The challenge this week was to write a poem about something that is described by virtue of what isn't there. Here are the results.
Elaine of Wild Rose Reader shares three poems this week.It's not too late if you still want to play. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll add it to the list.
Amy Ludwig VanDerwater left this poem in the comments.
Dogless HouseEaster of Owl in the Library shares a poem entitled Stepmother. Welcome!
No one waiting by my door.
No lickingwigglingwags galore.
No one barking anymore.
I’m going home.
Julie Larios of The Drift Record left this poem in the comments.
Going Back to Bed After Getting Up on the Wrong Side of ItJane Yolen left this poem in the comments.
My Late HusbandTiel Aisha Ansari of Knocking From Inside shares a poem entitled Full Moon and Fog.
The door creaks open.
It’s only air.
I hear your laugh.
You are not there.
I know you’re ashes
Without a body,
Heart, or sound.
I know you’re gone.
I watched you die.
Yet still you’re here.
I wonder why.
I do not scream
Or shed a tear
Because I want you
© 2009 Jane Yolen, all rights reserved
Carol Weis left this poem in the comments.
THE TRAMPOLINEDiane Mayr of Random Noodling shares a lovely little concrete poem.
It’s gone, that vestige of my
daughter’s youth, strapped to the
back of a pickup and ripped away, now
sprawling recklessly in a neighbor’s back
yard. Little did they know, late last night
I seized one final frolic, climbed aboard the
rusty relic that lazed for years on my front lawn
and before I knew what happened my nighty took
flight. I whipped that baby off my menopausal bod
and bounced, naked as a newborn, on that tarnished
trampoline, soaring like the titmouse that nests ‘neath
my porch, while a lecherous moon leered through limbs
of lanky oaks, surely amused by this midnight trollop.
I watched my neighbors grapple with it the next day
cart it across the grass, reckoning how in the heck
they’d get it home, while I sat and smirked
knowing full well, how I had romped
with this ol’ codger, the night before.
© Carol Weis, all rights reserved
Kate Coombs of Book Aunt left this poem in the comments.
No TreeSusan Taylor Brown of Susan Writes left this poem in the comments.
No tree, no branch,
no children swinging
into space and back.
No clean cotton socks,
no grumpy cactus prickle,
no slime of stately snails.
No runner's rhythmic breath,
no ragged shout of wind,
no tinkling unseen bells.
No warm embrace of bread scent,
no ripeness of spring earth,
no sour murk of skunk.
No ageless taste of sea salt,
no apple's autumn crunch,
no sweet melt of ice cream.
in stolen sunlight
and its own wealth
of shadows, none
has more fair a face
The Father Who Never WasHarriet of spynotes left this poem in the comments.
No large hand
to wipe my tears
from all my fears
to ride so high
to watch parades
as they goes by
No trike training
or driver's ed
No late night talks
while mom's in bed.
No homework help
with science class
No begging me
to cut the grass
No boyfriend inspection
No first car selection
No father daughter wedding dance
Not even just a single chance
to see my father smile and say
yes, you're mine, in every way.
Tyler ElmTess of Written for Children shares The Little Sadness Poem.
No Tree, there is.
Only tree space,
The absence of branch and leaf
A swing-sized hole,
The memory of standing on a wooden seat
And the photo to prove it;
The snowmen built in a storm,
Under its sheltering limbs,
And the storm that made No Tree
No Tree, there is
A hundred years solid
And now a ghost
An apparition in an old film
With the movie star beneath
On the old familiar swing.
Even now, it creaks
But there is no swing,
Only the opposite of what once stood
And held up.
Only No Tree.
Jone of Deo Writer shares a poem entitled Missing the Huntress.