Here’s My response:
I see the rage monster
you try to hide,
And I wonder if the monster
as you see it
is not but an injured animal within.
Injured animals strike
at anything within reach.
And as I refuse to leave your side...
Well perhaps you are not the monster
you think you are...
*note Right now this is sitting in the Kissed by Verse volume. I am not positive it fits the theme but I am also unsure it does not. My mind may change before publication of that volume.
2026 PAD Challenge Day 6
okay I set up the prompts and I already did this one once because it was stuck in my head but I really am trying to do the pad challenge using the Fae Corps Publishing prompts so …
my response is :
daisy chains
tied us together
in flowers and paper
childhood memories
tree trimmings
and moments in the world
each one precious
each one unique
a chance to be
young eternally
I don’t often talk about my poetry, preferring to leave the interpretation to the reader. However, This one hurt. writing it was the most painful piece I have ever done. The piece that inspired it was posted by a friend on Facebook. and I shall post it here so I am not alone.
Pablo Neruda was an Amazing poet. It hurts that his words still echo even though time should have rendered a softness to them.
Lyrics –
The beautiful poem by miss Sylvia Plath
The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.
Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in.
I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly
As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.
I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.
I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses
And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons.
They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.
Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.
The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,
They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,
Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,
So it is impossible to tell how many there are.
My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water
Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.
They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.
Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage——
My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,
My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;
Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.
My 2 cents –
Okay I know that this is a poem…being sung to music. But I love Sylvia Plath and I couldn’t Resist Sharing it. It is so pretty.
Pattimouse 