Saturday, November 07, 2009

Poetry Stretch Results - What Isn't There

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.

Amy Ludwig VanDerwater left this poem in the comments.
    Dogless House

    No one waiting by my door.
    No lickingwigglingwags galore.
    No one barking anymore.
    I’m going home.
    What for?
Easter of Owl in the Library shares a poem entitled Stepmother. Welcome!

Julie Larios of The Drift Record left this poem in the comments.
    Going Back to Bed After Getting Up on the Wrong Side of It

    Done un-.
    Plus non-.
    Difference in-.
    Citement ex-.
    Mood nix.
Jane Yolen left this poem in the comments.
    My Late Husband

    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
    and here.

    © 2009 Jane Yolen, all rights reserved
Tiel Aisha Ansari of Knocking From Inside shares a poem entitled Full Moon and Fog.

Carol Weis left this poem in the comments.

    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
Diane Mayr of Random Noodling shares a lovely little concrete poem.

Kate Coombs of Book Aunt left this poem in the comments.
    No Tree

    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.

    No one.

    Yet, painted
    in stolen sunlight
    and its own wealth
    of shadows, none
    has more fair a face
    than Moon.
Susan Taylor Brown of Susan Writes left this poem in the comments.
    The Father Who Never Was

    No large hand
    to wipe my tears
    protecting me
    from all my fears

    No shoulders
    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.
Harriet of spynotes left this poem in the comments.
    Tyler Elm

    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.

    No Tree, there is
    Only shadow,
    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,
    No shadow.
    Only the opposite of what once stood
    And sheltered
    And held up.
    Only No Tree.
Tess of Written for Children shares The Little Sadness Poem.

Jone of Deo Writer shares a poem entitled Missing the Huntress.
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.


  1. Wow. These turned out so beautifully.

  2. What a lovely, strong group of results this week! Beautiful!

  3. Writing this has been on my mind. Wow it brings up so much about loss. Here is my entry: