2023 Poem-A-Week Challenge (Poems Only Thread)

[Ambient4190]

luv
me
some joy
festive lights
parades spiked eggnog
alone or not this weekend winter night be naughty (not nice)

 

[Tzara]

Tritina on Writing Form Poetry

To write in form is to exercise one's craft,
or cleverness, or maybe just persistence.
If you just keep at it, you might get better,

but, alas, you might not, either. Still, better
to try than not, I think. Any watercraft
in a storm is better than none, for instance,

so long as it floats. So try not to be tense
wrenching words like stripped bolts to fit form better.
It's just a writing exercise, not witchcraft.

Practice craft with persistence; you'll get better.

Week 52: Poem 1: Total 69







Aaaand, I'm done. Happy New Year, all. See you in 2024.

 

[IvorieFrost]

Ivorie Frost was her name
Being a temptress her game
Go see her thread,
You'll get hard 'less you dead
Or if you just recently came

 

[IvorieFrost]

For two years my hair was snow white
But yesterday that wasn't right
So I rinsed my whole head
With a dye pinkish red
And now my hair is quite a sight

 

[IvorieFrost]

Subtle winter shades
Contrast with my fiery hair
And my warm brown skin

 

[IvorieFrost]

I'd write you a sonnet, and sign my name on it
But I don't have time for complexity rhyme
My Fam Christmas feast is an hour to the east
Their harsh judging stares, and their put upon airs
Wish me good luck with these judgmental fucks
At least I'll be "home", not spend Christmas alone.

 

[goddessofglee]

№51

A Tapestry of Twenty-Three

A year unfurls, a vibrant thread,
With triumphs and trials, shadows spread.
From the icy grip of winter's hold,
A fragile hope, a story told.

The war still raged, a wound that bled,
While whispers rose for peace instead.
A tyrant's fall, a nation's cry,
For freedom's flame that soared so high.

On distant Mars, a rover's quest,
Unveiling secrets, laying rest.
From ancient myths of life's embrace,
In Martian dust, a cosmic trace.

The oceans churned, the skies ablaze,
With nature's fury in a daze.
Floods and fires, a primal scream,
A planet shifting, not a dream.

But through the darkness, light did gleam,
In acts of kindness, hope's soft beam.
A helping hand, a whispered prayer,
Compassion's torch, a love to share.

So let us weave this tapestry grand,
With threads of joy, of heart, of hand.
For in the weft of twenty-three,
A human story, wild and free.

Not to exclude the invasion of AI in art, poetry and all other spheres of the human world!

 

[29wordsforsnow]

an
I
is
amiss
in

money runs the world

Piled up to your chin
is this a win?
The work of one never done
stacks up higher.
Time runs through our hands
or is it innocence?
Spare dollar bills don't stuff
the leaking holes.
Our boat sinks more each day
and bodies bleed.
Cost of the living seems spendable
life at last expendable.
Pawns' dream to become queens
fall at first.
Their indigestible truth about truce
a carpaccio of peace.
The harvest of all this scorched soil
sows growing turmoil.
As godly players in their ivory towers
rake in new powers,
a once grand ones' clown on the sidelines
rages, hates, and whines
because there, in all the ruins of his world,
is too much I.​

 

[goddessofglee]

№52

Like leaves on a December wind, will our poems scatter and fade?
In this digital garden, where verses bloom, will they wither once the contest is laid?
A first-year's query, laced with gentle fear,
No answers sought, but hope lingers near.
These seeds of thought, sown in fertile code,
Ours to nurture, even when chains are unfurled.
'twas a garden where creativity bloomed,
And losing its harvest would leave us consumed.

Next challenges beckon, with verses to spin,
But access to past blooms, that's the least we can win.
So let our voices echo, whispers in the code,
A testament to minds that dared to soar.

For poems, like dreams, hold magic untold,
And in their tapestry, our stories unfold.
Ending this rhyme with a grateful refrain,
Thank you all, for the chorus we sustain.

 

[Angeline]

Sailing on a Metaphor*

Today is gray and the ocean is blue,
rolling like thunder, fizzing with a sigh.
Sometimes it feels like it's talking to you,

but it's just the sea and hasn't a clue
that you dreamt it's a voice asking you why
today is gray and the ocean is blue.

Does it miss some fish and feel all askew
in waves that churn like a deep briny cry,
rolling like thunder, fizzing with a sigh?

I turn blue-sad too, but what can you do
about wishing fish you miss didn't die?
Today is gray and the ocean is blue

but maybe tomorrow sun will break through,
bringing butterscotch smiles, a bluebird sky
taming that thunder and soothing the sigh,

whispering: Ocean perhaps change your view,
accept that life is hello and goodbye.
Some seas are dark blue, but others shade green
to tranquil horizons, calm and serene.


*with thanks to you all for a year of inspiration and friendship


Week 52, Poem 1, Total 62

 

[Ashesh9]

Is this The End??
O True Friend.....
Or will this Continue:
Into Yonder Bluuuuuuue???!!

 

[Ambient4190]

A New Year anew
A simple change of lipstick
Starlight to Air Kiss


Thank you Angeline - our noble host!
Wishing everyone a Fabulous 2024

 

[Ashesh9]

Marathi Nu Year is Gudi Padwa...
Bong Nu Year is Boishakh [ Poila]!
Gregory Nu Year is Cool'n Happy:
Shoot it outta' Mouth Crisp'n Snappy!!!

 

[Piscator]

bananas

it’s not relationship ending
but we agree to disagree about
bananas
she likes hers while still green
i like mine just this side
of mushy and black if they’re too old even
for me, they’re still good for banana bread
in fact, sometimes i’ll buy a bunch on quick sale
just to make some banana bread.
one of my sisters likes frozen bananas but i’ve never tried them
although we all like banana splits​

 

[29wordsforsnow]

I never asked where the jar was from
but I do remember it was always there
maybe something that traveled home
from a grandmother's vacation trip
or found in some colorful wrapping

It had its place, rarely on the table
but usually in a child's easy reach
like toys behind bottom cabinet doors
unlike the pretty things on high shelves
it was some honest brown earthenware

The siren lid painted with hypnotic patterns
a cover for the sweet treats underneath
a waffle today, a toffee tomorrow or nothing
to be found by sneaky sweet tooth fingers
times were like these, empty some days

Life went on, and now, for years, memories
have taken over the place of the cookie jar
the hand that fed the emptiness with candy
is gone.

 

[Wonderer67]

A numbers game

Thirty one daze into December
Fifty Six poems
In
Fifty two weeks
Somehow I did it

Man, was I in awe
And intimidated by you all
But my craft grew and matured
Thanks to all of you
Your kind words
Support
And encouragement

Some weeks were tough
There was nothing there
My mind blank
The well dry
I almost hung it up
But stuck with it
That was maybe March

Other weeks
Everything felt poetic
I was seeing my life thru
Words
Poems and verse coming
Out of me like sweat
Seeing sounds
Hearing color
Feeling everything
No matter how good
Or bad

Here is fifty seven

On to twenty four

57/52

To quote the great poet, Charlie McKenzie: “this poem sucks.”

I thank you all for kind words and encouragement. I really appreciate all of you.