R.L.B. PAD COUNTDOWN: T-MINUS 3

Robert Lee Brewer of the Writer’s Digest’s Poetic Asides has begun a “count down” to his annual April Poem-a-Day challenge this year.

My plan, if I can keep up with it, is to daily provide a link to Robert’s prompts here at Bloomings.  If you care to share your P.A.-prompted poems daily here, you are more than welcome to do so. We can interact and encourage one another easily here.

Here is the link to today’s prompt, “Write a poem that responds to another poem”Poetic Asides April PAD Countdown:  T-minus 3 

Connect, keep healthy, and poem on!

19 thoughts on “R.L.B. PAD COUNTDOWN: T-MINUS 3

  1. YES, DEAR

    Oh Mr. Nash, please fill me in,
    How did you learn this lesson?
    Through Mrs. Nash’s rolling pin?
    Not sure, but I’m just guessin’.

    © Marie Elena Good, 2020

    In response to:

    A WORD TO HUSBANDS (by Ogden Nash)

    To keep your marriage brimming
    With love in the loving cup,
    Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
    Whenever you’re right, shut up.

  2. Pingback: Poetry – Poetry by Debi Swim

  3. Response to Pied Beauty

    “Glory be to God for Dappled Things”

    The grass tapers, blades unblunted
    by the mower. And it flexes.
    Green bridge between sunlight and shade,
    on a summer day in late March
    it is itself a song of praise.
    No headlines make this morning stand
    out from others. I’ll forget it,
    the way the cat will when she wakes
    with the sun gone from her pink nose.
    As oaks will forget lacking leaves.
    The smell of gasoline will come,
    bruised chlorophyll, then coumarin.
    Starlings granted access will feast
    and freckle the cropped grass.

  4. I wanted to go with Dylan Thomas but his mood is far too somber for my own good right now.

    In Reply to Naomi Shihab Nye’s “The Small Vases from Hebron”

    My neighbour’s out
    for her daily walk.
    That’s all we’re allowed in
    these viral days. There’s
    no out and about anymore.

    We grow deep inside ourselves.

    Single file we walk, opposing
    non-existent traffic flow.
    Cars in cupboards, trains
    off tracks, planes downed
    by air. We’re all parked up.

    What do the headlines say?

    To tuck away, and breathe
    your own air. Fair skies
    and light clouds from our
    windowed view. They say
    six months, maybe more.

    But the child of Hebron
    I hope is unaware.

    Here’s the poem that I’m responding to: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48603/the-small-vases-from-hebron

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