Skip to content After writing 30-ish (or more) poems in April, here’s a chance to share your favorite composition from the 2020 April PAD Challenge.
Recently, April PAD Challenge participant Bruce Niedt reached out to me on Facebook to suggest the following idea: “I had an idea that actually pre-dated the transition over to the new platform, but now it seems even more timely: Why not invite everyone who participated in PAD last month to re-post what they consider their best poem that they wrote in April, and it could be a sort of ‘best of PAD’ post?”
I love the idea!
So, if you feel so inclined, please paste your favorite poem from the month in the comments below. It’s obviously not mandatory, but it could be fun to share and have something to chat about.
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Play with poetic forms!
Poetic forms are fun poetic games, and this digital guide collects more than 100 poetic forms, including more established poetic forms (like sestinas and sonnets) and newer invented forms (like golden shovels and fibs).
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Note on commenting
If you haven’t done so yet, commenting on the new site is so much easier than it was previously. But you do have a couple one-time free and easy hoops to jump through. First, go to Disqus and create a free account. Then, verify your account on the WritersDigest.com site by clicking on the comment box at the bottom of this (or any post) page. Once you’ve verified your account, you can comment away. And unlike the previous site, you don’t have to wait for me to approve each comment.
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Since we’re sharing poems, I’ll share this one that I especially liked from April (Day 25’s remix poem):
“Cento of the Stairs”
It’s not my nature to say no.
As long as I can remember,
I’ve always been a fool finding
myself unable to figure
out which way to go, breaking lines
night after night, thoughts rambling
and scrambled (lost in the forest
of no returns) before the doors
swing open and aliens crash
the party. It’s true I expect
the worst of the world, wishing I
could erase an entire day or
year, and I don’t know why I do.
If you find this note, I cannot
take for granted when we don’t say,
“I love you.” In the beginning,
when everyone already knew,
it was so easy it was bad luck.
I cannot escape that space is
relative to the light starting
to glow against the window’s blind
dogwoods blossoming before we
sheltered from the sun watching us
turn away like passengers in
lonely vessels of confinement
wandering through the windows of
our spaced out minds finding we are
both the fools who reap what we sow.
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