part is that I’m not really sure – so if someone out there cares to help me get this line straight, I’d be happy.

      • If it were me, I “necks” instead of heads. It means a more determined effort to see, to witness. I think it would convey your message more fully.

        Hope that helps, Andrea. I still like this poem.

          • Andrea, you could do it a couple of ways, but without having to change the pacing of the verse, I’d stick with “stretching their necks to see”

            I say there is more than one way to express it because Americans have so many euphemisms for that specific action and motivation. All you really have to do to be plain and American English correct in this case is use the word “necks” instead of “heads” and you’ll be fine.

            Does that help?

          • Claudsy, thank you so much. That was the answer I needed and I struggle to get my US English right (I was taught British English – only I’m not even sure what the British would say here).

            So to Marie and Walt: I have another correction. They are stretching their “necks” – not “heads.”

    • This is true, Misk … whichever side you fall on. I’ve also said that there is no, “He was a good prophet, but nothing more.” He was either the Son of God, or he was a liar. (IMHO)

      Marie Elena

  4. Come On Back Home

    And now the things I used to know I’ve left so far behind

    Compete with all the new ideas that keep running from my mind

    Sometimes while I’m searching I find myself wanting to forget

    Long lost dreams that slipped away, maybe hope will win the bet

    I wish that I could tell you all the places I have been

    But that old dusty trail has grown now much too thin

    The story’s in your eyes and the tales that they bring

    Strange is how it seems, the ways of a wordless thing

    If what we seek is real maybe it shall come to pass

    For dreams are just the shifting sands pulled from mirrored glass

    I have traveled the world round and wandered far from home

    But in the end it’s like they say, all roads lead to Rome

    I thought I saw Orion wink as the twilight did appear

    Maybe find myself a better view from the southern hemisphere

    From time to time, every now and then

    I think I’ll come back home again

    Come on back home where your never alone
                                                       never alone
                                                            never alone

    ~ Randy Bell ~

  5. Come On Back Home

    And now the things I used to know
    I’ve left so far behind
    compete with all the new ideas
    that keep running from my mind
    sometimes while I’m searching
    I find myself wanting to forget
    long lost dreams that slipped away,
    maybe hope will win the bet
    I wish that I could tell you
    all the places I have been
    but that old dusty trail
    has grown now much too thin
    the story’s in your eyes
    the tales that they bring
    strange is how it seems,
    the ways of a wordless thing
    If what we seek is real
    maybe it shall come to pass
    for dreams are just the shifting sands
    pulled from mirrored glass
    I have traveled the world round
    and wandered far from home
    but in the end it’s like they say,
    all roads lead to Rome
    I thought I saw Orion wink
    as the twilight did appear
    maybe find myself a better view
    from the southern hemisphere
    from time to time, every now and then
    I think I’ll come back home again

    Come on back home where your never alone
                                                       never alone
                                                            never alone

    ~ Randy Bell ~

    Sorry but I had to fix formatting & repost

  6. This one is a bit odd, even for me. I’ll try to do better in a little while.

    A Rally Cry

    Within the labyrinth of my mind
    Resides potential for rising above average,
    Potential to come again to a pinnacle of my own making.
    Whether pinnacle or patio, words my vehicle,
    Regardless of life’s path on which I travel forth.
    Paths meander, dipping or rising to hilltops of majesty.
    Wisps of previous glory ride my coattails,
    Rallying mental troops to surge forward to bid new
    Possibilities hello, taking no prisoners along the way to freedom.

      • It’s about two things, really, Hen; writing and attitude. Of coming back to writing after giving it up due to lack of encouragement and now working with determination to succeed to my standards, if no one else’s. It’s also about attitude–the attitude that I don’t have to accept another’s value placed on my writing, but rather to place my own value on it, in the face of whatever criticism or cynicism there might be.

        I suppose that’s the long way around to say, I’ll do it my way now and be proud of it.

      • Thanks, Andrea. I’m glad you enjoyed it, even it you needed a dictionary. I’m glad the study was worthwhile, too.

  7. An Expression of Dried Flowers

    After a year, the separation ended so she had a yard sale

    and sold all the trappings of her brief independence.

    She gave up her lover

    and her tiny apartment

    and went back to the stately pillared home

    her husband had built for them.

    It was for the good of the child, they both agreed.

    Months later, the returned wife realized

    her memory box had disappeared

    somewhere in the shuffle,

    like a grey tooth beneath her pillow.

    Gone were the dried flowers, drawings and stories,

    and little glass bottles

    she’d kept since she was twelve.

    The recent love letters,

    she had destroyed on her own.

    If she suspected her husband, she never said.

    The wife merely forced herself to smile

    and enjoy all the trappings of comfortable servitude,

    simpering like his time-worn basset hound

    crouched in front of the fireplace.

    Months earlier, as he tossed her memory box

    into a construction lot dumpster,

    the husband hadn’t recognized

    that most of the dried flowers

    were ones he’d given her

    and this was why she had left him in the first place.

  8. ~ Comeback ~

    I used to hear the rustling of the wings
    Of Angels, every time a child would smile,
    I used to see in ordinary things
    The miracles. Then for a dark long while
    My soul was sleeping. I was deaf and blind.
    I staggered, burdened by my anxious mind.
    But on my path I never was alone,
    I felt the presence each and every day
    Of Him, who left his Heav’nly golden throne
    To be with me, to help me on my way.
    His gentle touch my troubled soul healed,
    Alive again, in silent prayer I kneeled.

  9. The Comeback Kind

    They didn’t want
    the foragers,
    the squirrels, raccoons,
    strays, but they
    rejected violence
    to warn them all
    away. So they
    left tasty snares
    behind, entrapping
    one by one,
    then drove them
    to spots far from home
    to clear the space.
    That done, they had
    a week or so pretending
    life was clear
    of pesky lower species—
    well, maybe not the deer.

    There are some things
    that we can’t change,
    no matter the innovation.
    The pests came back
    and brought new friends—
    inspired by their vacation.

  10. This possibly would have been more suited to last week but I think it works here as well; it’s not that long since I posted it elsewhere and I hope that’s okay … I’m not religious as most of you know but certain things move me and the Pieta is one of them …


    Mother to mother I understand
    Your need to hold your son
    To cradle him, hush his pain
    Sing sweet psalms
    of lullabies to him
    When the wind soughs gently
    from the east
    I swear I hear your soft melodies.

    And as cold as that cave was
    Wherein they laid him down
    It was no match
    for the bone-deep chill
    Death set upon his brow,
    Echoed by the sculptor
    When he chose
    to immortalize you both
    It surprises me not you would
    feel a need
    to warm him.

    Mother to mother, I have
    many times tried
    to envisage
    the pain you must
    have endured
    the day your son
    was put to death
    I cannot
    Nor can I wrap
    my mind
    around the horror,
    the devastating sadness
    you must have felt
    when you went
    to the cave
    To fetch him,
    gather him
    unto yourself

    Oh – but that version
    doesn’t fit with any
    of the Biblical accounts
    I’m told …
    Oh really? I can’t help
    but reply
    to whomever
    the doubting
    Thomas or whoever it is
    questioning me …
    Were you there then?
    Did you see what transpired
    between mother and son?
    Did you?

    Did you hear the sobbing
    as she begged
    them to spare her son?
    Ragged sobs that changed
    to wails that eventually
    rose to keening
    His mother, and his aunt
    who were joined
    by other women –
    all keening
    throughout the night
    A sound so eerie,
    so heart-breaking it caused
    grown men to weep
    And wolves in the hills
    to howl incessantly
    As he hung there
    on the hill, on the cross
    dying slowly

    Mother to mother I feel
    your pain
    And my heart aches
    for you
    and your loss
    It disturbs me
    that your complete story
    is not recorded
    In Biblical references,
    However the apostle, John
    did mention,
    after all was said and done
    and your boy was risen
    there were many more signs
    of his resurrection
    so many
    that all the books
    in all the world
    could not
    contain them therein;
    Perhaps your story is in these.

    Mother to mother – one last thing
    before I take my leave
    You might not know this
    but the artist who created
    this magnificent sculpture
    became very famous
    People travel here
    from the world over
    to view La Pieta, the name
    given this piece
    And the artist, Michelangelo,
    signed this work of art
    This master artist
    who captured you—
    The mother of God
    in all your youthful glory
    With you son laying crucified
    across your lap—
    Your replication
    was the only thing
    he ever signed
    Maybe he realized how
    important it was …
    to tell the rest of your story

    should mention that the original was posted with a copy of a photo of the sculpture …
    posted to dVerse sculpted poems Feb.25.2012 through the Poets Treehouse
    Copy of Michangelo’s Pieta in Poznań
    photo by RadomilThis is a file from the Wikimedia Commons. Information from its description page there is shown below.

  11. Sharon, I read this poem of yours on your website once and I was astonished. Now enjoying it again, I must remember to say to you: I think it works even better without the picture. I’m so glad that you post it here because that gives me the opportunity to say this that I love this poem. You express precisely what I feel and you do so in a such a tender and lyrical way. What you display here is the image of the humanity I also read in all the parables – and that’s what I love. Thank you so much.

  12. Pingback: Comeback « echoes from the silence

    (a shadorma)

    have been very few,
    and notes of
    come in equal measure; yet…
    I come back to write

    P. Wanken

  14. Come Back

    C ome back. I know you have to go your
    O wn way. Come back, though I know you’re not here to stay.
    M ay you find all you’re looking for,
    E verything you want and so much more.
    B ut come back and visit for awhile.
    A nd share some moments and a smile.
    C ome back so I won’t be so blue. I’ll
    K eep you in my prayers until you do.

  15. Well, came up with a return poem, but definitely does not qualify as happy! So, you’ve been warned…

    The Visitor

    The shadows of eternity
    Have fallen on this house once more.
    Death lingers in the quiet corners,
    Keeping a patient vigil
    Until his moment of exit arrives,
    Leaving grief as a reminder
    That his departures are only temporary.

  16. They’re Back

    Pitchers and catchers
    are back. It must be
    Spring training. Certainly
    there is a spring in my
    husband’s step, a brightness
    of eyes, a straightening
    of spine. Now we are
    into the season. The baseball
    channel is back on our
    cable bill, and the air
    outdoors is warming.
    Newly cut grass scents
    the yard as the dogs
    play their own version
    of ball. We are awakened.

  17. One Breath Away

    With one breath
    they kissed as if the world was ending
    fighting to hang on
    waiting to see if the sparks still flew –

    They had drifted away
    lost in their own pursuits
    both unknowingly thinking
    this kiss will tell the truth –

    Trying too hard –
    Letting thoughts slip away
    the spark burst into flames
    the magic of love reclaimed them –

    They broke apart
    both grinning like love sick fools
    then dived back in for more
    with one breath.

  18. Marie and Walt, thank-you for your poems! Both powerful in their own rite!

    Spring’s Come-back
    (*the first line in a poem by Thmas Carew…I doubled up a prompt today:)

    *Now that the winter’s gone
    The earth renews its zest
    Flaunting her floral gown
    Of fragrant lilac dress

    The rigor of its chill
    Softens on zephyr-tongue
    As over wood and hill
    Rolls April’s luring song

    Come; fling aside your woe
    And winter’s binding shroud
    The violet rivers flow
    Beneath spring’s little cloud

    Come; lay aside your grief
    The heart cannot resist
    The tide of budding leaf
    And daffodil, sun-kissed

    Now that the winter’s o’er
    We dare to dream anew
    To plant and hope once more
    On spring’s fresh avenue

  19. So far behind on PAD that I figured I’d just start here instead. Great prompt.


    When I was young,
    I closed my eyes and
    the world disappeared.

    I hid in plain sight
    and my parents
    pretended not to see.

    When I was older,
    I hid in plain sight
    hoping someone would

    see me with open eyes
    and our pretend worlds
    would disappear.

    Poetic Bloomings #50 – Comeback

  20. Live Again

    I don’t like looking back,
    what good does it really do?
    Was life all that much better
    when you were twenty-two?

    It may have been more carefree,
    your innocence more intact.
    But think of all you’ve learned since then
    not to mention how much better you act.

    Some things are just too painful
    to relive again and again.
    Just be glad that you are where you are
    and not stuck where you have been.

    So seize the day and breathe new life
    into memories you’ve tried to flee.
    Your past has made you who you are,
    embrace it and be free!

    © KED 2012

    • Kelly, I think you must have been listening to our conversation while we were doing dishes! I have teen-age daughters and the relationship drama!!! O–o-oH! Someday they will look back, hopefully and say…well I’m glad to be past that! Really had to smile and nod as I read this…so true! I haven’t decided yet what the best years are in life…but I approach each day as the best is yet to come! Say yes! to today and live, laugh, love:)

      • Two teenagers and a tween here in our home…I find myself wanting to say repeatedly, “its not a big deal, in a few years it won’t matter.”…But I have to hold my tongue and realize right now it does matter to them. I like your approach…each new day has the potential to be the best…I feel another poem stirring.

  21. Whew. Late to the party. April is humming along, and kickin’ my butt. Finally made time to “come back” here and write somethin’…

    Dear 1987 Thighs,

    I miss you. I know it’s been awhile,
    and I have developed a sweet tooth
    and a lazy butt since we last saw
    each other, but I have also cut some
    awesome people out of my life for you:
    Ben & Jerry, Aunt Jemima, Sara Lee.
    And I have added some new tortures,
    like my elliptical, and cross fit. Thus
    far, to be honest, I am much more cross
    than fit. So here I sit, imploring you,
    if I buy some Aqua Net and some
    neon legwarmers to make you feel
    at home, won’t you please, please

    Come back?

  22. (I’ve been feeling in a bit of a writing drought lately.)

    Dry lines crack parched earth
    from weeks of drought devouring
    each drop of moisture
    until even cacti yearn to drink.
    She cried–salty tears revive.

  23. Pingback: Prompts Friday Freeforall « Margo Roby: Wordgathering

  24. Comeback

    Earth comes here again
    every year, a location
    not on any map,
    but on calendars we mark,
    and we hope for renewal.

    / / /

    A comeback tanka.

  25. I missed the TANKA prompt, so I’ll combine it with a “comeback”.

    Hair Raising Experience

    I didn’t mean to,
    was all that she could muster,
    with scissors in hand,
    tears streaming down her sweet face.
    Don’t worry it will grow back.

    And just as I am pasting it, I see Mr. Walker also used the tanka form. Poetic coincidence?

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