Welcome April! A poet’s favorite month! 🙂

DAY 14 prompt from Robert Lee Brewer of Poetic Asides:  On this “Two for Tuesday,” write a form and/or anti-form poem.  
Link to Poetic Asides PAD Challenge Day 14

Need help choosing a form? Robert’s prompt page for today includes a link to a list of 100 forms, or you may use our Bloomin’ list ( 😉 ) here: Inform Poets .

Welcome to April, Bloomers! We’re glad you are here! We will provide Robert’s 2020 April Poem-a-Day Challenge prompts right here at Poetic Bloomings each day.  We will suspend our own Sunday prompts during April, in favor of simply poeming alongside the WD Poetic Asides group.

If you share your poems here (and we hope you will!), we also want to urge you to post at PA, as well.  The idea is not to take away from Robert’s site, but to have a place where our Bloomers can easily share our poems daily, and interact and encourage one another throughout the month.  No need to wait for moderation, here.  We are a small and intimate group. We know you!  And we are better for it!

Connect, keep healthy, and poem on!

59 thoughts on “2020 APRIL POEM-A-DAY, PROMPT #14


    are my antidote
    to mindless
    especially when
    rhyming’s flown out the window
    and meter’s petered.

  2. Good afternoon!

    I’m going with an American Sentence for my form choice.


    I always like Sylvia Plath; she knew her way around blackberries.

  3. A Clogyrnach Poem


    The year 2020 came in
    like any other year that’s been,
    but with a strange twist,
    a flick of the wrist,
    punching fist,
    Covid grins.

  4. Anti-Sestina

    I will not write Sestinas, sir.
    It’s not the form that I prefer.
    See, when I try, my brain won’t purr.
    It spits and chokes. My mind’s a blur.
    I will not write for him, or her.
    I will not write Sestinas, sir.

    And you’d be right if you infer
    I will not write Sestinas, sir.
    To navigate me through, for sure
    I’d have to have a good chauffer.
    Or wine or beer or hard liquor.
    But I don’t drink, so then I’d slur.

    I will not write Sestinas, sir.
    To your insistence, I demur.
    My mind is striking, as it were.
    I’m not a poetry poseur.
    To Walt Wojtanik, I’ll defer –
    Our chief Sestina Whisperer.

    © Marie Elena Good, 2020

  5. D


    There’s nothing to wish for, nothing to crave.
    We already have all that we need.
    There’s more to cherish in the things we gave.
    There’s nothing to wish for, nothing to crave.
    Only our memories are worthy to save,
    all else, like the dandelion, going to seed.
    There’s nothing to wish for, nothing to crave.
    We already have all that we need.

  6. Forming My Thoughts
    by Paula Riggs

    Social distancing
    for a month.
    And it is
    April: Poetry Month! So ~
    thirty shadormas!

    Or not.

  7. .
    The Norm Form

    I will strictly adhere to this form
    With nothing from outside the norm
    I’ll pen you a poem
    From the safety of home
    While avoiding the COVID-19 storm

  8. I think this speaks for me.

    And for others out there.

    What Form?

    When I write
    I have no preset plan
    I know not where words will land
    Nor their order or meaning

    Words just fall
    Straight out of the air
    As if they know just where
    They belong

    At times they fall like rain
    All perfectly spaced and timed
    But then there are the droughts
    And digging for words just doesn’t work

    I’ve tried forms
    Some I really like
    Mostly the Japanese quickies
    Best for my short attention span

    Others just make me work too hard
    To find the rhythm or count syllables
    Or get that rhyming pattern down
    I often just go off the rails

    I’m a free form kind of guy
    No handcuffs or crazy rules
    At the same time I love a challenge
    So a form once in a while works

    I guess I’m not truly anti-form
    Because free form is technically a form
    Or just an excuse for people like me
    To write my way

  9. Dodoitsu

    The sun slips into the sea
    while the red sunset deepens
    shooting fire across the bay
    as the night comes on.

  10. Fibonacce

    of clouds
    are building
    on far horizons,
    shifting from white to shades of grey
    as the gathering storm builds its
    avenging force to
    disrupt some

  11. Unformed

    We regret to inform you that
    This poem has no shape
    It is a formless pile of words
    A mere muddle of syllables
    Wallowing in a pool of ink
    Its muse has gone off fishing
    For phrases in a lake of letters
    There will be no further rhyme or
    Reason until it gets back on its feet

  12. BRING OURSELVES TO RHYME, by Walter J Wojtanik

    In the present we stand, hand-in-hand for the cause of poetry.
    Not quite sure what means to this end, but poets and friends
    sharing in the hearth of majestic musings warm their hearts
    with glowing expressions. Never at a loss for words
    but sometimes a lot of effort goes unnoticed. The rhyme
    stays within reason, for ’tis the season for all to write.

    We would be well within our right
    to seize the opportunity to delve into poetry,
    giving proper respect to the relevant rhyme,
    for what would sound more fitting between friends?
    After all, we all craft with our own fine words
    and hold the verse of others to our hearts.

    For it is within the beating of said hearts
    that we find the power in all that we write.
    Poems flow from the manipulation of words,
    and become the true essence of living poetry.
    Inspiration expressed in the gathering of friends
    all for the propagation of rapturous rhyme.

    Not all find worth in the like sounding rhymes
    preferring the freedom that liberates their hearts
    in the form a verse that is as free. These, my friends,
    are the choices that we as poets make. We are what we write.
    It takes all kinds to write all forms of poetry,
    but a true poet see the emotion woven into words.

    Offer up your musings, for the communion of words
    never ceases. Be they random or deliberate, rhymes
    are the glue that holds together all our pieces. Poetry
    is the literal music of our souls. It resides in every heartfelt
    pang of passion and fashions itself into the right
    moments of our lives as if they were comforting old friends.

    What can we do to spread the scope of our beauty, friends?
    Put the power of your opinion or your longing into words,
    for it is within every woman and man’s right
    to give the world exactly what we glean from our rhymes.
    Poetry is a pulse. It is the syncopation of a loving heart.
    And the living that we do, becomes our lifelong poetry.

    Give poetry a chance, friends.
    Leaving your heart in every word.
    You have the time to rhyme; and all night to write it.

    ***way to put the pressure on me

    • WOW! Just seeing this, Walt. Now see? You ARE the master of this form! It flows. It doesn’t sound forced in any way. I have found myself skimming most of the sestinas I come across. They lack “poetry” to me. But not yours. No, not yours. You shine in this difficult form.

      Didn’t mean to put pressure on you. Just meant to honor you. But I must say I’m glad you felt the poke to write it. FANTASTIC sestina!

  13. Words
    (a clogyrnach)

    Some words are well-placed bows on gifts
    Some words are aimless smoke in wisps
    Some are hard to face
    Candor has its place
    Words of grace
    Spirit lifts

  14. Spring

    Sometimes I long for green to come
    And misty mornings full of dew
    And woodpeckers sound like a drum
    And sunsets turn their pinkish hue
    And tulips wave in joy at you
    And birds tweet from atop a tree
    And stars send kisses in the night
    And moon smiles warm and knowingly

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