Poetry Challenge for First Week of May

[EroticOrogeny]

I finished my villanelle for Wed nite (it sucks, but they won't notice).
Hope to start in on this challenge tomorrow.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Inspired by Champagne1964's wonderful poem Breathless Metamorphosis

Dear Dr Zamboni

I can’t straighten my fingers
but grope to the edge of
anything, the table, the mattress
and force them straight.
Soldiers once acquiescent
now alienated, obstinate,
stubborn rebels, shunning trust.

I can’t touch to feel.
Skin could be fur
or kid leather, just something smooth,
anything.
Hair, wiry to my fingers now,
I know, from memory, is softer.

My metamorphosis in slow motion,
fruit slow-rotting caught
in time lapse sequence
collapsing lushly or
a flower falling from its former glory
so languidly it is beautiful to see.
A sudden realization that some skill,
ability, is absent without my leave
and no knowledge of when it fled.

I don’t expect my legs to return
or my feet to dance again
but if you could help me keep
my hand to feed and wash,
to hold a book or touch a face
it would mean my life.

 

[champagne1982]

Thank you!

At ten past four,
a birth of happiness
a gasp of breath, and blue eyes
that gaze out
while wrapped in fuzzy
cocoon and glory, always near.

A gift of brilliance
or of genetics brings low
the joy of a treasure
not yet uncovered but soon
the spark will ignite
the fast flame of high
metabolism to make legs
too thin and cheeks
drawn but that smile
creates melody.


One grandmother notes
in a quick drawn letter
of passing practicality,
"The child must learn
to find a middle ground"
bipolar windings run in the family

To always have that joyous
burden of talent that at last
erupts with budding breasts
and then to find the calm,
so this fire burns eternal.

Inspired by Tess2's Jacqueline Du Pre 1945 –87.

 

[BooMerengue]

.

I wish I had seen this sooner. I would have done much better I think, and I would have loved for someone to do one of mine. I borrowed from Triss; please forgive me, darlin', but I had to do it.

Cathedral Grove

No consecrated ground this,
redolent with rebirth,
but still we whisper, awed.

Life leaps from fallen trees;
saplings succoured
by their parent’s prone
and rotting forms
spring freshly green
to form new shade.

Ferns and fungi thrive in
a hundred hues of hallelujah.
Here armies of insects
hatch and die each shimmering second.

Hush and hear the hum of truth,
listen to the life force unfolding,
the crackle of existence
and the racket of redemption.

Birds compete to complete the pattern,
jubilant choristers in the canopy
and Gaia rejoices.


my take...

Sacred woodlands, springing forth in their becoming
beckon us to enter, watchful of the life
tunnel visioned in its violent race to greening
struggling from the rot with aid from God's midwife.

Hear the hues of Hallelujah in the treetops
Hear the Birdsong trill the ferns to leaves unfurl.
feel the sky baptize the new life with her raindrops
watch the breezes spread the seedlings in a whirl.

Kneel and recognize the Power of the Forest.
bend and shed your tears deep in the loamy soil
stand and shout your joy as insects chirp their chorus
inhale the beauty born out of this rugged turmoil.

This should be a sonnet; its been so long since I've written anything I couldn't remember how to finish it. But it sure did feel good to write something again! More challenges, please!

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

I wish I had seen this sooner. I would have done much better I think, and I would have loved for someone to do one of mine. I borrowed from Triss; please forgive me, darlin', but I had to do it.

Cathedral Grove


my take...

Sacred woodlands, springing forth in their becoming
beckon us to enter, watchful of the life
tunnel visioned in its violent race to greening
struggling from the rot with aid from God's midwife.

Hear the hues of Hallelujah in the treetops
Hear the Birdsong trill the ferns to leaves unfurl.
feel the sky baptize the new life with her raindrops
watch the breezes spread the seedlings in a whirl.

Kneel and recognize the Power of the Forest.
bend and shed your tears deep in the loamy soil
stand and shout your joy as insects chirp their chorus
inhale the beauty born out of this rugged turmoil.

This should be a sonnet; its been so long since I've written anything I couldn't remember how to finish it. But it sure did feel good to write something again! More challenges, please!

Don't you dare apologize! Your take is great.

Leave a link, Boo, I'd love to try one of yours.

 

[Tzara]

A kind of response to Dora's When Our Love is a Waning Moon:

On Some Slow Motions of the Sea

A moon that never wanes denies
Its moonishness, the tidal charms
Of tapered, opalescent thighs.
A moon that never wanes denies
My marine moods, those pangs and sighs
Come from caress of lambent arms.
A moon that never wanes denies
Her lunar, nested, tidal charms.


​

 

[BooMerengue]

here it is Sweety. Have a ball, and I wish others would jump in, too. I've been told my poems were sometimes obscure so I'd love to see what others thought...

http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=94214&page=submissions

 

[Tzara]

Off CharleyH's poem, Petit mort:

Une mort, très petite

La petite mort. So, sex is gruesome?
A slasher movie shot way small
Where fulgent gals, perhaps in twosome
Engage in things that we would all
Engage in too, if we just knew some
Loose ones, thin or fat. Just new ones?

I must apologize, I think.
I've prob'ly had too much to drink,
Which always leaves me kind of queasy,
And listing to the left, and blunt,
And dreaming of that perfect cunt
That's virginal, but for me, easy.

My shivered, swirling waves of breath
Are asthma, darling, not your death.


​

I mean, I hope, joke city.

Yeah, I know she didn't say that we could rewrite her poems. She's pretty good-spirited, though, and I hope won't mind that I wrote one for her and her l'amour.

Ouch! I know—grammar pothole!

 

[champagne1982]

here it is Sweety. Have a ball, and I wish others would jump in, too. I've been told my poems were sometimes obscure so I'd love to see what others thought...

http://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=94214&page=submissions

Chalice by BooMerengue©

The victory is hard to see
through hijab, harder still
when eyes remain closed
like the harem, like doors.

Blossom chalice and show
the fearful how the sharp
point of hateful victory can
soften, open to exchange
what fills you up bountiful
and allows their lips to sip
the blessings from your face.

 

[bflagsst]

A kind of response to Dora's When Our Love is a Waning Moon:

On Some Slow Motions of the Sea

A moon that never wanes denies
Its moonishness, the tidal charms
Of tapered, opalescent thighs.
A moon that never wanes denies
My marine moods, those pangs and sighs
Come from caress of lambent arms.
A moon that never wanes denies
Her lunar, nested, tidal charms.


​

Someone should write "Our Love is a Waxing Moon".

 

[CharleyH]

Off CharleyH's poem, Petit mort:

Une mort, très petite

La petite mort. So, sex is gruesome?
A slasher movie shot way small
Where fulgent gals, perhaps in twosome
Engage in things that we would all
Engage in too, if we just knew some
Loose ones, thin or fat. Just new ones?

I must apologize, I think.
I've prob'ly had too much to drink,
Which always leaves me kind of queasy,
And listing to the left, and blunt,
And dreaming of that perfect cunt
That's virginal, but for me, easy.

My shivered, swirling waves of breath
Are asthma, darling, not your death.


​

I mean, I hope, joke city.

Yeah, I know she didn't say that we could rewrite her poems. She's pretty good-spirited, though, and I hope won't mind that I wrote one for her and her l'amour.

Ouch! I know—grammar pothole!

lol - LOVE IT, well, I love a drunk slut, for sure.



PS. Two more days ... two stanzas to go on mine.

 

[EroticOrogeny]

Indeed an excellent opportunity to read our fellow poets past works, plus the new!
I'm starting to get rolling on my first (idea for another, but may be optimistic goal these days).

 

[Tzara]

Riffed off Remec's Keepsake, to the beat of Riders on the Storm:

Fish

On an archaeological dig through
the shoebox silt
of what's past is past,
in search of, I think, my birth certificate
(which I did not find, which was OK,
since it should not have been there, anyway)

I found your old prom photograph.
Or, more precisely, ours—

you in an avocado dress
the color of a '68 Firebird or Mom's new refrigerator,
one cramped gardenia stapled to your breast,
my hair contesting yours in length,
yours barely winning. And
please forget, forgive the paisley cummerbund,
fashion faux pas even then.

The theme, if I remember, was
Under the Sea, and we both seem
to have just emerged from that great green deep, bedraggled
and lost and really, really wet
with puppydog eyes and frizzy, dank locks

and looking like the only way we knew how to spawn
was to spill ichthyic gametes in some pond.


​

Every picture tells a story, don't it?

 

[Palba_Noruda]

From Chipbutty's post

You bit the line close to the knot
Later we got lost on the highway

You put aside your ember glow
The quarters in your pocket are now in mine

Lofty black sounds made the city people dance
Wily wary watchful smart baring teeth, cutting string

The grey dog rests; the best breeze blows
Let me ask you a question, has day erupted from her dress?

Experience lifts the mists, liars see the glass
Does your love enmesh laughter?

Thin the mist and see me lost on the highway
Does the ember erupt from your pocket?

Throw your quarters in a grand parade
Seven is a better number, agree?

 

[annaswirls]

Is it too late to play? I am so slow and these internet tubes are so fast.

Y'all are writing some great poems here, I want to play. I so so so so wish I had more time alone to write. I madly love all of the boys, big and little, that I live with, but seriously, they congregate and I cannot concentrate and I am trying to not be an insomniac so that leaves

wah

stop whining and write.

I will be back

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I guess my own experience giving up smoking was a bit different than UnderYourSpell's:

Divorce

That final cigarette was the death of my lover,
a woman I'd grown tired of always
clinging to my shirts, my ties,
even to my yellowed, bitten fingernails,
as if I could ever want another
bitch like her in my bed
whom I'd fuck
because I have to, not
because I want.


​

(Actually, I found it pretty easy, but it seemed like it should have been like this.)

wow that is fucking marvelous (and I don't swear!) a slant on it that never entered my head!

I wanted to write more of these but another viral infection has grabbed me by the throat (literally) but will try to do at least another one before the deadline

 

[Epmd607]

Is it too late to play? I am so slow and these internet tubes are so fast.

Y'all are writing some great poems here, I want to play. I so so so so wish I had more time alone to write. I madly love all of the boys, big and little, that I live with, but seriously, they congregate and I cannot concentrate and I am trying to not be an insomniac so that leaves

wah

stop whining and write.

I will be back

I can't remember the deadline I set. I guess I could go back to the first post or The new deadline is whenever AnnaSwirls submits a poem.

I saw Remec posting somewhere yesterday. I can't remember if he submitted something.

 

[Angeline]

I can't remember the deadline I set. I guess I could go back to the first post or The new deadline is whenever AnnaSwirls submits a poem.

I saw Remec posting somewhere yesterday. I can't remember if he submitted something.

I think you should just leave this challenge open, Emp. Let people write whenever they have time. I want to try it (and anyone who wants can use my poems), but we've been so busy with the move I hardly have time to sit down these days. I'm planning to carve out some time to write at some point this week, so I hope to participate soon. But this is such a great challenge idea, I'd make it permanent.

 

[butters]

I think you should just leave this challenge open, Emp. Let people write whenever they have time. I want to try it (and anyone who wants can use my poems), but we've been so busy with the move I hardly have time to sit down these days. I'm planning to carve out some time to write at some point this week, so I hope to participate soon. But this is such a great challenge idea, I'd make it permanent.

i second that

 

[The_Fool]

remove everything
every mask
every adornment
till you are naked and honest and brave
and then
when passion moves you
moves me
remove my blindfold
let me see into you
please. don't close your eyes

This has interested me since you wrote it. I was considering replying in verse, but considered that to almost be a thread jack, since it would almost become a dialog. I may yet reply in verse, just not here.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

This one was inspired by BooMerengue's Moon Of My Mothers

Her Gifts

She swoops in unembarrassed
by her fecundity. Swollen with promises
that stir and stretch beneath the surface,

her gifts are growing, offered to us all
in lieu of witnessing her largesse
and we must be diligent.

Each creature living unaware in jungle,
plain or sea plays out its days,
taking only what it needs to thrive.

She smiles to see her children play.

 

[Epmd607]

Sorry, I can't keep this thread open indefinitely. Once AnnaSwirls posts her poem I'll likely comment on a bunch and then be done with it. A good challenge should have a beginning and an end. Plus, I don't want anyone's poems to get all rotten and moldy sitting around here for months.

 

[Angeline]

Sorry, I can't keep this thread open indefinitely. Once AnnaSwirls posts her poem I'll likely comment on a bunch and then be done with it. A good challenge should have a beginning and an end. Plus, I don't want anyone's poems to get all rotten and moldy sitting around here for months.

Well that's fine too.I disagree about every challenge needing a beginning and an ending though--that seems too linear to me. Some of the best challenges here have had no end, like smithpeter's passion thread and others. And people remove their poems from threads if and when they want anyway.

Anyway we've been riffing on each other's poems here for years. I know folks were doing it in 2002 when I joined. Your thread is evidence it's still popular. And true we don't really need a thread to do it indefinitely. We just will.

 

[Tzara]

Silly variant on The_Fool's charming half stop:

Punctuation

I love the lines of her long sighs,
spaced out like words by little gasps
and cries, the quick hitch of comma
with its tongue-flicked twitch,
the drawn-out dash
of low moan,
and then and then
suddenly her conversation ends,
full stop.

After a restful break of line
I lean down to start another paragraph.


​

 

[annaswirls]

done in distraction and far lesser poem but here and done and enjoyed looking for this and hoping for more

Nature

fresh from shower
I bend over

the word "willow" may be written
into your poetry tonight

my body will become slender trunk
perhaps my hair the leaves that
hang low to kiss the water

or perhaps
it will be all scarred bark
and witches sea weed mane

I cannot remember how we left things
Did I nag about the forgotten
red peppers or did I remain soft,
changing the menu without a word.

your eyes narrow their gaze
from my
navel down
matted moss.

Foucault swings Mobius
twists still you are nature
and must stalk.




nature
by Tzara©

fresh from shower
you bend over

a willow seeking out the sun
with a graceful arc of trunk

long hair hung low
like netted branches dipped to water’s flow

and there, in fork of limb,
that dark bit, that damp moss

such beauty should be contemplative
but i am also nature

i am animal
and must i stalk