2023 Poem-A-Week Challenge (Poems Only Thread)
- Thread starter The Poets
- Start date
Wonderer67
Optimistic nihilist
- Joined
- Sep 25, 2020
- Posts
- 11,707
A dream and its aftermath
I was in Iraq
I was a tanker - but in my dream, I did not know why we were not in our tanks…
There was a massive explosion: an IED
LOUD
It was super fucking close
I felt the concussion of it – I felt my insides move
I thought maybe my heart had stopped
Or that something was wrong with my lungs - they didn’t work for a moment
Had the air had been knocked outta me?
It was overwhelmingly loud
The loudest noise I think I’d ever heard
Everything was covered over in that orange/tan/gray dust
Fear gripped me, but the training kicked in
I went thru the motions…
We checked if anyone was hurt
Secured a small position
We were all crouching alongside a cement building,
Making ourselves small
Lots of shouting and chaos
Figuring out what was what
Who was where
What was going on
Securing a perimeter, radioing in
Tending to people, checking in on them
“You good?” I asked someone who was stumbling
He gave me a green gloved thumbs up.
I kept an eye on him - he didn’t seem ok
I was overwhelmed by how fucking loud it was
Pucker factor 9…
I woke, my adrenaline coursing thru my veins
It was 2:56 am
There was no more sleep to be had
I used to march in circles around my house,
When I couldn’t sleep
But my therapist advised me against that
She said you have to “create your own personal lullaby.”
A weird choice of words
This was not exactly a lullaby moment
But I understood her intent
It was time to ground
Time to try to distract or fall back asleep
But my mind was set to “on.”
Pucker 6 or 7 now
Teeth clenched, fists balled
I imagined what Leah would’ve told me:
“Quick, tell me the Cincinnati Reds 1994 roster.”
I wracked my brain…Barry Larkin, Tom Browning, Eric Davis, Norm Charlton, Rob Dibble, Reggie Sanders came to mind…
(Was Paul O’Neill still on that team then?)
Distract, ground
I tried to unwind
Breathing exercises - left hand over heart, right on the belly
Four second inhale, hold for seven and exhale for eight seconds
I eventually drifted back to sleep…
But the dream had put its hooks in me
In my half awake, half asleep, amped up, tired as fuck, somewhat paranoid state,
I wondered if that IED was louder than
The 120mm smoothbore guns on our tanks
I thought about APFSDS (armor piercing fin stabilized discarding sabot) rounds for some reason
In my new dream
I was talking with some of our crew
We debated which was louder
“It was different” Sgt. Kelly said. “That IED was a huge boom.”
“The main gun is much more of a high velocity CRACK.”
“Hells yeah… both fuggin loud, but totally different sounds, Rogs..” Rodriguez chimed in
I had once taken off my CVC helmet once during a live fire exercise - not smart
Either way, it was like seeing Motorhead, but condensed into three or four seconds
I awoke again and I thought of other things
Staring at the ceiling and then at my alarm clock
How I failed my daughter
And ran away from my ex wife
Shit that I had to do, that I was putting off
A difficult conversation to be had
Other things that gnawed at me
Work bullshit
Projects I’ve started but haven’t completed
I finally fell asleep at five
Of course, my alarm clock went off at 530
Isn’t that always the way it works?
My Fitbit said a 49 sleep score: 4 hrs and 24 mins
I sent a screen shot of it to a friend of mine on Twitter
I seemed to be in slow motion
Not in step with waking up like I normally am
I’m a morning person
I worked out like demon: Elliptical for 30 mins till my back hurt
Spinning bike for 20 minutes till my balls and taint hurt
Then 12 minutes on the rowing machine…
My wife came downstairs to the basement to check on me
I was very fucking tired and irritable
I didn’t have the patience for minutia…
For questions
Or being wrong
I snapped at her
I was convinced I was right about something unimportant
She said “You put the DICK in ‘dictator’ when you get like this.”
She is not wrong
I get really tyrannical when this happens
Over righteous and ready to just GO GO GO
Tired and amped at the same time
Thank God she puts up with my shit
She hugged me
We hugged it out, talked it out, walked it out, worked it out
I was gonna call in
Or is it calling out?
I don’t fucking know…
But there was too much on my plate at the office today
I went in and slogged thru my to-do list and my meetings
I was slower than normal, but more deliberate
I stayed busy and occupied; productive…
And at lunch,
I wrote this
22/52
I was in Iraq
I was a tanker - but in my dream, I did not know why we were not in our tanks…
There was a massive explosion: an IED
LOUD
It was super fucking close
I felt the concussion of it – I felt my insides move
I thought maybe my heart had stopped
Or that something was wrong with my lungs - they didn’t work for a moment
Had the air had been knocked outta me?
It was overwhelmingly loud
The loudest noise I think I’d ever heard
Everything was covered over in that orange/tan/gray dust
Fear gripped me, but the training kicked in
I went thru the motions…
We checked if anyone was hurt
Secured a small position
We were all crouching alongside a cement building,
Making ourselves small
Lots of shouting and chaos
Figuring out what was what
Who was where
What was going on
Securing a perimeter, radioing in
Tending to people, checking in on them
“You good?” I asked someone who was stumbling
He gave me a green gloved thumbs up.
I kept an eye on him - he didn’t seem ok
I was overwhelmed by how fucking loud it was
Pucker factor 9…
I woke, my adrenaline coursing thru my veins
It was 2:56 am
There was no more sleep to be had
I used to march in circles around my house,
When I couldn’t sleep
But my therapist advised me against that
She said you have to “create your own personal lullaby.”
A weird choice of words
This was not exactly a lullaby moment
But I understood her intent
It was time to ground
Time to try to distract or fall back asleep
But my mind was set to “on.”
Pucker 6 or 7 now
Teeth clenched, fists balled
I imagined what Leah would’ve told me:
“Quick, tell me the Cincinnati Reds 1994 roster.”
I wracked my brain…Barry Larkin, Tom Browning, Eric Davis, Norm Charlton, Rob Dibble, Reggie Sanders came to mind…
(Was Paul O’Neill still on that team then?)
Distract, ground
I tried to unwind
Breathing exercises - left hand over heart, right on the belly
Four second inhale, hold for seven and exhale for eight seconds
I eventually drifted back to sleep…
But the dream had put its hooks in me
In my half awake, half asleep, amped up, tired as fuck, somewhat paranoid state,
I wondered if that IED was louder than
The 120mm smoothbore guns on our tanks
I thought about APFSDS (armor piercing fin stabilized discarding sabot) rounds for some reason
In my new dream
I was talking with some of our crew
We debated which was louder
“It was different” Sgt. Kelly said. “That IED was a huge boom.”
“The main gun is much more of a high velocity CRACK.”
“Hells yeah… both fuggin loud, but totally different sounds, Rogs..” Rodriguez chimed in
I had once taken off my CVC helmet once during a live fire exercise - not smart
Either way, it was like seeing Motorhead, but condensed into three or four seconds
I awoke again and I thought of other things
Staring at the ceiling and then at my alarm clock
How I failed my daughter
And ran away from my ex wife
Shit that I had to do, that I was putting off
A difficult conversation to be had
Other things that gnawed at me
Work bullshit
Projects I’ve started but haven’t completed
I finally fell asleep at five
Of course, my alarm clock went off at 530
Isn’t that always the way it works?
My Fitbit said a 49 sleep score: 4 hrs and 24 mins
I sent a screen shot of it to a friend of mine on Twitter
I seemed to be in slow motion
Not in step with waking up like I normally am
I’m a morning person
I worked out like demon: Elliptical for 30 mins till my back hurt
Spinning bike for 20 minutes till my balls and taint hurt
Then 12 minutes on the rowing machine…
My wife came downstairs to the basement to check on me
I was very fucking tired and irritable
I didn’t have the patience for minutia…
For questions
Or being wrong
I snapped at her
I was convinced I was right about something unimportant
She said “You put the DICK in ‘dictator’ when you get like this.”
She is not wrong
I get really tyrannical when this happens
Over righteous and ready to just GO GO GO
Tired and amped at the same time
Thank God she puts up with my shit
She hugged me
We hugged it out, talked it out, walked it out, worked it out
I was gonna call in
Or is it calling out?
I don’t fucking know…
But there was too much on my plate at the office today
I went in and slogged thru my to-do list and my meetings
I was slower than normal, but more deliberate
I stayed busy and occupied; productive…
And at lunch,
I wrote this
22/52
Last edited:
Rockymtnman
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 12, 2016
- Posts
- 931
A vacation poem or two —- actually
poem 1
the wind carries droplets
of water from the raging pacific
lightly salting my face with the cool dew
poem 2
wind swept waves crash along
the coast, as if insulted
by the mere existence of an
impediment to the sheer power they possess
poem 1
the wind carries droplets
of water from the raging pacific
lightly salting my face with the cool dew
poem 2
wind swept waves crash along
the coast, as if insulted
by the mere existence of an
impediment to the sheer power they possess
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,232
By the Numbers
Assume a poet publishes six collections
over a lifetime, say eighty years.
Assume sixty poems per
or three hundred and sixty in all.
But one must also assume
that for every poem published,
there are at least twenty poems
discarded because they weren't
good enough or didn't fit
the theme; maybe they looked wrong
or made her unbearably sad
reading those words ad nauseam,
remembering things she'd rather not
or, worse yet, not remembering any of it,
knowing she produced thin gruel
to nourish the imagination,
let alone be part of a collection.
Why that's 7,200 poems!
And you know there's more.
There's always more:
dribs and drabs of misbegotten ideas,
forgotten lines scribbled
in lost notebooks, on envelope backs,
even a cocktail napkin from that night
she wasted drinking Cran and Stoly,
thinking she'd tapped the vein
of inspired genius
when really she was just drunk
and, as it turned out,
incoherent.
So now we've at least ten thousand
attempts. Think of the trees
that gave their life for these follies!
Now consider the actual poetry
of a single tree. Sometimes
things just don't add up.
Week 23, Poem 1, Total 29
Assume a poet publishes six collections
over a lifetime, say eighty years.
Assume sixty poems per
or three hundred and sixty in all.
But one must also assume
that for every poem published,
there are at least twenty poems
discarded because they weren't
good enough or didn't fit
the theme; maybe they looked wrong
or made her unbearably sad
reading those words ad nauseam,
remembering things she'd rather not
or, worse yet, not remembering any of it,
knowing she produced thin gruel
to nourish the imagination,
let alone be part of a collection.
Why that's 7,200 poems!
And you know there's more.
There's always more:
dribs and drabs of misbegotten ideas,
forgotten lines scribbled
in lost notebooks, on envelope backs,
even a cocktail napkin from that night
she wasted drinking Cran and Stoly,
thinking she'd tapped the vein
of inspired genius
when really she was just drunk
and, as it turned out,
incoherent.
So now we've at least ten thousand
attempts. Think of the trees
that gave their life for these follies!
Now consider the actual poetry
of a single tree. Sometimes
things just don't add up.
Week 23, Poem 1, Total 29
Ambient4190
Really Experienced
- Joined
- May 4, 2021
- Posts
- 256
no no
squeezing
too tight
no no
careful
head sensitive
no no
lips
cover teeth
no no
open
deep throat
no no
dont make
that face
swallow
good girl
squeezing
too tight
no no
careful
head sensitive
no no
lips
cover teeth
no no
open
deep throat
no no
dont make
that face
swallow
good girl
29wordsforsnow
beyond thirty
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2019
- Posts
- 1,217
Back-to-back Ghazal
For a split second, I saw it in your turning eyes
a thought of attraction that caught my yearning eyes
Lost in a sea of people, a black that lingers
only a back amid all those mourning eyes
I meander through shoulders knitted so tight
they won't be touched by my learning eyes
For all their soft-spoken manners flaunted before
damnation, all of a sudden, in their churning eyes
At the bottom, I wish for tear-stained fingers
a shady dew wiped from your burning eyes
Extraxt it from their warmth-drained fingers
your hungry heart, I'll feed it mine, and more
And count the days with well trained fingers
from now till when the aversion has died
Let's squeeze all life from time's pained fingers
we'll waste the eons and drink from the skies
Hold your breath then, in my pale, veined fingers
a ring for each of yours, by love chained fingers
For a split second, I saw it in your turning eyes
a thought of attraction that caught my yearning eyes
Lost in a sea of people, a black that lingers
only a back amid all those mourning eyes
I meander through shoulders knitted so tight
they won't be touched by my learning eyes
For all their soft-spoken manners flaunted before
damnation, all of a sudden, in their churning eyes
At the bottom, I wish for tear-stained fingers
a shady dew wiped from your burning eyes
Extraxt it from their warmth-drained fingers
your hungry heart, I'll feed it mine, and more
And count the days with well trained fingers
from now till when the aversion has died
Let's squeeze all life from time's pained fingers
we'll waste the eons and drink from the skies
Hold your breath then, in my pale, veined fingers
a ring for each of yours, by love chained fingers
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,691
Bookstores
are places perfect for an afternoon stroll,
their aisles like quiet country lanes,
the shelves like hedgerows
vined with the spines of volumes
whose titles sparkle like wildflowers—
comforting, beautiful, inviting.
They tempt one to linger,
silently satisfied, in the welcoming
gloom of their usual poor lighting,
alone but for the store cat brushing
idly against one's leg, on its way
for a nap in the dust-covered nook
that holds the philosophy section.
Heidegger puts me to sleep, too.
Week 23: Poem 1: Total 35
are places perfect for an afternoon stroll,
their aisles like quiet country lanes,
the shelves like hedgerows
vined with the spines of volumes
whose titles sparkle like wildflowers—
comforting, beautiful, inviting.
They tempt one to linger,
silently satisfied, in the welcoming
gloom of their usual poor lighting,
alone but for the store cat brushing
idly against one's leg, on its way
for a nap in the dust-covered nook
that holds the philosophy section.
Heidegger puts me to sleep, too.
Week 23: Poem 1: Total 35
After The Fire
Flames recede
Into the fuck-drunk haze
Of afterglow
Desire’s ghost lingers
Smoke still rises, curls
From fading coals
In wispy apparitions of touch
In whispered zephyrs of breath
On smoldering skin
We flare like embers
In the Summer Wind
Flames recede
Into the fuck-drunk haze
Of afterglow
Desire’s ghost lingers
Smoke still rises, curls
From fading coals
In wispy apparitions of touch
In whispered zephyrs of breath
On smoldering skin
We flare like embers
In the Summer Wind
goddessofglee
a gentle girly girl!
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2023
- Posts
- 206
#18
In a garden I once did stray,
Where the mango trees did grow,
When an unripe mango did I see,
Fallen from its branch below.
No one there I did espy,
So I plucked it up with glee,
And a bite into it I did take,
Though it was not ripe, you see.
As I ate it, I did run,
From the cherry tree so fair,
For I knew that I had done wrong,
And I did not want to be there.
But the cherry tree did call,
"Why do you run away from me?"
And I said, "I have done wrong,
And I'm afraid of what you'll see."
But the cherry tree did say,
"Come back, my child, and stay,
For I know that you are good,
And I will not judge you today."
And so I did return,
To the cherry tree so fair,
And I knew that I was safe,
For the cherry tree did care.
In a garden I once did stray,
Where the mango trees did grow,
When an unripe mango did I see,
Fallen from its branch below.
No one there I did espy,
So I plucked it up with glee,
And a bite into it I did take,
Though it was not ripe, you see.
As I ate it, I did run,
From the cherry tree so fair,
For I knew that I had done wrong,
And I did not want to be there.
But the cherry tree did call,
"Why do you run away from me?"
And I said, "I have done wrong,
And I'm afraid of what you'll see."
But the cherry tree did say,
"Come back, my child, and stay,
For I know that you are good,
And I will not judge you today."
And so I did return,
To the cherry tree so fair,
And I knew that I was safe,
For the cherry tree did care.
goddessofglee
a gentle girly girl!
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2023
- Posts
- 206
#19
A Distant Kiss
I want to feel your lips on mine,
So close and warm and full of wine.
I want to taste your breath,
So sweet and fresh and full of zest.
I want to feel your body close,
So warm and strong and full of pose.
I want to feel your hands on me,
So gentle and so full of glee.
I want to hear you whisper low,
The words that only lovers know.
I want to see your eyes light up,
As we kiss and kiss and never stop.
But all of this is just a dream,
A distant kiss that I can't seem
To reach. I'm so alone,
And I need you so very much.
I'm in desperate need of you,
To fill the void that's inside of me.
I need your love, your touch, your kiss,
To make me feel alive again.
I need you to be my everything,
To fill my heart with joy and cheer.
I need you to be my lover,
To make my life complete once more.
A Distant Kiss
I want to feel your lips on mine,
So close and warm and full of wine.
I want to taste your breath,
So sweet and fresh and full of zest.
I want to feel your body close,
So warm and strong and full of pose.
I want to feel your hands on me,
So gentle and so full of glee.
I want to hear you whisper low,
The words that only lovers know.
I want to see your eyes light up,
As we kiss and kiss and never stop.
But all of this is just a dream,
A distant kiss that I can't seem
To reach. I'm so alone,
And I need you so very much.
I'm in desperate need of you,
To fill the void that's inside of me.
I need your love, your touch, your kiss,
To make me feel alive again.
I need you to be my everything,
To fill my heart with joy and cheer.
I need you to be my lover,
To make my life complete once more.
goddessofglee
a gentle girly girl!
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2023
- Posts
- 206
#20
Thoughts escape our grasp,
Quicker than the speed of light,
gone before we know!
Thoughts escape our grasp,
Quicker than the speed of light,
gone before we know!
Tzara
Continental
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2005
- Posts
- 7,691
Four Tercets
I have loved you for ages,
but not, or mostly not,
in the way that that sounds.
Now I would love
to declare my love for you,
but my hands are deficient,
and my fingers can no longer
spell out L-O-V-E in ASL,
but my arms will still welcome you,
gather you close into my body
because you are a crop
which I must, quite leisurely, reap.
Week 24: Poem 1: Total 36
I have loved you for ages,
but not, or mostly not,
in the way that that sounds.
Now I would love
to declare my love for you,
but my hands are deficient,
and my fingers can no longer
spell out L-O-V-E in ASL,
but my arms will still welcome you,
gather you close into my body
because you are a crop
which I must, quite leisurely, reap.
Week 24: Poem 1: Total 36
Ambient4190
Really Experienced
- Joined
- May 4, 2021
- Posts
- 256
tragic horror about a boy
tale a tree fell on the boy
mother wailed despaired her beloved
child never to develop into a big boy
heartbroken she felled the forest
in terror for her other boy
majestic hardwoods shook the earth
chopped shredded for a boy
woodland creatures fled canopies
song birds silenced for the boy
black ravens scoured the ground
gorged on death surrounding the boy
tale a tree fell on the boy
mother wailed despaired her beloved
child never to develop into a big boy
heartbroken she felled the forest
in terror for her other boy
majestic hardwoods shook the earth
chopped shredded for a boy
woodland creatures fled canopies
song birds silenced for the boy
black ravens scoured the ground
gorged on death surrounding the boy
goddessofglee
a gentle girly girl!
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2023
- Posts
- 206
#21 & #22
Truth or Dare Game
We sit in a circle,
A group of strangers,
But we're not really strangers,
Are we?
We've all shared our stories,
Our hopes and dreams,
Our fears and failures,
And we've laughed and cried together.
We've become friends,
Even if we've never met in person.
And now it's time for Truth or Dare.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
"Truth," I say.
"Have you ever developed a crush on someone you've met on here?"
I open my eyes and look at the person who asked the question.
He's cute and handsome, with long well groomed flowing hair and sparkling eyes.
I can't help but smile.
"Yes," I say.
"And would you try to take it offline?"
I hesitate for a moment.
"I don't know," I say.
"I guess it depends on the person."
The man smiles.
"I think you'd be a good match for me," he says.
I blush.
"I think so too," I say.
We stare at each other for a moment, and then we both laugh.
"Truth or Dare?" I ask.
"Dare," he says.
I stand up and walk over him.
I almost danced on to a song, and then I turn to the man.
"Dance with me, will you?"
I say.
He takes my hand, and we dance.
We dance until the song is over, and then we dance even some more.
We dance until we're both breathless, and then we dance even a bit more.
until the stars they fell,
until we were off shore
We look at each other,
and we know the someone!
The something special that has happened.
I've found someone
who understands me,
someone who we can be myself someone who's with me.
I've found a friend.
And maybe,
just maybe,
He's found something too.
️️
Ballad of the Gleegirl
In a world of screens and cold hard light,
Where words are typed and rarely bright,
There came a soul who sought to brighten nights,
With stories told in rhyme of delight.
They say the name of girl called Glee,
And traveled far and wide to sea,
To bring her songs of joy and glee,
To all who would abide with she.
She sang of love and loss,
Of life and death,
Of hope and dreams,
Of all that makes us breathe.
And when she spoke, her words were heard,
By those who longed for something more,
By those who sought to find the door,
Through the darkness and the lore.
In Truth or Dare, we take a chance
To share our thoughts and beliefs at a glance
We may be strangers, but we're not alone
We're all connected, heart to bone
I've met many a fine soul here online,
Some I would love to take for a drink divine,
But the seas between us are wide and so brine,
I'll never know if their heart are sublime.
I'm empathetic, warm, and nostalgic,
A cup of tea to soothe a weary mind,
If you dare me to say a poem I've written,
I'll try, but it may come out all slurred and blind.
I keep humming the wanderer song,
It's been stuck in my head for long,
I think it's because you're so full of cheer,
It's hard not to follow your lead to there.
I take people at their word until they show me otherwise,
Then I generally don't have much to do with them after,
But I'm willing to give everyone a chance,
Even if they be a bit odd at a glance.
I'm always happy to inspire a song that just won't leave your head
So sing it loud, and let it out, and let the joy spread till the end
I haven't gotten any messages about my name yet,
But I'm sure I will eventually,
And I can't wait to see what people say.
a screen name is goddess of glee,
refers to a one as gleeful as can be,
she's a bard, a soothsayer, and a singer,
And I think it describes her pretty well, you see!
So if you're ever feeling down,
And all the world seems cold, unfound,
Just remember your Gleegirl some where,
Who sings just for you today.
Truth or Dare Game
We sit in a circle,
A group of strangers,
But we're not really strangers,
Are we?
We've all shared our stories,
Our hopes and dreams,
Our fears and failures,
And we've laughed and cried together.
We've become friends,
Even if we've never met in person.
And now it's time for Truth or Dare.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
"Truth," I say.
"Have you ever developed a crush on someone you've met on here?"
I open my eyes and look at the person who asked the question.
He's cute and handsome, with long well groomed flowing hair and sparkling eyes.
I can't help but smile.
"Yes," I say.
"And would you try to take it offline?"
I hesitate for a moment.
"I don't know," I say.
"I guess it depends on the person."
The man smiles.
"I think you'd be a good match for me," he says.
I blush.
"I think so too," I say.
We stare at each other for a moment, and then we both laugh.
"Truth or Dare?" I ask.
"Dare," he says.
I stand up and walk over him.
I almost danced on to a song, and then I turn to the man.
"Dance with me, will you?"
I say.
He takes my hand, and we dance.
We dance until the song is over, and then we dance even some more.
We dance until we're both breathless, and then we dance even a bit more.
until the stars they fell,
until we were off shore
We look at each other,
and we know the someone!
The something special that has happened.
I've found someone
who understands me,
someone who we can be myself someone who's with me.
I've found a friend.
And maybe,
just maybe,
He's found something too.
️️Ballad of the Gleegirl
In a world of screens and cold hard light,
Where words are typed and rarely bright,
There came a soul who sought to brighten nights,
With stories told in rhyme of delight.
They say the name of girl called Glee,
And traveled far and wide to sea,
To bring her songs of joy and glee,
To all who would abide with she.
She sang of love and loss,
Of life and death,
Of hope and dreams,
Of all that makes us breathe.
And when she spoke, her words were heard,
By those who longed for something more,
By those who sought to find the door,
Through the darkness and the lore.
In Truth or Dare, we take a chance
To share our thoughts and beliefs at a glance
We may be strangers, but we're not alone
We're all connected, heart to bone
I've met many a fine soul here online,
Some I would love to take for a drink divine,
But the seas between us are wide and so brine,
I'll never know if their heart are sublime.
I'm empathetic, warm, and nostalgic,
A cup of tea to soothe a weary mind,
If you dare me to say a poem I've written,
I'll try, but it may come out all slurred and blind.
I keep humming the wanderer song,
It's been stuck in my head for long,
I think it's because you're so full of cheer,
It's hard not to follow your lead to there.
I take people at their word until they show me otherwise,
Then I generally don't have much to do with them after,
But I'm willing to give everyone a chance,
Even if they be a bit odd at a glance.
I'm always happy to inspire a song that just won't leave your head
So sing it loud, and let it out, and let the joy spread till the end
I haven't gotten any messages about my name yet,
But I'm sure I will eventually,
And I can't wait to see what people say.
a screen name is goddess of glee,
refers to a one as gleeful as can be,
she's a bard, a soothsayer, and a singer,
And I think it describes her pretty well, you see!
So if you're ever feeling down,
And all the world seems cold, unfound,
Just remember your Gleegirl some where,
Who sings just for you today.
Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,232
Marge Piercy and Me
I read her every day
on the social network. She says
she's writing a poem. Sometimes
she has written three, yet still finds time
for others’ poems, to prepare
for a workshop, culling
materials, copying, collating.
Almost daily she mentions
her garden from catalog shopping
and designs to seedlings, weeding,
finally harvest. She has a greenhouse,
raised beds: peppers and potatoes,
lettuce and cabbages, pole beans
and strawberries that climb.
And that's not all.
She plans meals and cooks
alone and with friends: roasts,
whole fish, moussaka, nothing
seems to daunt her. And oh her parties,
the elaborate dinners she orchestrates,
the Passover Seder where she uses
a Haggadah of her own design.
Some days just reading her
is exhausting.
Even in my busiest years
of raising young children,
working with crazy publishing
deadlines, traveling by car, train,
flying to meetings, endless
meetings I was nowhere
near as productive as she is now,
in her eighties.
Sometimes I think I want
to be her when I grow up,
but then I remember I am
grown up, growing old even
and here I am still changing
my mind, prevaricating
and daydreaming, just trying
to breathe.
Week 24, Poem 1, Total 30
I read her every day
on the social network. She says
she's writing a poem. Sometimes
she has written three, yet still finds time
for others’ poems, to prepare
for a workshop, culling
materials, copying, collating.
Almost daily she mentions
her garden from catalog shopping
and designs to seedlings, weeding,
finally harvest. She has a greenhouse,
raised beds: peppers and potatoes,
lettuce and cabbages, pole beans
and strawberries that climb.
And that's not all.
She plans meals and cooks
alone and with friends: roasts,
whole fish, moussaka, nothing
seems to daunt her. And oh her parties,
the elaborate dinners she orchestrates,
the Passover Seder where she uses
a Haggadah of her own design.
Some days just reading her
is exhausting.
Even in my busiest years
of raising young children,
working with crazy publishing
deadlines, traveling by car, train,
flying to meetings, endless
meetings I was nowhere
near as productive as she is now,
in her eighties.
Sometimes I think I want
to be her when I grow up,
but then I remember I am
grown up, growing old even
and here I am still changing
my mind, prevaricating
and daydreaming, just trying
to breathe.
Week 24, Poem 1, Total 30
goddessofglee
a gentle girly girl!
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2023
- Posts
- 206
#23
A novice poet, I pondered my piece,
No ideas came to me, not one to see.
"Nice Noel," I said, "I nimbly nimble my lower lip,"
No notion of what I'm doing, no ideas nor nip.
But still my mind was blank, not a single quip.
"Only nothing known as yet, not knowing no more,"
Not knowing what to write, nor how to go,
Nor what to rhyme with "Noel", I'm in a state of despair.
I sighed, and put my pen down on the floor.
"Trying alliteration, failing miserably,"
I thought, "maybe get 2/10 for trying, but that's all I deserve."
But then I had an idea, a spark of inspiration,
"Maybe if I try harder, I'll be a success."
Never mind my nonsense, never mind my woes,
I'll keep on trying, even if I get no shows.
So I picked up my pen, and started again,
And this time, my poem flowed, with alliteration aplenty.
"Nice Noel," I wrote, "my nimble fingers fly,
Nimbly they type, never tiring, never cry."
No more negativity, no more self-doubt,
I'll be the best that I can be, I'll not be put out.
Never give up, never give in,
I'll keep on trying, until I reach my win.
No matter what the naysayers say,
I'll keep on writing, until my day.
"Only nothing known as yet, not knowing no more,"
I wrote, "but I'm not giving up, I'm going for more."
"Trying alliteration, failing miserably,"
I wrote, "but I'm not giving up, I'm going to be merry."
"Maybe get 2/10 for trying, but that's all I deserve,"
I wrote, "but I'm not giving up, I'm going to persevere."
So that's my poem, with alliteration aplenty,
I hope you like it, and that it inspires you to be great.
Never give up on your dreams, no matter how hard they seem,
Just keep trying, and one day you will succeed.
So here's to me, and here's to you,
Let's keep on trying, and never give up too.
We can do anything we set our minds to,
If we just believe in ourselves, and never be blue.
A novice poet, I pondered my piece,
No ideas came to me, not one to see.
"Nice Noel," I said, "I nimbly nimble my lower lip,"
No notion of what I'm doing, no ideas nor nip.
But still my mind was blank, not a single quip.
"Only nothing known as yet, not knowing no more,"
Not knowing what to write, nor how to go,
Nor what to rhyme with "Noel", I'm in a state of despair.
I sighed, and put my pen down on the floor.
"Trying alliteration, failing miserably,"
I thought, "maybe get 2/10 for trying, but that's all I deserve."
But then I had an idea, a spark of inspiration,
"Maybe if I try harder, I'll be a success."
Never mind my nonsense, never mind my woes,
I'll keep on trying, even if I get no shows.
So I picked up my pen, and started again,
And this time, my poem flowed, with alliteration aplenty.
"Nice Noel," I wrote, "my nimble fingers fly,
Nimbly they type, never tiring, never cry."
No more negativity, no more self-doubt,
I'll be the best that I can be, I'll not be put out.
Never give up, never give in,
I'll keep on trying, until I reach my win.
No matter what the naysayers say,
I'll keep on writing, until my day.
"Only nothing known as yet, not knowing no more,"
I wrote, "but I'm not giving up, I'm going for more."
"Trying alliteration, failing miserably,"
I wrote, "but I'm not giving up, I'm going to be merry."
"Maybe get 2/10 for trying, but that's all I deserve,"
I wrote, "but I'm not giving up, I'm going to persevere."
So that's my poem, with alliteration aplenty,
I hope you like it, and that it inspires you to be great.
Never give up on your dreams, no matter how hard they seem,
Just keep trying, and one day you will succeed.
So here's to me, and here's to you,
Let's keep on trying, and never give up too.
We can do anything we set our minds to,
If we just believe in ourselves, and never be blue.
29wordsforsnow
beyond thirty
- Joined
- Jul 17, 2019
- Posts
- 1,217
The Villainelle of a Broken Dream
hear, as dreams are made of solid cash,
deep are the pockets, my golden song
see, broken promises turned to ash
where the Atlantic ocean waves crash,
beneath illusion a very strong
fear, as dreams are made, of solid cash
in chains that rattle with every slash
they're wishing for the crack of the thong
be broken, promises turned to ash
'Heaven' on your tongue is a bit rash,
so curse your devils, cause I know wrong
clear as dreams are, made of solid cash
just...equally...free, such a big clash
of an arguing blue and grey throng,
three broken promises turned to ash
the darkness that went into the trash
once again, was never gone for long,
we're, as dreams are made of solid cash
we broken promises turned to, ash
(this one might be more enlightening)
hear, as dreams are made of solid cash,
deep are the pockets, my golden song
see, broken promises turned to ash
where the Atlantic ocean waves crash,
beneath illusion a very strong
fear, as dreams are made, of solid cash
in chains that rattle with every slash
they're wishing for the crack of the thong
be broken, promises turned to ash
'Heaven' on your tongue is a bit rash,
so curse your devils, cause I know wrong
clear as dreams are, made of solid cash
just...equally...free, such a big clash
of an arguing blue and grey throng,
three broken promises turned to ash
the darkness that went into the trash
once again, was never gone for long,
we're, as dreams are made of solid cash
we broken promises turned to, ash
(this one might be more enlightening)
Last edited:
Ambient4190
Really Experienced
- Joined
- May 4, 2021
- Posts
- 256
sweat glistens on skin
hazy shimmer aloft asphalt
summertimes heartbeat
hazy shimmer aloft asphalt
summertimes heartbeat
OtherMan
Adverbially Verbaled
- Joined
- Mar 5, 2023
- Posts
- 1,242
This man’s heart has beat through this…
will beat through so much more…
has beat through beating’s heated kiss,
though beaten ass to core.
It’s eaten everything that pains
and swallowed smacking pride
and neatened all the stripes as gains,
as scars to bare not hide.
6/19/23
#38
will beat through so much more…
has beat through beating’s heated kiss,
though beaten ass to core.
It’s eaten everything that pains
and swallowed smacking pride
and neatened all the stripes as gains,
as scars to bare not hide.
6/19/23
#38
goddessofglee
a gentle girly girl!
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2023
- Posts
- 206
#24
**An art in the making**
I wrote a few paragraphs,
A start, but not the end.
I'll wait patiently,
For the rest to unfold to the end.
This is just the introduction,
A spark, a tiny flame.
It will grow and glow,
Until it's a chef-d'oeuvre.
or maybe a tour de force!
I'll write here every day,
To add a little more.
A word, a phrase, a thought,
To make this poem soar.
The opening is just an onset,
The end is not today.
This is just an opening,
Of a creation in the making.
words dance across the page,
clauses glide on stage.
This is just the midway,
Not the end, but to engage.
I will write here every day,
Just to say that I'm still here.
The opening is just an onset,
The end is not today.
My words are like prancing flames,
high tide along the beach at night.
They are the beginning of something new,
The start of a journey into light.
I wrote a few pages of flowing prose,
A few stanzas of lyrical verse.
But wait patiently, my friend,
This is just my heart, not the end.
My words are like a flowing river,
Ever-changing, ever-new.
They flow from my heart to yours,
A songbird's melody, maybe subdued.
I'm still working on this composition,
crafting each word with care,
the end is not yet in sight,
and the fairest is yet to delight!
**An art in the making**
I wrote a few paragraphs,
A start, but not the end.
I'll wait patiently,
For the rest to unfold to the end.
This is just the introduction,
A spark, a tiny flame.
It will grow and glow,
Until it's a chef-d'oeuvre.
or maybe a tour de force!
I'll write here every day,
To add a little more.
A word, a phrase, a thought,
To make this poem soar.
The opening is just an onset,
The end is not today.
This is just an opening,
Of a creation in the making.
words dance across the page,
clauses glide on stage.
This is just the midway,
Not the end, but to engage.
I will write here every day,
Just to say that I'm still here.
The opening is just an onset,
The end is not today.
My words are like prancing flames,
high tide along the beach at night.
They are the beginning of something new,
The start of a journey into light.
I wrote a few pages of flowing prose,
A few stanzas of lyrical verse.
But wait patiently, my friend,
This is just my heart, not the end.
My words are like a flowing river,
Ever-changing, ever-new.
They flow from my heart to yours,
A songbird's melody, maybe subdued.
I'm still working on this composition,
crafting each word with care,
the end is not yet in sight,
and the fairest is yet to delight!
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