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

[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!!!!!

 

[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

 

[goddessofglee]

#33
desire, jealousy, and pain... yet happy?
You left or went away.
My thoughts were rambling,
I didn't want to stay.
But I did stay,
just maybe you'd be back.
But you never came back,
out of the gathering, back in your shack!

"Did you feel sorry when I was gone?"
I thought you asked,
your voice but a whisper, quite clearly a lull to last.

"Yes," I replied,
or reckoned I did,
You were aware of how I'd do,
but you chose to search me through.


"Was it a painful affair,
To see me not there?"
You queried again, now drawing quite near.
as if I wasn't there.
In my thoughts, though I knew you weren't there.
"You know I am," I replied.

"What should it be?" you'd ask,
your voice is full of Glee.
"Should I show you my concern,
or just tell you,
or maybe make you watch and see?"

"Your pleasure is my pleasure,"
I moaned out with no aflutter.
* *
the narrator says:
Feel the feeling,
the girl's actuality that she longs to be pleasured by others,
even though he's hurt to see her with them.
She cares to show him but doesn't care to see.

This realization is a strong one,
and it shows the depth of the girl's desire and captures his complex emotions of desire, jealousy, and pain.

The girl continued as if in real,
"I think I'll make you watch,"
You said, your eyes glinting.
"I want you to see how much I'd enjoy
these other men."

Another thought,
another night,
another story...
but I'm not there...

"I know you want to see me,
To watch me,
to know what I'm doing.
But I also know you want me to be happy.
So I'll give you a choice.

"You can either watch me
and see me enjoy with others.
And watch what I do.
Or you can close your eyes,
And imagine what I'd do.

"The choice is yours."

and while I decide,
I felt a pang of jealousy,
But I knew it was what you wanted.
So I watched as he kissed you,
And as you made love to the other.

It was painful to see,
But I knew it was what you wanted.
So I watched,
and I suffered,
And I loved you all the more.

I closed my eyes yet again,
And imagined what she was doing.
I thought up her lips on mine,
and her hands were on my body.
I visualized her pleasure,
And my own too.

I opened my eyes,
And she was not there.
But I knew she was still there,
In my thoughts,
In my dreams.
* * *
"I'm sure you like it, yes, you're my pet,"
she mumbled with a smile,
"And you're my dog,
My faithful puppy dog,
so I'll wile

Away the hours,
With you by my side,
Wagging your tail,
And licking my feet,
while I fulfil my desires with others,
till the end of time."

"Yes, your pain is what I long for,
today and till eternity!

 

[Wonderer67]

The Erfurt Train Station

The train was going so fast
I could scarcely detect life forms
A perfect summer day
Hops fields and hay
Windmills twirling in the distance

We gradually started slowing
And smoothly pulled into Erfurt
A local train rolled in a moment later
And an ocean of people poured out
Done and dusted from their work week
Ready for their weekend

I wondered who they were
What was important to them
Why
What
And how

A young pretty couple holding hands
A 25 year oldish man lighting a cigarette
Walking amazingly erect
A plump woman
Running to make a connection
A mid-fifties working man’s body language
Saying “THAT was a fucking week…”

People got into our train
And onto others
Or waited for another connection

Some people were home
And some were roaming forever

28/52

 

[Angeline]

Hobart Avenue, Long Ago

Saturday and the the air is vegetal,
green and earthy. Gas mowers buzz,
push mowers roll and squeak.
Children shout, skip, swing. They drift
from road to sidewalk
when the occasional car passes.

Down the block two girls
sell lemonade, plastic pitcher,
and cups arrayed on a picnic table,
5¢ a drink, a bargain: free lawn
chair seating and knock-knock jokes
included.

It's late July: everyone sweats.

Not me. I'm cool, quiet
and composed in a shaded arbor
Daddy built in the side yard.
I'm hidden, curled on a green bench,
surrounded by climbing roses, thorny
tumbles of petals, red yellow pink creamy
and delicate, soft as silk.

It may be Saturday on the block,
but right here it's timeless,
a private world of fairy tales: giants, swans,
match girls, ballerinas, tin soldiers
fill my head, my inner vision
is whirling, fantastical, interrupted

only by the cool sweetness
of the grapes I'm eating,
the errant chirp of a cricket,
the briefest pause

as I turn the page.



Week 29, Poem 1, Total 35

 

[Ambient4190]

rain granted permission
cloud cover calmed
just one hour to unseal
truly feel numbness
and pain collide
glass coffin shattered
rocking horse ride
on the wind die

 

[butters]

poem #24

processes

single black vulture
laughs at its fortune—
the glut of belly-up fish
that taste of tidal incursion
as lowlands glisten
sink lower
renew invitations
to a rising Atlantic
*
crops wilt
blacken
drown
*
full beyond measure
it hops atop a smooth boulder
a great, egg-shaped affair
a third buried in mud
spreads wings to dry
casting dim shadows
beneath a disc that hangs
orange
suspended
in resinous air

 

[Wonderer67]

Long Distance Love

I await my mistresses touch
It’s been 12 days
And two continents
I remember long deployments
And tell myself
“I can do this…”

I follow her instructions to the tee
I sniff her panties that she packed for me
They were a pair she wore from
Heavy outdoor work
Thick with her scent
I sniff them and
Imagine her cunt in them
She writes me devilish messages
Daily mantras and messages
Some silly, some sexy
She knows how to tease me

Every few days she sends me clips or urls
To watch and edge
Sometimes I’m bad and watch other ones too
Please don’t tell her!

I have been edging heavily for the last few days especially
I have not cum in 19 days
God knows when she’ll allow me to cum
When I get home tonite
She will have all of my focus on her

She controls my orgasm
And she controls me
It is love on another level
It is closeness and intimacy
In a way I’ve never known
Its a vulnerability
That leads to intense levels of trust
And desire
And a feeling of love in your heart
That is new love
Fresh love
Teenage love
That brand new “this is it” love
Even tho it’s old love

I will kiss those feet,
Worship them
When I get home
I’m from jersey and have a hungry heart
I don’t know how to thank her enough
For her control
It is more than love

She is
My wife
My lover
My domme
My Miss Conduct

29/52

 

[Piscator]

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

there are times when discussion is moot

 

[Ashesh9]

Lazy palindrome
‐--------------------------
Align a line:
line A align

 

[OtherMan]

The loss of leg,
of love,
of bone,
of dare to walk for miles
and share the load
though I alone
step road
that barren
smiles
at path that’s known
and willing tracked
lain down
for more
to tread.
No seed is sown
in earth as packed…
in fact,
its birth
is dead.

7/27/23

#43

 

[Wonderer67]

July 26th

I entered the parking lot at work
Looking for a good song to pull into
Starts my day off right
A theme song of sorts
35: XMU… something wimpy
36: Alt- Nation. fucking Madison. I hate her. You couldn’t even pay me to shit on her
I usually pass over 37, but lemme check
Five Finger Death Punch.
Pass.
38: Ozzy’s Boneyard: Motörhead!
Yes.
I work for an insurance company
Lots of Beemers, Mercedes, Teslas, Lexi
Me, driving my 9yo F150
Same truck I use on the farm
I’m just a working class motherfucker
“Eat the Rich” was playing
‘Twas a poetic moment
For sure

30/52

 

[goddessofglee]

#34
The Goddess's servant says...

Your pleasure is my pleasure,
My Goddess, I find.
The aching, longing, needing
Grows ever more kind.

For, if my pain is your pastime,
And your joy is mine,
Then my pain must be my pleasure,
As long as it brings you divine.

Your amusement is my pleasure, my Goddess.
I find more and more that the words ring even more true.
My heart aches, my body longs, my soul craves for you.

Your joy is my pleasure as well,
I know this now, and I welcome it.
For, if my pain is your delight,
And your pleasure is always right,
Then that must mean my pain is my happiness as well.

A rather startling correlation,
But one that binds our relation.
For I am yours, my Goddess,
And your pleasure is my greatest joy.


The Goddess replies:

My pleasure is your pleasure, my worshipper.
I know that you ache for me,
And I know you long for me as well.

Your pain is my pleasure,
For it is a sign of your devotion.
When you feel pain,
it means that you are truly alive,
And that you are truly enduring the full range of human emotions.

I welcome your pain,
For it is a gift that you give me.
It is a sign of your love,
And it is a sign of my power.

I am your Goddess,
And I am here to do as I please.
You are here to make me feel pleasure,
And I am here to make you feel alive.

So let your pain flow through to me,
And let it be remade
into my pleasure.
Let me take your heart away,
And let me give you the pain you deserve.

Remember my pet...
My pleasure is your pleasure,
My servant, I know.
Your pain is my pleasure,
For it brings me such woe.

But do not fear, my pet,
For your pain is my joy.
It is the fire that fuels me,
The fuel that makes me destroy.

So let your pain flow through you,
And let it course through my veins.
Let it be my pleasure,
Together, bound by chains.