2026 April 14 to April 21 Poems for April Poetry Madness

2026 April Poetry Madness Overview -Updated
2026 April 1 to April 8 Poems for April Poetry Madness
April 9 to April 14, 2026 Poems

Index

April 15, 2026

Writing Com Dew Drop Inn – Deadlines

The Deadline Blues

Psh Write A Growing Up Social Class Poem

“Berkeley Upper Middle Class Blues”
Writer’s Digest – Write An “Under….” Poem

“Under Her Love Spell For 44 Years”+

April 16

Dew Drop Inn Fish Or Fowl (Chicken)

NaPoWriMo

The Trees In Lincoln Park, What They Saw

Based On Four Lincoln Park Poems

Psh:Ryming Poem -I Met My Fate On That September Date (Revised)

Wd: New Holidays I’d Like To See

April 17

April 17—

Dew Drop Inn Rhyme, Subtle Or Overt
The Day I Met My Fate

NaPoWriMo

Psh Daily Walks Along The Fake Venice Canal In Gimpo, Korea

My Daily Walk Along The Fake Venice Canal In Gimpo, Korea

2026 April Pad Challenge: Day 17 -Write An Ambiguous Poem

War In Iran? An Exercise In Ambiguity!

April 18

Dew Drop Inn — A Sense Of An Ending

When The Fever Breaks

NaPoWriMo

The Ten Thousand Year Love Curse

(After The Unpublished Novel Timeless Love Stories)

Psh: Invasion Of Invasive Species

April 19

Dew Drop Inn —A Literal Sense/Senses Poem

What Is Real?

Napowrimmo

Psh: Daily Affirmations Keep Me Sane

Writer’s Digest – Family -My Mother’s History

April 20

Salient Image (Most Memorable Or Resonant Image In Your Day)
Most Fascinating Creature in the Universe

NaPoWriMo

Bigfoot emerges

PSH word search

What Comes Around, Goes Around

No Mas, MAGA Go Home!

April 21

April 21—Growing Up
April 21—

Dew Drop Inn -Growing Up — Chōka

NaPoWriMO

What Is My Name?

PSH: Apple and Soursop: Super Foods

WD PAD April 21 The Slime Patrol Lowfu

Bonus Poems

the Riddle

.xpress in Eight Poems

Prompt: The beauty of a single moment

Prompt: Invisibility

What Does MAGA Want

Mr. Trump Tear Down this Wall

Poster child for Seven Deadly Sins

Begin Poems:

April 15, 2026

Writing Com Dew Drop Inn – Deadlines

The Deadline Blues

Most worker bees

In an organization

Every day have

The deadline blues.

Dreading the deadline!

They live and die

According to deadlines.

Deadlines

Tend to focus

The mind

Kick-starting creative juices.

Forcing the Muse

To come down

From the clouds.

To face the hard,

Cold Reality,

Words on the screen

Represent money,

And time is money.

Workers bargain

With their bosses

When is the drop-dead deadline?

What’s the real deadline?

The bosses bargain

With their bosses,

Weighing writing and editing time,

Posting, Reading, Reaction time.

To come up with a white lie

For the workers

Always need to be told

A fictional deadline

To get the damn thing

Up the chain on time.

The deadline signals

No mas excuses!

Writer’s block banished.

Butts in chair

Computer on

Coffee, tea or energy drinks

Consuming.

Words churning

Distractions burning

Muse humming along.

Bosses waiting

Public waiting

Inbox filling.

As your fingers race

To meet the dreaded deadline.

Hoping your computer

Or printer for that matter.

Won’t crash and burn

Just to spite you!

The deadline met

Celebrations begin

Until the next deadline.

Because there is always

Another deadline,

Queued in the calendar.

NaPoWriMo

What Is Love Explained to a Space Alien

One day
A spaceship landed
near my house.

A tall alien
dressed in silver
with three shorter ones
came to my door.

They said they were
surveying Earth
and had questions,

They chose me, they said,
because love
was one of the few things
They could not understand
about humanity.

Among millions

of intelligent species,

in the known universe,
No such concept existed!

They had studied our wars,
our politics,
our changing climate.

But love, they said,
made no sense at all.

Elsewhere in the universe
There were bonds and bodies,
marriages and groups,
partners chosen by algorithms/

No one denied
that desire

was just biochemical

DNA driven

to reproduce the species.

So why, they asked,

Did humans insist
There was something more

Beyond the biochemistry?

They concluded,

asking again,

“What is love?”

I said,

“Love is mysterious
Love is magic.

Love is what it is

And love is what it ain’t.

Love is a true Zen

Koan-like paradox.

Those who define it
have never known it
Those who know it
cannot explain it.

Love happens
When you stop looking

When you least expect it.

One day,
the one steps out of your dreams
and love walks into your life.

Love happens

While washing dishes,
drinking wine,
dancing,
making love.

For the first time
or the ten‑thousandth,
And every time is new.

My wife once listed
all my faults and failures
every sin and omission

Finally I asked
if I was so terrible,
Why did you marry me?

She laughed

“temporary insanity”

she said,

“still insane

After 30 years.”

We laughed
and fell in love again!

And that,

My space alien friends

Is what love is!”

Later,
We sat with the aliens
around an empty table.

Beer glasses drained,
coffee cups cooling,
morning light
on the quiet street.

And no one felt the need
to explain anything
at all.

Day Fifteen

On April 15, 2026

Welcome back, all! As of today, we’re halfway through another Na/glopowrimo.

Our featured participant today is kellysteller, who brings us an Instagram-inspired response to Day Fourteen’s technology prompt (I think I saw that post about the Japanese insect called the “thorny thornless thorn thorn” myself…)

Today’s resource is the Poetry Unbound podcast. Hosted by Pádraig Ó Tuama, each episode guides you through a single poem.

And now for our prompt (optional, as always). K. Siva Reddy’s poem, “A Love Song Between Two Generations,” weaves together repetitions, questions, and unexpected similes with plain language. The overall effect is both intimate and emotional, producing a long-form meditation on what love is, what it means, and how it acts. Today, we’d like you to write your own poem that muses on love, but isn’t a traditional love poem in the sense of expressing love between romantic partners.

PSH

Berkeley Upper Middle Class Blues

I grew up in

an upper-class family

In Berkeley/

During the turbulent 60s and 70s.

I grew up on cracked Berkeley sidewalks,

walking past Victorians

with peeling paint, head shops, and protest flyers

taped to telephone poles.

Sirens in the distance,

Radios arguing about

Civil Rights

The environment.

Gay Rights

Fight Nixon

Free Speech movement

People’s Park.

Save the Bay

Save the Redwoods

Women’s Liberation!

Vietnam!

I graduated from Berkeley High School

In 1974.

BHS was the most

multicultural high school

in the U.S. and still is.

White students

were a distinct minority:

40 percent white,

40 percent Black,

10 percent Asian,

10 percent Hispanic, or other

Yet despite our vast class, cultural,

and economic differences,

our ethnic and racial differences,

We all got along

Loving Funk, Motown

R and B

Soul, urban black music!

Tower of Power

Tower of Power, our band!

The black kids always

were in charge of music

At high school parties!

No boring “white boy” music

Allowed at parties!

I credit my years

at BHS as crucial

To whatever success

I later had in life.

I grew up in a prominent

upper‑middle‑class family

My father was a local politician

and a college professor.

With an Ivy League pedigree

Harvard Phd

Rhodes Scholar

and a résumé built

inside government rooms.

Undersecretary of Labor

Under President Kennedy

And Johnson.

My mother worked in real estate.

We were supposed to be successful.

It was assumed

We would all go to college

and land professional careers.

I had two brothers and a sister

But we never got along,

It was a deeply dysfunctional family

in many ways.

My brothers went to CAL

I did not.

After bouncing around,

I ended up

at the University of the Pacific,

an elite private school.

Full of other upper‑class kids

Who like me

hadn’t quite made it

into CAL, Stanford

or elite universities “back east”.

UOP was our safety net!

My father was considered

white, Germanic name,

cold, disciplined, German‑Norwegian temperament

My mother was part Cherokee,

Irish‑spirited, creative and wild

I took after her,

Though I ended up

in a bureaucratic,

cold orderly profession

much like my father.

Eighteen nationalities,

by some count,

Running through my bloodlines.

Because of my background,

I drifted toward politics early

Campaign work,

student body president,

student government senator.

Eventually, I built a career

in public service,

Spending twenty‑five years

in the Foreign Service

Serving in ten countries

And Washington, DC.

There, too,

I found myself

among sons and daughters

of the American upper class.

So my upbringing,

in a diverse Bay Area,

inside an upper‑class household,

Coming from money

as they say,

Prepared me well.

For my life

Among the elite.

And then I met my wife

who was Korean-born

royal family clan

coming from money too!

In the end,

My upper-class background

Prepared me well for life

in the foreign service

in the US

and overseas

where I mingled

with the high society types

and fellow diplomats.

Yet sometimes

I wonder

what might have happened

if I had failed more completely,

or chosen less carefully,

or married someone else

from a less high-class background.

or walked past those Berkeley sidewalks

without knowing

I was being trained

for where I would end up.

April 15, 2026: Poetry Writing Prompt from Leonore Wilson

This poetry writing prompt submitted by Leonore Wilson:

Was your childhood lower, middle, or upper class? What did this mean in the decades you lived? Were you affected as a female, as a male? Did your “class” prevent you from having friends, from getting ahead? Did you buck the system? Did you go against your parents, teachers, coaches, etc? Perhaps a career in which they did not approve? Think about these ideas when writing your poem.

Under Her Love Spell For 44 Years

When I met my wife

On a bus

In South Korea.

After dreaming of meeting her

For eight years,

It was love at first sight!

Sparks flew from heart to heart!

She mesmerized me,

Betwitched me,

Casting a love spell on me.

Her love mojo

working overtime.

I proposed three days later,

Married seven weeks later.

Now 44 years later,

When I look at her,

I am still mesmerized,

Still bewitched,

I am still under

Her love spell.

The love mojo

Still working overtime

Until the day

I die.

2026 April PAD Challenge: Day 15

Write a poem a day with poets from around the world for the 2026 April PAD Challenge. For today’s prompt, write an “Under (blank)” poem.

Robert Lee Brewer

Once we make it through today’s poem, we’ll be halfway through this challenge. That’s pretty exciting, so let’s get at it.

For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Under (blank),” replace the blank with a new word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.

Possible titles might include: “Under Oath,” “Under the Weather,” “Under an Ancient Spell,” and/or “Under a Deadline.” Pretty soon we should be under halfway to go.

April 16—Fish or fowl

Fish or Fowl (Chicken)

Fish or fowl
(chicken)
for dinner?
That’s the question,
which is hard to answer.

Living in Korea,
I used to like
chicken—

specifically
Korean fried chicken
with beer,
called chimek
in Korean,

which shows up
in every K-drama.

For Koreans, chicken is done right,
but sadly,
being pre-diabetic,
I seldom get to eat chicken.

Fish is another thing
Koreans do well
and is safer
for pre-diabetics.

And so I eat
a lot of fish
these days.

They inherited sashimi
and sushi from Japan.

They also make great
fish stews.

Grilled mackerel,
grilled octopus,
and calamari.

And live octopus—
an acquired taste.

Crab, lobster,
clams—

grilled, fried,
or in soups,
it is all good,

usually washing it down
with soju
(Korean vodka),
drunk Russian-style shots,

somek
(Korean beer and soju—
boilermakers),

beer,
whiskey—

but with a Korean twist:
you cannot pour your own drink!

NaPoWriMo

The Trees in Lincoln Park, What They Saw

Based on Four Lincoln Park Poems

Walking through Lincoln Park
In DC’s Capitol Hill
I imagine hearing the trees,

Whispering amongst themselves
Everything they have seen
And heard in the park.

The trees remember everything
Even as humans forget things
The trees continue to whisper
As I walk by.

Summer

The trees in Linoln Park
stand near power,
but belong to time.

They have watched summer’s glow
as Capitol Hill paced indoors,
Fireflies whispering
What fools human mortals are.

They have flared each autumn
in colors meant to stop the world,
while self‑appointed

Masters of the Universe
hurried past,
Seeing everything

but noticing nothing.

They remember winters
no one else speaks of now—
the markets, the losses,
a community erased
by rising prices

and soft smiles.

They watched

new people arrive,
kind, distracted,
too busy to stroll,
too busy to listen.

Each spring they bloom again,
petals falling like snow,
dogs leading humans
through brief joy and borrowed time.

People come from elsewhere.
They stay awhile.
They leave.

The trees stay.
They see.
They remember.
And they say nothing.

Day Sixteen

Happy sixteenth day of National/Global Poetry Writing month, everyone!

Our featured daily participant is klara laurenzia linden, who brings us a bilingual response to Day Fifteen’s unusual-love-poem challenge.

Today’s resource is Copper Canyon Press’s “Line/Break” interview series, which brings you half-hour-ish episodes featuring eight contemporary poets.

And last but not least, here’s today’s optional prompt. In “Ocean,” Robinson Jeffers delivers an almost oracular, scriptural description of the sea not just as a geographical phenomenon, but a sort of being – old, wise, profound, and able to teach those who want to learn. Today, try writing a poem in which you describe something that cannot speak, and what it has taught or told you

PSH Sound Attention: Rhyme is Not a Dirty Word
/Rhyme words

PSH Rhyming poem

I Met My Fate on That September Date (Revised)

I shall always remember
that date in September,
when I met my fate.
When time hesitated,
the love gods smiled
and called my name.

I met my fate
without armor or plan—
the lady I’d dreamed of,
walking off a bus toward me.

The lady of my dreams,
walking into my life
out of my fairy‑tale
romantic dreams.
She was my soulmate.

My proposal was delivered.
Yes, the answer arrived.
Soon—astonishingly—
She became my legal mate.

I knew when we met:
I could not delay,
not almost, not wait—
This was the ending
That turned into a start.

I knew when I met her
She was the ultimate K date.

No more love in the wrong places,
with the wrong faces.
No longer consumed with hate.
She soon made everything great.

The date she became my wife,
the love of my life.

I met the lady of my dreams.
She was my soulmate,
soon becoming my legal mate.

I knew when I met her
she was the ultimate K date.
I no longer had to wait.

No more feeding on anger,
mistaking noise for heat.

She recalibrated the day.
She made things great

without effort or force—
just by existing
beside me.

That date became a hinge:
life swung open.
She became my wife,
the love of my life,

and everything afterward
finally arrived
where it was meant
to stay,

for she was a seeker,
the ultimate keeper

the perfect K wife.

April 16, 2026: Poetry Writing Prompt from Joy Gaines-Friedler

This poetry writing prompt submitted by Joy Gaines-Friedler:

Sound Attention: Rhyme is Not a Dirty Word

Rhyme words

PSH Rhyming poem

Find one word sound. For example the word “light” like Hayden Carruth’s poem below. Make a list of 7 words with a similar sound: (try to be expansive – not just hard rhyme. Use slant & near & internal rhyme). I’ve highlighted examples of those in Carruth’s poem.

Here is my word list example from the word “sun”: hum, sung, outcome, refund, lung, belong, welcome, awesome. Read Carruth’s poem out loud. Write a poem about war, or dogs, or a night out with friends, or weather, or your father’s watch, or your toothbrush, whatever you want – but use your word list. Have fun.

Rhyming words

date
mate
wait
late
great
create
separate
gravitated
demonstrate

WD PAD Challenge Day 16

New Holidays I’d Like to See

Let’s Celebrate Random Act of Kindness Day Every October 30!

I would like to see a new trend emerge
Organically in the United States:

three new national holidays.

October 30: National Random Act of Kindness Day
October 31: Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead), Halloween, Samhain
Third, November 1: National Election Day, or the first Monday of November

First, let’s celebrate October 30
as “National Random Act of Kindness Day,”

where everyone is encouraged
to do something nice—

a random act of kindness,
a Boy Scout–like good deed,

and greet one’s neighbors
and friends
with kind words.

Second,
make Halloween
a national holiday,

celebrating all that is

weird, wacky, whimsical,
and fun,

and call it

Día de los Muertos,
Halloween,
Samhain Day,

celebrating ancient Celtic
Druid traditions,
current Wicca celebrations,

as well as
Hispanic heritage
for Día de Muertos,
Day of the Dead.

And finally,
make Election Day
a national holiday—
long overdue—

and move it to the first Monday
in November.

Most countries
make presidential election days
a national holiday.
Why not in the U.S.?

So in honor of the three new holidays,
let’s commit a random act of kindness
on October 30.

Let’s commit
a random act of kindness,
following the Boy Scout motto
of doing a good deed every day.

If we all do that,
we can help combat
the rampant negativity
that so plagues
our world.

Then celebrate
the wacky, whimsical, weird
Halloween day,

with
trick or treat for all
and costume parties
for the adults.

And then wake up
and vote
on Election Day!

Write a poem a day with poets from around the world for the 2026 April PAD Challenge. For today’s prompt, write a new poem.

Robert Lee Brewer

Published Apr 16, 2026 1:48 AM EDT

Whew! We made it through the first half of the challenge, which means we’re on the “new” second half of the challenge, so…

For today’s prompt, write a new poem. I know, I know; every poem is new. Yes, each one is new, but you can focus on new things, like new cars, new houses, new babies, new music crazes, new shoes, and/or new news (actually, forget about the new news). So, yes, write a new poem, but write it about something or someone new.

Author’s Note

Co-Pilot provided the following background information on these three holidays:

1. The Commit a Random Act of Kindness Movement

Origins

The modern phrase “Practice random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty” is traced to writer and activist Anne Herbert in California in 1982. She first published it in CoEvolution Quarterly and also famously wrote it on a placemat in Sausalito. The phrase spread through graffiti, newspaper columns, and later books, becoming a quiet counter‑narrative to the phrase “random acts of violence”. [en.wikipedia.org], [randomacts…ndness.org]

In 1993, the book Random Acts of Kindness (published by Conari Press) gathered real stories from everyday people, helping transform the slogan into a recognizable movement. This momentum led to the creation of the Random Acts of Kindness Foundation in 1995, which helped institutionalize the idea through education and annual observances. [randomacts…ndness.org]

Where it is now and where it’s heading

Today, the movement exists both informally (small everyday gestures) and formally through nonprofit efforts such as Random Acts of Kindness Day (February 17) and Random Acts of Kindness Week. Recent emphasis has shifted toward social‑emotional learning in schools, workplace culture, and community mental health, framing kindness as a learned and contagious practice rather than spontaneous alone. [calendar-h…lidays.com]

Further reading:

Wikipedia overview:
Random act of kindness – Wikipedia [en.wikipedia.org]
Random Acts of Kindness Foundation history:
https://www.randomactsofkindness.org/the-kindness-blog/5-the-history-of-random-acts-of-kindness-day-february-17th [randomacts…ndness.org]

2. Halloween: Pagan Roots, Wicca, and Modern Celebrations

Pagan and Celtic origins

Halloween traces back over 2,000 years to the Celtic festival of Samhain, which marked the end of the harvest and the beginning of winter. The Celts believed this was a liminal period when the boundary between the living and the dead thinned, allowing spirits to cross over. Bonfires, disguises, and offerings were used to protect communities and honor ancestors. [britannica.com], [history.com]

Christian and later influences

As Christianity spread, Samhain merged with All Saints’ Day (November 1). The night before became All Hallows’ Eve, gradually shortened to Halloween. The blending of pagan, Roman, and Christian traditions created the layered holiday familiar today. [britannica.com]

Wicca and modern pagan practice

In contemporary Wicca and modern pagan traditions, Samhain is still observed as a sacred festival honoring ancestors, death as transformation, and the cyclical nature of time. These practices emphasize remembrance rather than fear, distinguishing religious observance from popular Halloween imagery. [history.com]

Trick‑or‑treating

Trick‑or‑treating evolved from older traditions such as “guising” and “souling,” where people went door‑to‑door offering prayers or performances in exchange for food. The custom took its modern form in the United States after World War II, aided by suburban growth and mass‑produced candy. [smithsonianmag.com]

Global celebrations today (including Korea)

Halloween is now celebrated in many countries largely as a costume and social festival. In places such as South Korea, it is not a traditional holiday but is widely observed in entertainment districts with themed costumes, nightlife events, and public gatherings—a cultural export emphasizing play, spectacle, and identity experimentation rather than ritual ancestry. [historyhit.com]

Further reading:

Britannica on Halloween origins:
https://www.britannica.com/topic/Where-did-Halloween-come-from [britannica.com]
Smithsonian on trick‑or‑treating:
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/celtic-origins-trick-treating-halloween-180984916/ [smithsonianmag.com]

3. Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead)

Indigenous origins and meaning

Día de los Muertos originates in ancient Mesoamerican civilizations such as the Aztecs, Maya, and Toltecs, who viewed death as a continuation rather than an ending. The dead were believed to return periodically, sustained by the remembrance of the living. [britannica.com], [history.com]

Syncretism with Catholicism

After Spanish colonization, these traditions blended with All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day, forming a multi‑day observance from October 31 to November 2. Practices such as ofrendas (altars), marigolds, food offerings, and celebratory visits to graves remain central. [history.com]

Contemporary significance

Today, Día de los Muertos is recognized by UNESCO as Intangible Cultural Heritage. It is celebrated not only in Mexico but globally by diaspora communities, emphasizing joy, memory, and continuity rather than mourning alone. [britannica.com]

Further reading:

Britannica entry:
https://www.britannica.com/topic/Day-of-the-Dead [britannica.com]
History.com overview:
https://www.history.com/articles/day-of-the-dead [history.com]

4. Proposals to Make U.S. Election Day a National Holiday

Why U.S. elections are on the first Tuesday in November

In 1845, the U.S. Congress standardized federal election day as the Tuesday after the first Monday in November. This timing suited a 19th‑century agrarian society:

November followed the harvest but preceded winter storms
Sundays were reserved for church
Wednesdays were common market days
Tuesday allowed travel without interfering with either [britannica.com], [history.com]

The phrasing “after the first Monday” ensured elections never fell on November 1 (All Saints’ Day) or the first of the month, which merchants used for bookkeeping. [britannica.com]

Modern proposals

As work patterns have changed, many critics argue that Tuesday voting suppresses turnout. Proposals to make Election Day a federal holiday aim to reduce work‑related barriers and align the U.S. with other democracies that vote on weekends or holidays. Multiple bills have been introduced in Congress, and public opinion polling shows consistent support, though concerns remain about unequal benefits and economic impact. [publicatio…ornell.edu], [ebsco.com]

Further reading:

Britannica explanation:
https://www.britannica.com/story/why-are-us-elections-held-on-tuesdays [britannica.com]
Cornell Journal of Law & Public Policy:
https://publications.lawschool.cornell.edu/jlpp/2023/01/20/the-case-for-making-election-day-a-federal-holiday/ [publicatio…ornell.edu]

April 17—

Dew Drop Inn Rhyme, subtle or overt

I shall always remember—
it was in September
when I met my fate.

I saw my soulmate.
She became mine,
for I had met my fate.

On September 7th, that date
when everything became fine,
for I had met my fate.

On that fine date, we drank red wine,
for I had met my fate.

It was mid‑September,
that date I will always remember,
for I had met my fate.

She walked off a bus into my life.
Soon she became my wife,
for I had met my fate.

When we met,
she made everything great,
for I had met my fate.

She became my housemate,
my loving roommate,
my greatest helpmate,
for I had met my fate.

Her mind was first‑rate.
She set me straight,
giving me a mandate,
for I had met my fate.

Almost a blind date—
love at first sight, no debate,
for I had met my fate.

Three days later, I proposed.
She said yes, gave me a clean slate,
for I had met my fate.

We went to graduate school,
a campus couple, schoolmates,
for I had met my fate.

Now we’re retired,
running a business together—
she’s my workmate,
and I still meet my fate

the fake Venice canal—

Springtime peaceful blue waters

Memories of other lands

Gimpo’s Hidden Gem Tanka

Gimpo, korea

Has a hidden secret gem

The fake venice canal—

Springtime, peaceful blue waters

Dreaming of italy

April 17, 2026: Poetry Writing Prompt from LB Sedlacek

This poetry writing prompt submitted by LB Sedlacek:

Daily Commute Poem

While you’re driving anywhere (to work, school, the gym, home, running errands, etc.) what do you see? (For example today on the way to run errands I saw a field of blooming daffodils, a man chopping down a tree by the side of the road, a man holding a baby in their yard, smoke rising from a fast food joint, birds flying into bushes.)

1) As you ride along, use your phone to take a voice memo, note or reminder, or jot down everything with a pen/pencil and a notepad at a stoplight or after you’ve parked,

2) Take notes for 1-2 days,

3) Use what you saw as you drove along, to compile a list,

4) Order your list, and

5) Use your notes to write a poem.

You’ll be amazed at what worlds you capture with this poem.

*You can do also do this if you travel by Uber, Lyft or even by train by jotting down your notes as you ride along. You can also do this while walking if you don’t own a car or don’t have to drive anywhere by recording your notes on your phone or while sitting on a bench and jotting them down

Factual background on the Gimpo “Fake Venice” Canal

(grounded, non-invented, with spelled‑out URL end notes)

Official and common names

Golden Waterway (Geumbit Suro / 금빛수로)
La Veniche Marché Avenue / Laveniche
Often nicknamed “Venice of Korea” or “Gimpo’s Venice”, sometimes informally called a fake Venice canal by visitors.

What it is

A 2.68 km-long artificial canal running through Gimpo Han River New City, Gyeonggi Province.
Designed as a mixed-use waterfront zone combining:
- canals
- pedestrian promenades
- cafés, restaurants, bars
- retail and performance spaces
Built as part of a new-town cultural development project, not an organic historical waterway.
[gyeonggido-korea.com], [gimpo.go.kr], [english.vi…orea.or.kr]

Design concept

Explicitly modeled on Venice, Italy.
European-style façades line the canal; water is used as ornamental infrastructure, not transport.
At night, lighting, reflections, and music fountains heighten the theatrical effect.
The space is carefully staged to produce:
- romance
- leisure
- Instagram-ready “elsewhere-ness”
  [gyeonggido-korea.com], [english.vi…orea.or.kr], [gyeonggido-korea.com]

Cultural reality (important for poetry)

Public reviews and city sources consistently note a tension:

Visually striking, especially at night.
Feels curated, simulated, and provisional rather than lived-in.
Many storefront vacancies in recent years; atmosphere can feel eerie, quiet, or hollow, especially off-hours.
Water is sometimes drained seasonally, undercutting the Venice illusion.
[tripadvisor.com], [top-rated.online]

This contradiction—romance vs. vacancy, promise vs. artifice—is one of the most repeatedly documented aspects of the place and is poetically rich terrain.

Activities and features

- Pedal boats and crescent-shaped Moon Boats
- Musical fountains
- Street performances and festivals (intermittent)

Continuous walking path linked to Hangang Central Park
[gimpo.go.kr], [top-rated.online]

End‑note style URLs (spelled out)

Gyeonggi Province overview of Laveniche Waterside Park
https://www.gyeonggido-korea.com/2023/11/explore-charm-of-gimpo-city-laveniche.html
[gyeonggido-korea.com]
Gimpo City official page: Golden Waterway & Laveniche
https://gimpo.go.kr/en/contents.do?key=10997
[gimpo.go.kr]
VISITKOREA: Laveniche Plaza / Golden Waterway background
https://english.visitkorea.or.kr/svc/whereToGo/locIntrdn/rgnContentsView.do?vcontsId=112766
[english.vi…orea.or.kr]
Gyeonggi Province feature: Discover Gimpo’s Little Venice
https://www.gyeonggido-korea.com/2024/06/discover-gimpos-little-venice-la-veniche.html
[gyeonggido-korea.com]
Aggregated visitor reviews highlighting vacancy and atmosphere
https://www.top-rated.online/cities/Gimpo-si/place/p/9182322/Gimpo+Laveniche+March+Avenue
[top-rated.online]

2026 April PAD Challenge: Day 17 -Write an ambiguous poem

War in Iran? An exercise in ambiguity!

Expecting a clear, unambiguous answer

as to why the U.S. is engaged

in a war with Iran,

spending two billion dollars a day,

is a fool’s errand.

The answer changes daily.

The war objective is as clear as mud.

The old war adages,

FUBAR and SNAFU,

come roaring back to life!

Is it regime change?

Yes, no, maybe.

Who knows?

Is it to destroy

the Iranians’ ability

to inflict serious damage

on their neighbors?

Maybe yes,

maybe no.

Who really knows

what the truth is?

With our “stable genius,”

Who knows more about the war

than his generals

And the self-proclaimed

Secretary of War

Leading the way.

Is it because Israel

and maybe the Saudis

wanted

us to help do

their dirty work?

Probably partially true,

But again

—who knows?

Was it because

the Iranians

had reconstituted their

totally obliterated

nuclear weapons program?

Probably not true—

Maybe not an imminent threat

to the U.S.,

in any event.

And were negotiating

with the U.S. until just

for before the war

For reasons still unclear,

The President

joined Israel

in launching the war

on very short notice—

not formally notifying Congress,

the American people,

or our allies

until just before

The launching of the war.

Was it to prevent

the closure

of the Strait of Hormuz?

If so,

then why have we closed

it ourselves?

Is it to lower the price of gas?

If so, it was

a huge strategic blunder.

Is the war illegal?

Not until Congress

or the tamed Supreme Court

wakes up and says so.

Is the war unconstitutional?

Probably,

but until Congress or the Court

says otherwise,

the war will continue,

and even if both say it is illegal,

the President

will probably just shrug it off

and continue the war.

Was it all just a smoke screen

to hide other military adventures

being planned?

Possibly yes

— but who knows for sure.

Finally,

expecting straight answers

to these questions

is indeed a fool’s game,

for they are engaged

in a strategy—

of deception,

gaslighting,

mischaracterization,

misdirection and lies.

And propaganda,

straight out of the

North Korean playbook

Saying:

Trust us,.

We have a plan.

And we are winning!

Already won the war!

It will be over soon.

And gas prices

will drop magically

as the Strait opens organically!

The unambiguous answer—

is the public tired

of winning this war?

Nobody knows for sure!

2026 April PAD Challenge. For today’s prompt, write an ambiguity poem.

Robert Lee Brewer

Updated Apr 17, 2026 6:23 AM EDT

For today’s prompt, write an ambiguity poem. In real life, people like clear meanings, but real life also often is filled with a lot of ambiguity. And poetry, in general, loves ambiguity, because it provides the space for readers to find their own meanings.

April 18—

April 18 — A Sense of an Ending

When the Fever Breaks

It began like a fever
heat mistaken for life,
noise praised as motion.

A voice promised
the distant roads
would lead somewhere again,
that anger could be fuel,
that shouting meant power.

For years
The MAGA faithful

Stood in the weather,
Wore the red colored hats,
Said the MAGA slogan words,
Believed sweat

was proof of strength.

But fevers burn resources.

Prices rose quietly at first,
Then everywhere at once.
Cold returned to kitchens.
War came back
Wearing a different name.

And then—
The moment no one could excuse:
The costume too sacred,
The mirror lifted too high,

The savior confused

with the saved.

Hands loosened.

Some stepped back softly,

Pretending distance had always been there.
Some cried betrayal,
As if naming it first
Might erase the painful reality.

Buyer’s remorse spread,
like a second illness—
less dramatic,
more honest.

A fever does not explode.
It breaks.

What remains is thirst,
trembling,
and the quiet understanding

That they had been conned

By the greatest con man

Of them all

Who had not drained

The Swamp

Instead, becoming

The biggest swamp

Creature of all time.

That the wanna be

The Emperor had no clothes

And was a rapidly aging

Senile old man.

That belief is not truth,
That volume is not power,
And heat without balance
burns the house
It claims to warm.

NaPoWriMo

The Ten Thousand Year Love Curse

(after the unpublished novel Timeless Love Stories)

At the dawn of counted time, it’s said,
two souls were born as one—
Sam and Maria, bound by fate
before the world begun.

Through lifetimes spun among the stars,
as Sirians they rose,
then met again where no time moves,
between what lives and goes.

In limbo’s halls they learned their curse:
love granted, love denied.
One more descent, one final test—
no gods would choose their side.

They stepped through stone marked Atlantis,
ten thousand years before,
reborn as rulers, scaled and crowned,
upon the ocean floor.

He was Zoran, general‑born,
she Zarina—bold, defiant,
clear‑eyed leader of revolt
against an empire giant.

The Sirians ruled with iron will,
their human slaves confined—
called savages, yet feared because
they prayed with sharper minds.

Zoran watched the fractures grow,
two parties tearing seams:
the Reds cried conquest, blood and fire,
the Greens spoke only dreams.

Then Zarina crossed his chamber door—
and hate and longing fused.
She fought for human liberty;
he ruled—but also wavered, confused.

They burned with love and ruthless hope,
with lust and vision paired,
and dared announce a future where
all races rights would share.

At dawn, the Reds struck merciless,
their weapons split the land;
Atlantis fell beneath the sea,
erased by one command.

Survivors fled to distant shores,
to Rome, to secret lives.
Shapeshifters hid in human skin,
and pulled invisible wires.

The Greens went dark.

The Reds were purged.
A shadow order grew.

But Zoran and his Zarina
would not outlive the coup.

A general’s blade from distant stars
cut short their final breath.
Earth closed its gates to Sirius—
observed ten thousand years hence.

They died with vows still on their tongues:
Next life. Find me again.

And so they tried through birth and loss,
through plague and crown and pen—

Until at last, in modern time,
the curse was torn in two.

In 1982,
their love at last came true.

NaPoWriMo

Finally, here’s our prompt for the day (optional, as always). When I was growing up, there was a book of poems in my house (I believe it was The Best Loved Poems of the American People) that was heavy on long, maudlin, narrative poems with lots and lots of rhyme – the sort of verse that used to be parodied on Bulwinkle’s Corner. As the twentieth century rolled in, poems like this were relegated to the status of stuff-schoolkids-were-forced-to-memorize, and they plummeted even further into our cultural memory-hole as learning poems by heart fell out of educational currency.

Invasion of Invasive Species

(Tree of Heaven and Other Invasives)

The U.S. is under invasion—
an invasion of invasive species.

Animals, insects, plants
from other lands,
proliferating across the continent,
causing considerable damage.

Welcome to ground zero.

Florida is ground zero
for the invading hordes—

from kudzu,
the vine that ate the South,
to the ironically named
Tree of Heaven.

Welcome to ground zero.

The Tree of Heaven speaks softly,
claims it was invited,
claims it brings shade and order,
drops seeds by the hundreds of thousands,
poisons the soil with quiet chemistry,
smiling as nothing else grows.

Ailanthus altissima—
false grace in bark and leaf,
thriving in ruins,
loving the disturbed.

Welcome to ground zero.

Around it advance the others:
autumn olive,
Brazilian pepper tree,
cogongrass,
hydrilla and water hyacinth,
Japanese stiltgrass,
melaleuca,
Old World climbing fern,
oriental bittersweet,
princess tree—

all smothering the landscape
of Florida and the South,
each insisting it belongs.

Florida has also become
ground zero
for other invasive arrivals:

Asian tiger mosquito,
Argentine black‑and‑white tegu,
Burmese python—
a slow green sentence
uncoiling through the Everglades—
cane toad,
emerald ash borer,
European starling,
feral hogs,
feral monkeys,
giant African snails,
green iguanas,
lionfish,
spotted lanternfly.

Welcome to ground zero.

Not to mention the natives adapting fast—
alligators,
bears,
crocodiles,
coydogs,
cougars,
mosquitoes spreading dengue
and malaria,
giant flying roaches
learning the architecture of fear.

We catalogue them carefully,
as if lists were fences,
as if borders still meant
what we say they do—
when none of us
are entirely native anymore.

And of course,
the most dangerous invasive species of all:

Florida Man.

Unpredictable.
Overconfident.
Released without containment.
Thrives in chaos.
Immune to warning labels.

Welcome to ground zero.

If you’d like, next we can:

IV. Author Notes

About Invasive Species

An invasive species is a non‑native organism that spreads rapidly and causes ecological, economic, or human‑health harm. Invasive plants often outcompete native species by growing aggressively, altering soil chemistry, or producing allelopathic toxins that inhibit surrounding growth. Florida is considered a hotspot due to its warm climate, extensive trade ports, aquarium and pet industries, and disturbed landscapes.

Key invasive plant species referenced:

Tree of Heaven (Ailanthus altissima) – fast‑growing, allelopathic, toxic to nearby plants
Kudzu (Pueraria lobata) – smothers trees, buildings, and landscapes
Brazilian pepper tree (Schinus terebinthifolius) – displaces native plants
Cogongrass (Imperata cylindrica) – highly aggressive, alters fire regimes
Hydrilla and water hyacinth – aquatic plants that choke waterways
Japanese stiltgrass – forms dense ground carpets
Melaleuca – drains wetlands, fuels wildfires
Old World climbing fern – spreads fire into tree canopies
Oriental bittersweet – girdles and collapses trees

Key invasive animals and insects referenced:

Burmese python, lionfish, green iguana, cane toad, feral hogs
Asian tiger mosquito, spotted lanternfly, emerald ash borer
European starling, Argentine black‑and‑white tegu

Sources:
National Invasive Species Information Center – invasivespeciesinfo.gov
US Forest Service – fs.usda.gov
University of Florida IFAS – invasivespecies.ifas.ufl.edu
The Nature Conservancy – nature.org

On the Term “Florida Man”

“Florida Man” is an internet meme that emerged around 2013, derived from news headlines that often begin with the phrase “Florida man…” followed by an account of bizarre or criminal behavior. The meme humorously suggests that all such stories describe the same chaotic individual.

Researchers and journalists note that Florida’s open public‑records laws (“Sunshine Laws”) make arrest reports especially accessible, leading to a disproportionately high number of sensational headlines. The meme reflects media dynamics and demographics more than actual levels of misconduct.

Sources:
Wikipedia – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florida_Man
Know Your Meme – https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/florida-man
CNN coverage summarized via Wikipedia

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 19—A literal sense/senses poem

What is Real?

I often sit

And ponder

Upon reality

Thinking what is real

And what is fake

In this world

And I know

That there is one thing

That is real

In this world

That is the love

Of my life

The fairy tale princess

The lady of my dreams

Who saved me

When she walked

Out of dreams

And into my life

44 years ago.

NaPoWriMo

Korean Flower Chain

Apple Blossom

late May air warms the valley

sweetness in the wind.

Azalea

Early mountain spring—
purple azaleas burn
through thinning cold mist.

Cherry Blossom

Cherry petals fall,
first warmth loosens every branch—
nothing stays for long.

Cosmos

Autumn field of calm,
cosmos nod in pale sunlight—
order in the wind.

Rose

All summer the rose
opens, closes, opens still—
scent outlasts the day.

Rose of Sharon

Mugunghwa holds fast,
each bloom lasting one brief day—
summer without end.

Magnolia

Magnolia buds
open before any leaf—
white silence of spring.

Scotch Broom

High hills blaze yellow,
broom flowers lean into wind—
wild light on stone paths.

Tulips

After the long rain,
tulips rise in crowded rows—
colors learn the sun.

Author’s Note: Korean Flower Haiku Chain

This haiku chain follows flowers commonly seen across the Korean Peninsula, arranged loosely by season. Each haiku is grounded in the flower’s natural bloom period or cultural meaning in Korea.

Apple blossom – Apple trees bloom in Korea in late spring, especially in rural valleys, with blossoms appearing before fruiting.• Azalea (Jindallae) – A beloved Korean spring flower associated with endurance and emotion, blooming on mountainsides in March and April.
• Cherry blossom (Beotkkot) – Blooms briefly in early spring; widely associated in Korea with impermanence and renewal.
• Cosmos – Widely planted in Korea as an autumn wildflower; symbolizes calm and order during the fall season.
• Rose – Grows throughout late spring and summer in Korea, often featured in urban parks and festivals.
• Rose of Sharon (Mugunghwa) – Korea’s national flower; its name literally means “eternal blossom,” despite each bloom lasting only a single day.
• Magnolia – Magnolia trees bloom in early spring in Korea, often before leaves appear.
• Scotch broom – Found on Korean hillsides; bright yellow flowers appear in spring and early summer.
• Tulips – A popular spring festival flower in Korea, blooming shortly after cherry blossoms.

ENDNOTES (SPelled‑out links)

Mugunghwa (Rose of Sharon), National Flower of Korea
https://www.mois.go.kr/eng/sub/a03/nationalSymbol_3/screen.do

Cherry Blossom Season and Meaning in Korea

Cherry Blossom Season in Korea: A Cultural Spring Awakening

Azalea (Jindallae) and Korean Cultural Meaning
https://www.bloomingexpert.com/flower-meaning/azalea/

Cosmos Flowers in Korean Autumn Landscapes
https://www.koreatimes.co.kr/www/opinion/2023/11/197_363826.html

Magnolia Blooming Season in Korea

Chasing White Clouds: The Best Magnolia Viewing Spots in Seoul

Apple and Fruit Blossom Seasons in Korea
https://iamaileen.com/spring-flowers-in-korea/

Tulip Festivals and Spring Blooms in Korea
https://koreaexperience.com/blog/korea-s-flower-festivals-tulips-roses-and-cosmos

Scotch Broom (Cytisus scoparius) Overview
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cytisus_scoparius

PSH

Daily Affirmations Keep Me Sane

Every day,
when I finish my yoga
and slow Tai Chi forms,
I pause.

I take a moment
to reflect on what is holy,
what remains steady,
what still belongs to me.

These affirmations
keep me sane—
keep my balance
when the world sways.

I repeat each one
three times,
breathing slowly,
leaning into their weight,

listening for the meaning
inside these ordinary words,
which somehow carry
quiet wisdom.

Today, no matter the provocation,
I will not lose my balanced state of mind.

Today, I will complete
the three things that matter most.

I will not let anger
set the rhythm of my thoughts.

I will not let the news
overwhelm me.

I will not let Trump bother me.

I am healthy,wealthy and wise

I am still learning new things

Life is beuatiful.

As long as love
walks beside me,
I am not alone.

Things have worked out before.
They will again.

No matter what comes,
I will survive.

Today will be a great day

Go forth and make it happen!

This poetry writing prompt submitted by Julene Weaver:

What is holy in your life?

Think of Allen Ginsberg’s poem Holy. What is sacred? What gives you strength spiritually, not necessarily religious, but from your daily life. Come up with a refrain that buoys you through difficult times.

Writer’s Digest – Family -My Mother’s history

My Mother’s History

One evening, many years ago,
my mother spoke to me
about our family’s
tangled history.

She spoke of lies, half‑truths,
and myths—
some true, some uncertain—
and as the night went on,
her past came alive.

She was born in the hills
near North Little Rock,
the tenth of eleven children
of a people slowly disappearing.

Cherokees who ran,
who hid,
refused exile—
refugees in the hills.

Part of those forgotten families:
Cherokee, Choctaw, Creek, Seminole,
and African American—

The so-called

Lost Tribe of the Cherokee Nation!

who fled into

the Ozark mountains
to avoid the Trail of Tears,
who never made it
to Oklahoma.

On paper,
They did not exist.
And so, neither did I.

The Bureau of Indian Affairs said:

“No scholarship for you.

You can’t prove
you are Native American”.

I asked my mother,

What that meant.

She said, simply:

“No BIA money for you,
My non-Indian son.”

She told me our family
was distantly related
to President Bill Clinton.

When I met him,
I shared our story.

He agreed—we were cousins.
He told me to call him
Cousin Bill.

He, too, said he was
part Cherokee—
Irish, Scottish, French,
African American—

Part of the people
Who never left cleanly.

When I told my mother,
She nodded.

It was true

We were related

To Cousin Bill Clinton!.

She still didn’t like him.

Our people vanished
from ledgers,
from rolls,
from DNA databases.

History closed its book on us.

And so, at last,
I learned the painful truth:

Because of removals,
broken treaties,
and political greed,
my mother’s people
lost land, language, recognition—
and became invisible.

“Hillbillies,” they were called,
“Black Irish”

The “Lost Tribe of the Cherokee Nation”

clinging to ridges and hollows,
holding dim memories
of who they once were.

The old ways faded.
The new world
never forgave them.
They never forgave it.

They lived on
in the margins.

And I vowed—
as long as I live—
their history will not die.

I carry it.

When I struggle,
I remember my mother’s words,
and I know it is up to me
to let the Cherokee in me
live his life.

Through me,
my mother’s history survives—
until the day I die.

Long live the Cherokee Nation.
Long live my mother.

Author’s Note (Historical Context)

This poem draws on my family’s oral history. During and after the forced removals of the 1830s—commonly known as the Trail of Tears—not all Cherokee people were captured and removed. Historical records document that some Cherokee families avoided removal by hiding in remote Appalachian regions or remaining in difficult‑to‑access mountain areas. Over time, many of these families lost formal recognition, were never placed on federal rolls, and therefore were excluded from later Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) programs.

These families are sometimes referred to informally as “lost” or “un-enrolled” Cherokees—not a federally recognized classification, but a term reflecting historical exclusion. In 1868, some of the Cherokee who remained in North Carolina were federally recognized as the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, while others assimilated into surrounding rural communities without official status.

This poem reflects the intersection of documented history and family memory, and honors those whose identities persisted despite erasure from official records.

Endnotes (Spelled‑Out Links)

Cherokee Nation – “Remember the Removal”
https://www.cherokee.org/about-the-nation/remember-the-removal/our-journey/

Encyclopaedia Britannica – Trail of Tears overview
https://www.britannica.com/event/Trail-of-Tears

National Park Service – Trail of Tears history
https://www.nps.gov/trte/index.htm

Blue Ridge National Heritage Area – Cherokees who remained

Trail of Tears

“They Never Left: Cherokee in Appalachia”

They Never Left: Cherokee in Appalachia

Wikipedia – Cherokee removal
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cherokee_removal

April 20—Salient image (most memorable or resonant image in your day)

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 21—Growing up

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

Part 4

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 22—Doubleness

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 23—Shakespeare

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 24—An unsung hero/heroine

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 25—A moment of joy or delight

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 26—An arrival
I Met My Fate on That Date (Villanelle)

I shall always remember the date
when I met my fate in September—
for I had met my fate.

It started as a simple date,
a moment I’ll always remember,
when I met my fate in September.

She walked off a bus—that date
changed everything I remember,
for I had met my fate.

We drank red wine on that date,
love at first sight, no debate, remember—
when I met my fate in September.

From housemate to helpmate,
roommate, wife, and workmate together,
for I had met my fate.

Now retired, still partners, still mates,
that date remains my center:
when I met my fate in September,
for I had met my fate.

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 27—Something undone, forgotten, or lingering in the mind

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 28—Satisfaction or completion

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 29—Coincidence or synchronicity or déjà vu

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 30—Moving on…

NaPoWriMo

PSH

Writer’s Digest

April 18 — A Sense of an Ending

When the Fever Breaks

It began like a fever—
heat mistaken for life,
noise praised as motion.

A voice promised
the distant roads
would lead somewhere again,
that anger could be fuel,
that shouting meant power.

For years
The MAGA faithful

Stood in the weather,
Wore the red colored hats,
Said the MAGA slogan words,
Believed sweat

was proof of strength.

But fevers burn resources.

Prices rose quietly at first,
Then everywhere at once.
Cold returned to kitchens.
War came back
Wearing a different name.

And then—
The moment no one could excuse:
The costume too sacred,
The mirror lifted too high,

The savior confused

with the saved.

Hands loosened.

Some stepped back softly,

Pretending distance had always been there.
Some cried betrayal,
As if naming it first
Might erase the painful reality.

Buyer’s remorse spread,
like a second illness—
less dramatic,
more honest.

A fever does not explode.
It breaks.

What remains is thirst,
trembling,
and the quiet understanding

That they had been conned

By the greatest con man

Of them all

Who had not drained

The Swamp

Instead, becoming

The biggest swamp

Creature of all time.

That the wanna be

The Emperor had no clothes

And was a rapidly aging

Senile old man.

That belief is not truth,
That volume is not power,
And heat without balance
burns the house
It claims to warm.

NaPoWriMo

The Ten Thousand Year Love Curse

(after the unpublished novel Timeless Love Stories)