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

[Ashesh9]

White
White of eggs....
White of eyes.....
White of panties peeping naughtily:
Under Wimbledon Gladiatrix skirts!!!!

 

[butters]

poem #17

head-swapping for the reader/writer/critter

firstly, wear a reader's head: all eye sockets and other orifices

unless otherwise invited
i'll jump into your poems
wide open and eager
to experience all y'all have to show
taste everything on offer—even if it's bitter
feel the proffered sun, wind, snow
on my face, rain's glitter on wet grass
rocks/mud/sand/sea beneath my feet
hear the cries of babes denied their suckle
the quickened breaths of passion and of fear
see your sunsets and parades, books and beggars
follow your perfumes and odours
from mountain to kitchen to corpse

second innings,
don a writer's head: brain compartmentalised, thinking engaged

this one's shielded, more reserved
eyes half-lidded, all features small
it protects from wild impacts
emotional meteors slung its way
strikes reduced by distance, craters minimised
allowing the brain to float and consider
...reconsider
to flow along specific routes
of language, sound, rhythm... choices
to finer understandings
without the distraction of splashes
—sipping the wine
rather than diving into the vat

lastly, wear a critter's head: the one with balancing scales on top and a disregard for anything other than the poem

by general or specific invitation
& with the benefit of data gleaned
from heads heretofore employed
the critter's wearing mufflers
blindfold, white cotton gloves
a nose clip, has its lips stitched closed
(for now)
brain adds & subtracts
weights applied to simple pans
suspended on fine chains
strengths & weaknesses (as perceived)
evaluates mistakes in execution
lack of vision & boredom-quotient
balanced against nuggets of greatness
waits for things to settle definitively
& reads the outcome
always taking into account
the resonance of echoes
that filter through flesh to this heart
& reserving the ultimate right
to change its mind
post posting

 

[Ashesh9]

Lady Inventor and Robot.
-----------------------------------------
She switches on " Masterful Mode" button:
Turns round and bends over Full On!!?
Robot taketh Lady Inventrix 'cross Lap:
" Spank...Smaak....Slap!!!?"
Pussy throbs in sweet Spasms :
Lady Inventrix Orgaaasms!!!!
She closes her eyes in Maso-Sub Bliss!!!
Aaah, can U: Sweet Reader imagine
A scenario like This!!!?

 

[Broken_paladin]

Lost in dark eyes with the depths of space,
A spirited woman of beauty and grace
A kiss that will haunt you for just one more taste
Leaves you breathless, confused, with a bewildered look upon face
Such passion was felt
Cruel hand that was dealt
Left ice upon hearts that just will not melt
Time cures us all
Though memories recall
A summer of love and bright colors of fall
Winters cold shackles give way to springs wake up call
Love is eternal though seasons will change
Till hope finds us all upon open range

 

[Tzara]

To a Shy Beauty

Dream-like darling, dare my heart desire

Your slim, sylph-like body, so slinky in bed,

My fingers atremble stroking long, trim flanks​

Or the swerve of your svelte hips, your form entire.

I live both love and lust, thus being led

To quench my thirst between your river's banks​

As if one draught could satisfy such need.

Lest I, your lunatic, leave things unsaid,

Let now my tongue directly touch you thus​

And consider these swift swirls and flicks my plea—

May we discuss?​

This is my attempt at a curtal sonnet, in the manner of Hopkins' "Pied Beauty"

Week 28: Poem 1: Total 41

 

[OtherMan]

The knife:
it’s need -
and also want,
the edge upon we glide…

to slip
and cut
as each’ll taunt…

the reach’ll make us slide.

7/13/23

#42

 

[Ashesh9]

Mind is drowning.....
in a list of endless tasks
Mentally i tore up the list:
Mind soars high up into Blissful Peace!!!

 

[Broken_paladin]

The damage of time has taken its toll
Body weary and tired but still strong in soul
Finding strength in each other was both of our goals

Gave chase towards a moment of a heart felt embrace
Overcome by the truth of distance and space
A picture so vivid I remember your face

To know you is to love you there is no in between
In my mind you are perfect meant to be a queen

If we had but a moment to become such a team
Sleepless the nights I am plagued by these dreams

I miss you so badly but I still will not tell
Even though its so painful a real honest hell
So with sorrow and sadness I bid you farewell

 

[goddessofglee]

#30

a Sadist said to me,
I like your poetry
its are beautiful comparison,
like a walkout at the sea!

thank you, I let out to him...
what made you say that?

I’m normally dominant, he confessed.
but I don’t feel that way
when I read through that!

oh, that's nice, I asserted,
more of a compliment
coming from a sadist man!

I like your confidence, he declared,
It makes me feel like
I can be vulnerable with you!

I'd love to see you in that state,
who can walk against one's fate?

I feel aroused, He told,
thinking of letting you take charge!
Do you ever date a sub?

that's a nice idea, I said,
when will that be?
Sadist guy wasn't to be seen?

 

[butters]

poem #18

things we share

minds are embodied
figuratively and literally
our bodies of equivalence
in size and shape
bags of fluid and air
main receptors perched on top

within the same shield
of thin atmosphere
beneath the same sun
that arcs across our skies each day
we depend on a 3D world
and a need to find sustenance
water and ways to regulate heat

but language
that embodiment of cultures
and rendered in pen
print, pencil, paint
in symbol, sound, and motion
may require the flavours of translation
for us to embrace cognitives of understanding
the empathies we share

 

[Ambient4190]

oh to feel the touch
linger the bite of snow
shiver the pain of cold
freeze the breath of air
warm the palms of hands
kindle the hearth of my body
wake my soul

 

[Angeline]

Running On Empty

The werewolf ran south down Seventh Avenue, arms pumping. He was sweating, mostly from fear. He had not expected to see the Valkyrie in Midtown. She frightened him: he could imagine her battle cry before she jabs him with the horns on her helmet or waves at him with that pitchfork-looking thing she carries. These thoughts alarmed him and he skidded into the crowd waiting for the Walk at 20th Street.

Watch it ya hairy asshole!

A big muscular guy glared at him. Others edged away. The werewolf put his head down and crossed, glancing back to see if the Valkyrie had chased him. She had not. He sighed and walked briskly, turning east at 14th Street heading south toward Tompkins Square Park.

Gotta stay away from that Viking bitch, he told Luther. She's a wild one.

It's cool, Luther told him. Ain't nobody watchin you now.

This was true. Passersby were studiously not looking at the werewolf, who was not a werewolf but a homeless man named Walter who appeared to be talking to himself.

Walter spoke both for himself and his imaginary friend Luther. Luther soothed his many anxieties, a little bit anyway. Walter had not been stalking the woman in the phone booth. He spent much of his days checking pay phones for change in the coin returns. A good day's take could yield enough change for a meager meal from a street vendor. Walter preferred this to soup kitchens or shelters. They stared at him there and he hated it although Luther claimed he overreacted.

Walter stopped at a food truck by the park. He had enough for an egg on a hard roll. He and Luther stood by a tree and he ate, watching the chess games from a safe distance.


Week 28, Poem 1, Total 34

 

[butters]

poem #19

is the earth standing still?

almost 7 pm
but the sun's wedged at 4
between thick screens of grey
and it hangs there
fixed
a baleful orange eye
watering from pollution
in noxious smoke blankets
and driven up and across it
from cars that can't rest
despite the heat
strung out between big rigs
on breathless country roads
turgid arterial highways

 

[goddessofglee]

#31

My Song of Desire!

My thoughts are lost, my mind a blank,
I cannot seem to find the words I seek.
I start to write, but then I am struck
By thoughts of pleasure, of desire so meek.

I look around, but I cannot find
The one who stole my thoughts, my inner voice.
I ask the raven, but she does not mind,
She has not heard my thoughts, she does not rejoice.

My soul is on fire, my heart beats fast,
I ache and long to taste my desire.
I sigh in glee, my power I can see,
As I fan your flames much higher than ever.

So to say, show him the way, that he should please me.
And for you, my friend, the wayfarer,
The watcher, the fire tender or the tormentor?
As I come in, know that you'd have none,
What pleases me more is your ache.

Oh, look at my feet, on and over my shoulder,
His mouth works well, hears my sigh of happiness.

 

[butters]

poem #20

burn scars

we learn it takes less
to flood what's been burnt
than it does to destroy
roots of naive greens
that sprout their
happy ignorance
in more absorbent lands

black and tempered
it rebuffs the deluge
that—in turn—sloughs
away the charred
as charcoaled mud
to puddle, dry and crack
with time, deposit
nutrients needed for growth

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Dancing, more or less

They say this place was new, hip, hot
so shyly lit and sparsely priced
you wonder why "It's rather not"
while some sweet fruit is getting sliced

One virgin piece pushed in the peach
shots on the rocks and in the glass
you'd favor more "some 'on the beach'"
for my ears only, you drink and strees

Frozen in the sundown summer heat
your crystal lips deny the truth
of my "won't move" next to my feet
your best flat bed dancing shoes

A wonder your toes stay sober
but they always do their magic
things long before the night's over
see it happens again, trouser tragic

Your legs and hips aren't helpful
either they press in or rub along
I hear her say, did you yelp, Fool?
cause it's that no distance, please, song

Mister DJ, thank you, anyway
reasons she had, now means and chance
as well her hands join in the play
ladies and gents, this is not a dance

Not anymore, or was it ever
this is turning a public show
if there were an audience, clever
I thought myself, then starts the flow

Happy hour, and hell's door open
people at day, demons at nights
hungry for sin they keep pouring in
more bare skin in the disco lights

The effect when you bend my neck
you damn well know I'm above now
a double cleavage to double check
a come-on sight I won't allow

Behind my back a twist of your legs
where's my safe haven at nthe bar
I squeeze the words out of reflex
"Go slow?" No, you're a rodeo star

I know too well there is nothing
in this whole wide world to stop you
very literally loving
nothing beneath is what you do

The last gates to my fort will fall
quite soon this not-a-dance won't be
rhythmic moves forever too small
for anybody who can see

 

[butters]

poem #21

whip-lashed

i read and i read
countless talents
words that string my sympathies out
along power poles
lightning in the offing
my sensibilities buffeted
by winds of change
as i switch from one world
of existence to the next

it seems to be the year
the times
of confessionals
cathartic for the author
but a reader
runs the risks of trauma
from repeated blows
self-inflicted flagellation

and where everything's confessional
there's a shortage of carpenters
to build draped boxes
not to mention confessors
with knees worn from worship
wondering just how much more
they can take
and if the confessant
will turn up for the wafer
or simply shit and run

 

[butters]

poem #22

what we need

a little less coffee
a lot less navel gazing
broader horizons
to lift our eyes more often
from the screen to the skies
to speak a little less
or a little more (depends)
forget our own problems
long enough to offer help
appreciate the value of money
yet understand
it'll never match
the currency of love
forget to judge
embrace the new
pray in private
if you feel the need to pray
and live life today
because tomorrow might be too late
p.s
i'm adding ice cream to this list
and crossing out line one

 

[Ashesh9]

It's been raining here in Mumbai
Very heavily ........pitter patter....flash....boom
Thunder lightning ....the full works
Piping hot samosas...vadas.....bhajiyas here
While we watch Paris.....Rome.....rest of the world sizzle'n burn
Hope they don't turn into Ash in an Urn
------Ash9

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Lost Mugs

I don't know if you remember this one
you thought it was funny
with scales and recipes on the side
like Morning Glory or Eye-Opener
as I 'never got your coffee the same as yesterday'
Of course, you loved Powershot
Triple espresso
Half a cup of cream
A generous tablespoon of sugar
Stir once, and only once
the buttkick for your twelve-hour working frenzies

This one, and the many of its kind
are Misty Mornings
just a milky Joe
with fading attention to
what part should be the most
or if you should drink it all
or at all
I've found many of its kind
all over the place

The cupboard is worse and worse these days

It once was overflowing with mugs
Souvenirs from Far Far Away
let's not have presents this year birthday gifts
merchandise of bands even the color can't name anymore
....
some went to the office
some found new homes
some broke
first in anger
then the trembles
then anger again

This one, the one with the scales, is half empty

 

[goddessofglee]

#32

 Naked and Unadorned

He asked me...
"What are you wearing?"
Here's my reply...

"I am naked and unadorned,
My skin to elements exposed.
The wind caresses my flesh,
The sun warms me to rest.

"I'm unclothed,
I'm unencumbered,
No fabric to bind me,
No creases to restrain,
No, I ain't insane.

"I am free to move, to breathe,
the moon to tickle my skin,
the breeze in my hair,
the earth beneath my feet.

"I am not ashamed,
I am not afraid.
I am simply me,
in all my natural beauty.

"Not defined by my clothes,
not defined by wardrobes.
I am defined by my spirit,
And my spirit is simply free.

"I am naked and austere,
I feel unmistakably clear,
I'm Glee, but feel naughty.

"Not a work of art to glare,
Not a sculpture to stare,
I am not a painting to own,
I'm worthy of love and care.
I am naked and unadorned,
And I am delighted as I am.

 

[butters]

poem #23

maybe cookies

when we bury our dead
there are those who choose
to go it alone
remember in private
cover the corpse
with fistfuls of dirt
before shoveling it on
tears and sweat one
falling to water the soil
as blisters form and burst
form and burst
form and burst
catharsis in action
a duty fulfilled

and then there are some
who truly believe in
the bigger the better
the honouring greater
as sun or rain dance on
dark glasses of mourners
and polished hoods
of matching limousines
and solemn sedans
sleek as black beetles
parked in a line
while amplified bells
prayers and song tracks
compete with birds in clipped yews
and a bright yellow backhoe
stands just out of sight
ready
for when they've flown
the mics are switched off
and all the bright, shiny spades
collected, packed away

so for clarity's sake
i'm leaving directions
these contemplations
pinned to your pillow:

please burn and scatter me
under a tree
bring me a posy
now and again
fetch a book
maybe cookies
sit awhile
read to me

 

[Ashesh9]

Cooperate....
But:
Dominate!!!!!

 

[Broken_paladin]

With caution we reach through time and distance
With the memory of the past a steadfast reference
A feeling that counts and matters so much
I close tired eyes and remember its touch
Marked by a moment, two souls ever bound
Its not something fickle the magic we found
Youre still my damn queen forget not your crown
Sometimes its through song I say what I feel
Or poems written here is part of the deal
For fate had its reason when my heart you did steal

 

[Tzara]

On Some Potential Errors of Reading
Another Writer's Erotic Poetry

Her poems, like a négligée,
Enhance the figure of her words
That grace the page déshabillé,
Inspiring with their luscious curves.

My pen is stiff beneath my hand
And haltingly writes my reply.
I'm overeager and must amend
My clumsy paeans to her thighs.

Of all of this, though, nothing comes.
Her verses are not meant for me.
No flowers, they are merely stones—
I read too much in what I read.

Week 29: Poem 1: Total 42