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MicMag Nov 2018
He wants none of it
The unrelenting fame
Paparazzi's lights
Never out of sight
The crushing weight
Of a well-known name


He wants none of it
The life-******* fame
Endless demands
From legions of fans
Happiness funneling
Right down the drain


He wants none of it
The soul-deadening fame
Prestige a cruel mistress
All joys turned to business
Dousing his spirit
To extinguish its flame


No, he craves anonymity
For stardom to cease
To be happy with less
Freed from the stress
True glory found
In a life lived in peace
PAD Poem-A-Day Challenge November 2018.
"write a glorious poem"

Prompt from Writer's Digest:
http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/2018-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-day-1
MicMag Nov 2018
Let's try to craft one poem a day
A month of our thoughts conveyed
Just give it a shot
Why the hell not?
Let our words find their own way
November 2018 Poem-a-day Challenge.
I'll be following prompts from Writer's Digest this month. Feel free to join along if you're looking for inspiration!
Anna Marie May 2015
You're my snickerdoodle, pumpkin strudel,
You're the sauce upon my noodle,
You're prettier then a purple poodle,
You're the one I like to doodle,......on my doodle pad,...
Kiana Lynn Apr 2015
With pen and pad in hand,
I’m finally ready to take a stand.
This is how I get my words out best,
it’s kind of like a written test.
It seems to be the only thing that works
when it comes to you, I get flustered by that smirk.
But something about written words is easier,
I bet you’re starting to wonder if it could get cheesier.
Maybe it’s because of your eyes,
and how they reflect the night skies.
Or how every inch of my body reminds me of you,
it’s like to me, this body is brand new.
My hands, they are now meant to hold yours
or how you’re the one my heart adores.
See my body is no longer my own,
my ownership fell apart with every moan.
Thoughts like this, admissions like this,
seem to get lost amidst each kiss.
That’s why pen and paper are best,
for my admission here can attest.
I get a bit lost when you’re close to me,
our bodies intermixed means you’re all I see.
With a pen in hand, my thoughts aren’t all over,
I don’t feel like so much of a rover.
This is where it’s thoughtless,
where I’m anything but cautious.
So, this is so you know that I love you,
and with pen and pad in hand, it's easy to construe.
joyce knee Dec 2014
I walk beneath the shadows of dragonflies and
in fields of stunted daisies
A witness to migrating monarchs
Whose voyage is eons from being completed,
when they only have 3 weeks at most to live.

I walk in pale fields of dusty sunbeams
and loud fading moonlight
Humming crickets play accompaniment
to solo pairs of feet, making way for still creeks
and large lily pads
to find a nice place to think.
betterdays Aug 2014
it's past midnight
and my thoughts is just
fuzz, lintballs and
cotton candy
rolling around like
tumble weeds
across a vast and barren plain
that purports to  a working
brain.
i am so very far beyond
myself that i am forgetting
who i am....why...

it is grant writing season
and i have used my quota
of words ...

so just visualize
something wonderful,
off to the west over there..
while i sleep over under
this tree here....
and if i am quiet enough, maybe i will come back,
to me.

then the carniva,
will begin again
tommorrow...
sonetimes real life is
such a grind...
thiswas me last night, writing freeflow...now
add one more day of writing
academic and theatrical jargon.... and see me sitting
slack jawed in the corner...
just don't poke me...truly
i might bite..or just begin to drool...
betterdays Jun 2014
it seems, my words
have lost their allure,
this morning.
and i am too fixated,
on vainly scrawling.
to see
the crafts of others,
floating on the river poetry.
i am, hands to the oars, rowing against,
a beautiful tide.
endevouring,
to attain a mooring,
on the inside of a thought. what would happen,
if i.....
let go and read just
one or two poems
from other,
weary skullsmen
and made comment.
it mayhap...
nothing, but then it,
maybe...
instead of poetry,
decrying a dying state.

the poet in the other boat,
rowing silently,
for a moment, or a lifetime
is encouraged to,
greater acts
of creativity.
just maybe.....maybe.
betterdays Jun 2014
you leave me abed
with only the echo of your warmth...

my heart, sleepily bereft.
but my body, mindful
of opportunity stretches,
rolls over to sleep a few hours more.....

before waking to start the cool winters morn..
ben, left the warm bed at 3am.   to go further up the coast for four-five days for work.... my heart misses him
my body glories in the expanse of a bed all to oneself...
betterdays May 2014
i kiss, the nape of your neck,
while you still sleep
and inhale you.
spearmint, sandlewood
and citrus combined
with clean sweat.
you stir and roll over,
you are healthy
and in your prime.
more than my heart stirs, more than your heart, responds.
your lips, meet my skin
for the first time,
allover again.
i am drawn...
like moth to flame .
i am before you,
barely, contained,
but your teasing,
tendril,torching, tongue
scatters me to
richochet,
without
thought or sense.
my lips seek
the curve of your
collar bone and neck
as if to feast
upon your soul.
my hand behind
your head holding,
kneeding, that spot
on the top tip of spine
that makes you growl.
our desires grow deep,
our arousal complete,
we move,
to connect our hips
in early morning,
grinding, greeting,
i quiver,
as you,
rampant,
touch my lips...
....and our son
begins to wail and sob.

we break,
with regret.... unrequieted.
i go to see to him,
you, to a cold shower.
our day begins,
with love and frustration.
but then,
there is always, the art of...
delayed gratification.....
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