Welcome to April! A poet’s favorite month!
Day 26 prompt from Robert Lee Brewer of Poetic Asides: Write a (Blank) World poem.
2021 April PAD Challenge: Day 26 – Writer’s Digest (writersdigest.com)
Want to use a form, and need help choosing one? Here’s our Bloomin’ list! Inform Poets | POETIC BLOOMINGS (wordpress.com)
This month, we are sharing Robert Lee Brewer’s 2021 April P.A.D. Challenge daily prompts right here at Poetic Bloomings. As has become our April custom, we will suspend our own prompts in favor of simply poeming alongside the WD Poetic Asides group.
Feel free to share your poems in the comment section below, as always. The idea is not to take away from Robert’s site, but to have a small, safe 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 or sign up for a third-party platform here at Bloomings. We are a small and intimate group. We know you! And we are better for it!
Connect, keep healthy, and poem on!
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
ALL THE WORLD LOVES A CLOWN
The jolly joker, baggy pants and scant
patches of outrageous hair ; smiles and gags
abound. But nobody knows! Nobody knows.
And still, he’ll strap on his suspenders,
Seltzer water at the ready and a steady
Stream of laughs and guffaws, canned
And recorded for such times.
For his mind is a million miles away,
And all the pain does is slash at his heart.
His plaid jacket held together by one large button
It does not hold him tightly as he wished
He could hold his young daughter.
His tragedy feeds his comedy,
His funny side is the mask that hides
the tears of the clown. Only one wish –
that he could take his helium balloons
and allow them to float him to his little girl.
Separation takes its toll on all concerned.
All the world loves him,
the clown who cajoles and entertains,
But no one ever sees his pain.
And their laughter does not heal him.
From what I’ve learned of comics and clowns, this story is all too common. Wonderfully told.
Makes me think of Emmit Kelly. But, William is right, so many comics struggle with depression.
So sad that this is true of many clowns and comics.
It seems so many pass away at a very young age. Anthony Newley sang a song called “Funny Man”. I think it was from a musical. It shared those sentiments. Thank you for your comments.
Using Clown as metaphor, I think there are so many that carry sadness and pain unseen, as you’ve detailed so beautifully here. You frame emotion and depth so beautifully, Walt, that I always read layers into your poems that increase their meaning and beauty.
This is a great poem about hidden pain- what nice contrasts.
The World According to Pinocchio ( a parody on The Walrus and the Carpenter”)
His laugh is wet as wet can be
Humour dry as dry
His spittle sprays the crowd because
Spit’s raining from the sky
Fruit and veg fly overhead
As stage-right he did fly
The puppet and his carpenter
Wave the crowd goodbye
Grinning broadly here.
Ha, me too
Too cool!
Great take, Marilyn! I had done a full treatment of the tale under the title, “The Manatee and the Contracted Home Improvement Specialist”. Quite the challenge. Well done!
I only had enough brain power to take on one stanza. LOL!
SHE, OF THE MOON AND THE STARS AND THE WORLD
Her gentility precedes her. Her long
tresses flow in cascade as she walks
along the shore at night. Looking out at
this star filled vignette, she steals the night;
the moon and the stars and the world that’s
presented to her. It’s for sure this is what
she has needed. Love depleted, her heart is
ready to recharge in large part because the good
that resides there, hides there and is reserved for
the one who would walk with her at midnight, the
one to whom she will gladly give her soul.
If a golden shovel is called that because the poet takes a line and makes something golden of it, then this piece fits. Wonderful.
I agree completely with you….
I love Golden Shovels and this one is a beauty
Excellent use of Golden Shovel and Charles Bukowski!
Thanks all! I’ve enjoyed writing them of late. The message held In that line adds a direction to the rest of it..
THE MICROSCOPIC WORLD
The micro—
scopic world of the unseen
has ruled (wrecked)
our entire world.
Micro—
scopic assassins unleashed
upon an unsuspecting society
causing death, pain, isolation,
and anxiety to rule our lives.
Micro—
scopic organisms of the unseen
came to infiltrate our body,
our culture, our homes,
and our way of life.
Micro—
scopic realms on the micro scale
having great power over
the kingdom of men, our decisions,
our gatherings, who we can see
or can’t
see.
—Like—
Micro—
scopic aliens set free to
seize, ravage, and roam the earth
as they please,
like they own the place.
We’ve always wondered
if aliens existed, or were worried
about an invasion, the destruction
of the human race.
—Like—
Micro—
scopic terminators sent back
in time to terminate
Sarah Connor, except this time
we’re ALL Sarah Connor.
We’re all tired,
and exhausted dealing
with these little micro—
punks.
If we could only
stick em all in the
micro—
wave and be done with it.
Benjamin Thomas
I like the wry finish to this.
Thx William.
I wish we could.
Me too.
The structure of this is wonderful. Micro- starting each stanza works so well.
The ending is perfect!
Thanks Sara. 🙏🏽
LOSER’S WORLD
You might
as well give up
when your lover’s lips lie
and your precious artificial
plant dies.
Ooh, this one hurts.
Ouch. You do have a way with surprise endings
Sad one William!
Oh no!
WELCOME TO MY WORLD
In my world, I write quite prolifically,
generating poems terrifically,
but that kind of effort specifically
is taxing and takes a bit more.
And you can be sure
in my world, poetry takes a toll at times
and some of my rhymes
get me tired, and wired and repetitive.
And yet, in my world my verse is my sedative,
pleasing to me and not so competitive,
and I’ll keep writing poems as long as I live in this world.
When poetry begs me to write it,
I can keep on going all night with it!
In my world it feels just right! Get it?
Got it. Glad you got it.
Hidden World
With earth day in the rear view
but yet roiling fresh in memory
find a favorite spot to sit
on the ground where you can
get comfortable and make a
spread wedge of your legs
embracing the weedy verge
slowly begin to count the bounty
before you gently investigating
plants large and miniscule
seeds whole or casing split or sprouted
shake soil from roots onto palm
examining what squirms there
as if alarmed to be plucked
from their tree houses
you know as roots white webs
spun by living organs taking in
water and mineral nutrients
nobby fingers tunneling
around worms and beetles perhaps
a centipede or two tiny creatures
entire lives beneath your feet
odd bits of shell and rock
sand and clay moist loam
depending where you’ve plopped
gaze outward now and multiply
the nuclei in your hand from this
underground field lawn terrace ditch
take joy in the progress of the colorful
ladybug wobbling on your leg
thrill to a yellow sulphur butterfly
sipping from a damp leaf
rising walk mindfully then on the roof
of this hidden world remembering
your steps are thunder cataclysmic
to those below alive and thriving
in their hidden wonderful world.
This stream-of-consciousness piece is helped by the lack of punctuation, in my view.
“walk mindfully then on the roof
of this hidden world” Love that, Pat
So many lives we don’t take the time to contemplate. Love your description of the spider’s web.
SENTENCED TO LIFE IN WALLY WORLD
Me.
Walt.
A man
mired in poetry,
given to expressions of words;
a sharing of emotion and fits of rhyme.
Rhyme.
Me
and words.
A guy Walt,
a muse full of poetry
and too much time for just one man.
Man,
rhyme
is poetry!
It moves me.
It takes this guy Walt,
and fills his expressive soul with melodic words.
Words.
Men
like Walt
can make rhyme
sing, and totally move me
to slather my heart with the sweetest poetry.
Poetry.
Words
within me.
Women and men
come to read my rhyme
and leave comments about the madness of Walt.
Walt.
Poetry
in rhyme;
painted with words;
offered to the gentle (wo)men;
and thrown down as a gauntlet by me.
I am Walt, this is me,
a verbose man of poetry.
Giving these words of rhyme my time.
If this isn’t a specific form, it should be. Well done!
It is a combination Fibonacci/Sestina. I call it a “Sestinacci”. Thanks Paula!
Sheer creative genius.
Agreed!
Whether a Sestinacci or Fibotina – the name doesn’t matter…it was great!
Ditto, I love the form! Btw- I used to work at a restaurant named Wally’s World!
The Lost World
The earth is dying,
I hear people speak with fear.
Others have harmed everyone,
But no one admits to anything.
The pandemic is killing us,
But we were dying anyway.
We are lost.
The world is lost.
We deny that is the problem.
It cannot be us.
In an effort to protect,
We have lost our way and
Deny any responsibility
For any of the wrongs done
For it is always someone
Not us who did the harm.
We are lost.
The world is lost.
We deny that is the problem.
It cannot be us.
Religion is evil.
Look how many people
It has killed in its name.
Yet governments kill
More people, and
Yet we want more.
We are lost.
The world is lost.
We deny that is the problem.
It cannot be us.
We need to be kind.
It would make the world better.
Yet we pass gossip to others.
We look the other way
When we could help.
Lord, help our blind souls.
We are lost.
The world is lost.
We deny that is the problem.
It cannot be us.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 26, 2021
Triphammer blows here. Very efefctive.
More effective than my typing; that’s for sure.
Thank you and my typing goes spells words in interesting ways…
I’m reminded of this quote: The Times once sent out an inquiry to famous authors, asking the question, “What’s wrong with the world today?” and Chesterton responded simply, “Dear Sir, I am. Yours, G.K. Chesterton.”
That is a cool quote… thanks
Love this quote, too! A few words can say so much!
Yes they can
A perfect summation of humans.
A POET’S WORLD
Writing of flowers
For many hours
Describing the stars
Canning peaches in jars,
The coming of age,
Turning life’s page,
Any claim or hidden chance,
For dancing, passion, or romance,
Taking images, making them pretty,
Perhaps avoiding a dirty, noisy city,
Yet, we can look at the belly of the beast,
Until we find the point and flip it, at least.
In a poet’s world, we can write anything,
Make it real, make it sing,
Not shying away from the tough stuff,
We can stop when we’ve had enough.
Facing inequality, violence, anger, and commotions,
Poet’s cover it all and describe all the emotions,
Going in deep, far, and wide,
Revealing it all with nothing to hide.
Politics, disruption, world hunger, and war,
Poets write all the angles and find even more.
It is not just about fluff, sing song and a good rhyme,
We’ll describe current day in terms of now time.
Maybe we write from home, not down in the street,
Yet our take on it is clear, it is complete.
A poet’s world can be realistic, clear, and scary,
Or paint everything in roses, nice and merry.
Isn’t that life and how it works?
In a world of seasons, young children, and jerks.
Subtle shades of dark and light,
Allow us to explore anything to write,
We can look deep and find the silver lining,
Find the glory and keep it shining,
Poets see all the possibilities,
Sometimes tough talk, sometimes with ease
Yes, we might become way too nosey,
Yet, in the end, all things will turn out rosy.
When peace for all is finally unfurled,
We’ll know it always existed, in a poet’s world.
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
This could be manifesto. Love it.
Wonderful, Janet
Poets do see all the possibilities, and have the freedom to write them any way they choose. Love this poem, Janet!
A repeat of some beautiful quotes and poems that fit together like a quilt.
A Glimpse of Divinity In this World (Cento)
Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and saw
she was small, light blue, and so touchingly alone.
It suddenly struck me, that tiny pea,
pretty and blue, was the Earth.
But look around at this world,
how perfectly it’s made.
Flowers can’t move, yet the insects come
and spread their pollen.
Trees can’t move, but birds and animals
eat their fruit and carry their seeds far and wide.
And forget not that the earth delights
to feel your bare feet
and the winds
long to play with your hair.
Our planet is a glimpse of divinity.
Rocks pray, pebbles and boulders
and old weathered hills.
They are still and silent,
and those are two important ways to pray.
Earth’s crammed with heaven…
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.
A compilation from quotes and poems by:
High Flight, John Gillespie Magee, Nahoko Uehashi, Moribito: Guardian of the Spirit, Kahlil Gibran quote – And forget not…, Neil Armstrong quote – It suddenly struck me…., Douglas Wood, Grandad’s Prayers of the Earth, Edgar Mitchell quote- Our planet is a glimpse…, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh
I am impressed with how skillfully you did this.
Thanks William. I really like this form.
Your poem puts me in a state of peace. The ending is just perfect! So well done, Debi!
Thanks Janet
Gorgeous, especially the last two lines! WOW!!
Wonderful cento, Debi!
Waking World
morning sun
eyes open
song of birds
touch of warmth
effervescent breeze
ever falling in love
breeze effervescent
warmth of touch
birds of song
sun morning
Waking World (Revised)
morning sun
eyes open
song of birds
touch of warmth
effervescent breeze
ever falling in love
breeze effervescent
warmth of touch
birds of song
open eyes
sun morning
Bingo!
I like the revision. Somehow, adding open eyes, just really impacted it.
So well done, Mike! Such simple and yet profound beauty here!
This is amazing, Mike! Perfectly written both ways.
AN AWAKENING WORLD
Just like spring,
New ideas are coming to life,
New takes on old stories,
New possibilities are taking hold,
Folding up the old,
The stagnant,
The overdone,
Paving the way,
To a future,
Where our collective understanding,
Overcomes the hold fear has had,
‘If you do not do it just this way,
You are already wrong’ kind of mentality,
Fatality for so, so many.
A harsh dictation of structure,
For sure,
Does not allow our abilities,
To shine,
Where we can be ourselves,
When we can speak our hearts,
When the focus is on what we each,
Contribute to the whole,
The pandemic has been cruel,
Ruling over us like a strict adherence,
To great fear,
Yet who here,
Has not become weary of its toll,
Taken precautions,
Cautions to take great care,
Lessons and losses in this time
Have sadly been plentiful,
Perhaps simpler times are ahead,
Collectively, we value,
Family more,
Friendship more,
Our homes more,
What we already have more,
And people, goods and services more,
Perhaps, we are opening our hearts wider,
To change,
After all,
And doesn’t that alone,
Help awaken this world to
Increased love,
Greater understanding,
Expanded hope,
Then ever before?
Maybe just maybe,
This is becoming,
An awakened world,
After all.
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
Let’s hope so. Well wrought, this.
Great inspiring piece!!
She Is My World
In those early days,
I would have liked
to give her the world,
and, believe me,
she would have liked that too,
but I owned so little of it,
thought I couldn’t afford it,
so all she’d receive
was a homemade valentine,
not even capitalized,
and, one year, some patchouli oil,
another, some seeds
from a Burpee catalog.
Those seeds were for Cosmos,
and I really don’t like them much,
but she does, and
that’s enough,
like those $3.99 Driscoll strawberries,
the ones she prefers,
when all I eat are
the $1.50 baskets with
unmemorable names,
the loss leaders from the chains.
I own more of the world now,
but I’m older and wiser too,
know that it’s not mine to give,
and what’s it matter, anyhow?
In the way of men and women
of a certain age, of
husbands and wives
of all ages,
if I need a new tee shirt, I buy one,
while she has the world
in her catalogs.
Then there’s Ebay, Amazon, all the rest,
but don’t get me started on those.
This is such a refreshing read.
I like the way you used this prompt. The world is not anyone’s to give.
A Husband’s World
Why in the world must she have so many shoes?
Such an enormous obsession.
Why this collection did she choose?
Why in the world must she have so many shoes?
It’s as if she didn’t buy them, she’d have something to lose,
feel lost without them in her possession.
Why in the world must she have so many shoes?
Such an enormous obsession.
A Wife’s World
Why in the world must he have so few shirts?
Such a lack of dignified style.
Sometimes they’re so hole-ly it hurts.
Why in the world must he have so few shirts?
It’s as if he he bought more, he’d think it the worst,
feel lost for both a short time and for long while.
Why in the world must he have so few shirts?
Such a lack of dignified style.
Delightful!
I can relate to this one, Daniel!
The world
could end
by lunchtime, so
let this moment shine.
Let it breathe.
Whatever’s coming
will come in due time,
including, regrets, mistakes and grief,
in all their untidy dress,
complicated and deep,
feeling a lot like fear.
Lifelong friends may think enough
of each other
to take a moment to call,
even to lie once in awhile,
as they traverse oceans and
mountains and valleys of emotion,
preparing for what must ultimately come,
with certainty that there’s another way
to be in the world,
even without a remedy for death.
Uncomfortable as it is,
afraid as we are,
we can only listen to our breath,
find a calm corner inside,
engage with the world as it is right now,
and live with an open heart.
In this way, dawn breaks for me
as some of my friends live in twilight.
Night will come soon enough.
So much wisdom here. Wonderful.
You speak such truth, Daniel! You are so right, ‘night will come soon enough’! Living life with an open heart is simple in concept but not always as easy in practice. Yet, as it happens, when it happens, it is the way home! Beautiful reminder!
“we can only listen to our breath,
find a calm corner inside,
engage with the world as it is right now,
and live with an open heart.”
Such a wise and beautiful sentiment.
MY WORLD
My world
doesn’t exist
it never has
they don’t see me
they never have
I am mist
evanescent
dissipating
and never present
until they need
something
for themselves
then I become
solid as a rock
—————
My choice
doesn’t exist
it never has
It was dismissed
long time ago
along with respect
Even to this day
I don’t expect
to have a choice
to be a real person
that make decisions
Because I don’t
even exist
For I am mist
dissipating
evanescent
and never present
It’s easier
to dismiss a person
who is never there
at least
in their minds
I didn’t exist
for I am never
there
they never
saw me
at anytime
because
all they saw
were themselves
this has become
my world
if you can
call it that
a world where
I don’t exist
until they need
something for
themselves
a world where
I am mist
a world where
I am never missed
Benjamin Thomas
The idea that we can feel invisible is so profound here, Benjamin. Funny, that when we are needed, we can become as solid as a rock. Some days, I watch the clouds until I feel like I am one. Then I come home and fix dinner. Nothing like being grounded once more. I enjoyed your poem and yet felt the sadness it conveys.
Thanks Janet. This helped me get some feelings off my chest.
Oh, that invisibility we are cloaked in, until needed. Sad, but well done.
My Lost World…
When the tsunami of deaths had ended,
It blazed a trail of destruction to my world.
Houses I visited belonged to others.
Faces I visited were buried.
My society was mostly in those graveyards.
My home was empty and alone.
I could have ended in defeat,
But there was still a life,
For me to live.
That world I lived,
For forty years is behind me.
It is a new world I am living…
With new faces among
Some familiar.
It is not the same,
But it is as good,
As my life can be.
For the sun came up this morning,
And I planted in my garden
Things to grow
For the future.
Mary Elizabeth Todd
April 26, 2021
Yes!
thanks
Very beautiful. I like the positive outlook in the midst of adversity, especially with the rising of the sun, and planting a garden.
Feathered World
I would not want to be a bird
Unfit to speak a single word!
With only feathers for a dress
A home of sticks and mud, what mess!
And have to search for bug and seed
For breakfast, lunch, and tea, indeed!
To have to watch for hawk and cat
Then fly away, imagine that!
No comfy bed or soft settee
Instead I’d sit high in a tree!
I would not want to be a bird
A little girl I’d much prefer
But if a bird I had to be
Make me a cheery chickadee!
Too much fun, Candace! Interesting to think of trading places with an animal or becoming one. Birds in flight certainly add to that appeal and yet, you point out other reasons it might not be ideal! I enjoyed this!
Love this, Candace! Imagine all the animals and insects you could trade places with.
IN A SILENT WORLD
When the days
Go quiet,
Even whispering winds,
Go still,
Our voices drift to sleep,
Go deeper,
Into a silent world,
Go to peace,
As the perfected creation,
Goes on,
Where like a shy wave,
Going upward,
A higher, more refined energy,
Going and going up,
Takes on a new form,
Going further,
Skipping to the moon and back,
Going in wonder,
Standing on the sun,
Getting warmer,
Landing lightly on every star
Getting braver,
The planets all circling,
Getting closer,
As a harmonic symphony,
Gets warmed up,
And the great orchestrater in the sky,
Becomes ready,
To play out the subtle beauty
Becoming gathered there,
Their nightly ritual,
Becoming their celestial song,
Where attunement to a silent world
Becomes the universal tune,
The nightly call that even Venus responds to,
Becoming the last planet,
To harmonize all the others,
Becoming Her Love reigning down,
To a busy world,
Before it becomes too hectic,
To remember the silent world’s
Offer to become,
A loving choice,
For the world,
Once more.
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2021
In My Writing World
In my writing world, words surprise me.
They show different facets when they’re twirled.
I’m content with my laptop, words and hot tea,
In my writing world.
Sometimes ideas are slowly unfurled,
As I think about what I feel, hear, smell, taste and see.
Other times, they’re more forcefully hurled.
It’s fun to go on a wild writing spree.
Words go from homely to fancy and pearled.
The art of words and me agree,
In my writing world.
I like your writing world, Connie!
The Jolly Joker’s World
Baggy pants and scant patches of outrageous hair,
unfit to speak a single word,
comments about the madness.
His laugh, as wet as wet can be,
unleashed upon an unsuspecting society.
Such a lack of dignified style.
It was dismissed a long time ago,
along with respect.
Fits of rhyme
and too much time for just one man
examining what squirms there –
open eyes – not shying away from the tough stuff.
The stagnant.
The overdone.
But that kind of effort specifically is taxing,
because the good that resides there, hides there,
lost for just a short time,
and for a long while.
Other times, they’re more forcefully hurled.
His precarious artificial plant dies.
The world could end by lunchtime
and what’s it matter anyhow?
We were dying anyway.
© Marie Elena Good, 2021
A Cento (inspired by Debi’s brilliant piece!), composed entirely with lines by Walt, Misk, Benjamin, William, Candace, Pat, Janet, Daniel, Mike, Mary, and Connie.
Very interesting piece!!! I’ve personally never heard of it. 👌
Thanks!
This is wonderful, Marie!
Man, but I wish you had been included! I knew I’d be zonked out early yesterday, and I was. I don’t like the big difference in time zone between us, Sara!
I know. It can be annoying. Still, you included wonderful poetry from our little family.
YOU GUYS! All your poems are just so extraordinary! It was so much fun to sit down and read, with the idea in mind to glean lines and phrases from them to compose my own. I think I need to do this more often. What a blast I had doing this!
Warm smiles to all of you!
Very creative, Marie!
Thank you!
Impressive, Marie Elena! Those lines and poems seem to flow so naturally! What an extraordinary approach. What a clever, creative way to write a poem! Amazing job!
Thanks Janet! So much fun to write!
love it….
Just delightful! Word weaving at its best:))
Thanks so much, ladies!
A Caregiver’s World
In a caregiver’s day
Things may seem a bit strange
Routine may never change
You have to learn his way
And get used to his play
“Normal” may rearrange
Play the same DVD
Seems like he’ll never stop
Sometimes he’ll buzz and hop
His talking’s not easy
And remind him to pee
It’s difficult to shop
But when he strokes your face
Know you’re in a good place
Connie, the tenderness here touches my heart. Hugs …
Shallow World
where money grants you power
where malls count more than housing
where nature is sacrificed.
Time for animals to save our surroundings.
Yes!
Ya think?
Pow. Yes. And I love this take you took.
Thanks, Marie!
Dream World
I’m glad dreams don’t come true.
If they did, every time I was asked to speak
I’d be naked, chased by bears or abducted by aliens.
My kids would change ages from time to time
and that would be confusing.
I’d be kissing old boyfriends or perfect strangers.
Hubby wouldn’t be too wild about that.
I’d be endlessly walking around my old high school
trying to remember my locker combination,
searching for my next class
or a clean, functioning bathroom.
I’d be wandering around in a house
with hundreds of rooms and floors
and some of the floors would be falling through.
I’d be stuck on mountain tops or tall buildings
and have to jump.
I’d have to take care of mice and I don’t like mice.
Old friends would be popping in, that would be great,
and at times I’d be able to fly, but still,
I’m glad dreams don’t come true.
HA!! Oh my, can I ever relate! 😀 I have a concert, and forgot my flute. I have a test in a class I never knew was on my schedule. And good LUCK finding that working bathroom! 😀 Fun poem, Connie!
DREAM WORLD
lost
in
thought, i
drift into
the world of my dreams
where my words are blended into
verse, only to be
lost in my
wake a-
gain
thoughts.