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

[Tzara]

Quantum Theory

I read her poetry, and sigh and dream
of cradling her body close to mine.
My thoughts at times are gentle, times obscene

and often they're impractical, it seems.
It could be they're both states at once, combined,
as is her poetry. Both sighs and dreams

are quite entangled, like some quantum thing
that flickers back and forth from whine to wine—
obscenities to gentleness, slipstreamed.

Her verses are like drugs, her words morphine.
My spirits wax and wane, suspending time.
Just read her poetry, all sighs and dreams

stochastically unfurled, rejoined, entwined—
a quantum fog befittingly Dasein.
My thoughts of her are gently scrambled scenes

of indeterminate, conflicting beings
that wobble between love and sex sublime.
My thoughts sometimes seem pure, sometimes obscene;
I read her poetry. I sigh. I dream.



Yes, as a matter of fact, I did go to see Oppenheimer this week.

Week 30: Poem 1: Total 43

 

[Ambient4190]

dressed in black and white
1700 words to date
time holds her back
won't let her play

her lover a little ditty
jealous as water is green
fights for precious minutes
only he wants to be seen

 

[Angeline]

Stolen Moments

We are nothing if not night owls,
curled together post midnight hour,
sprawled on our sea of blue sheets,
gently breathing in the jazz
of late night public radio.

The music is a hard modal bop,
a bubbling, exuberant trumpet
in conversation with tenor sax
and flute, rhythms floating
in a tapestry of rich dark blues.

Our stolen moments: locked
in the mood and the jazz, locked
together, my legs wrapped
around your waist, swimming
as if underwater toward dawn,
moans falling in a coda
to murmurs and holding hands

as night recedes, the willow brushing
soft at the window pane,
the scent of baking bread drifting
up through the heat register,
the music shifting to modern
symphonic, our breathing even
and now on the verge of dreams.


Week 30, Poem 1, Total 36

 

[Ashesh9]

Lovely , nubile Ms. Bose
held the Ardhadhanurasana:
stretched out Archer's Bow pose!!!
But it angered her Guru Mr. Ghose:
Who sterngrily gave her taut buttocks....
a Stern Disciplinary Dose!!!
Her nether globes did Blush:
Bright Red as a Rose!!!?

 

[Piscator]

light and shadow
dapple the ground
yesterday’s rain
a mudpool memory​

 

[Ashesh9]

Re Niger ( TY2Ed Lear):---
There was a Pres. of Niger
Who went for a ride on Army Tiger..
They returned from the Ride
with Pres inside
That was the End of Pres of Niger

 

[29wordsforsnow]

leaving the scene so early, why?
asked the fading clear blue sky
but the blazing fireball never listened
as Polaris, the first new light, glistened
soon accompanied by many more
a million witnesses came to adore
their faint reflections beneath in human eyes
the finger-pointing, stares and muffled sighs
spread out on the grey-dyed grass
lay a pale-fleshed knotted mass
of legs and arms, hips and lips entangled
contracted irises as bespangled
as the lurking lake billowing below
and all of them waiting for the meager vow
at least for a while let's pretend
this comely night would never end
a happy trail of garment ended there
where two mortal beings found their share
of rapt mental syncope of the sight above
still whispering sweet words of love
the soft nocturnal breeze carried away
too soon cold lines of yesterday
beyond promises, one thing would last
the act of a midsummer night's cast

 

[Mrtenant]

Fever Dream

Restless is my sleep
Tossing and turning
Feverish in the heat
My body is burning

Shared stories in the night
What was, is, and will be
In the magic of moonlight
With the wind in the trees

How I've missed your kiss
Your body fitting with mine
A moment of conjugal bliss
Together we taste the divine

How long ago was that day
When I looked into your eyes
In my fevered dreams I crave
Before one of us dies

Am I a sailor, a captain of old
Doomed to wander for years
Haunted by memory so bold
By Venusian light I still steer

Another day in the sweltering heat
Driving away the wisps of dreams
Another day we will not meet
Another night among starlit streams

I have held you in my arms
Tossing and turning in my sleep
Dreaming nightly of your charms
Melting with you in the deeps

Eyes like nebulae full of stars
Another night of feverish reach
Hear the creaking of the spars
Once more, into the breech

Restless is my sleep
Tossing and turning
Feverish in the heat
My heart is burning

 

[Tzara]

Roses

Soft-petaled, sublime scented blooms

Set in slim, cut-crystal vases where

They dominate the dining room's décor.​

Such beauty can cause some sensitives to swoon,

Delirious with delight and dazzled there

As if, entranced, they'll stand fixed evermore.​

This love, alas, is fleeting, as is all love.

The fiercest couplings all come to ends. Affairs

And ardor cools; all loves end up as chore.​

A flower's charms collapse with time, disproved—

There's no encore.​

Week 31: Poem 1: Total 44

 

[Angeline]

Double Dactyl Doll

Higgledy Piggledy
here comes sweet Ms. Barbie.
She can be anything,
go far and then
even become human,
leave Barbieland behind,
anthropomorphically
surpassing Ken.


Week 31, Poem 1, Total 37

 

[Mrtenant]

Four O'Clocks

Sweet fiery blossoms
Open at a blazing sunset
Petals unfurling
Hot pink four o'clocks

There for you and me
Whether we see them or not
Welcoming the sunset
Prelude to the night

How they have grown
One blazing hot day to the next
More bounteous, more lovely
Thriving on my attention

Drink deep my beauties
Of the waters of my love and care
Waving in the hot Summer breeze
How much thee inspire me

Wandering through the garden
My hand drifting through your petals
Softly touching and connecting
In the sunsets of Summer

 

[Ambient4190]

incessant lilies
their unfaltering return
loves disenchantment



life decisions fair
a dire snowy mountain pass
dynamic ropes cast

 

[goddessofglee]

#35

He asserted...

Thou seem'st to be fuming,
Hast thou missed me so soon?
Though I have not done a thing,
To make thy heart swoon?

Do not break my heart,
By talking to a schooling girl,
Thou mayst leave meI care not much for it!
Call it a fight,
'Tis alright,
If that's what thou wilt,
I am not here to haunt...
I simply speak my mind,

'Tis up to thee to decide
if 'tis a fight.
Thou canst be confused,
There is nought to lose,
If that is thy choice,
I am not to be defused.
I am so unimportant,

Yet sensible and prudent,
Thou didst not even care to reply back,
And what wilt thou say,
I was far far away!

---

She replies...
I cannot see,
I am not blind,
Yet I cried,
On the trail beside.
Thou canst repeat,

If thou dost not mind?
I am dropping and dead.
Sink in a piece of lead,
Mouthing a broken piece of bread.
Do not thou dare delete this,
If thou darest,
thou wilt be nowhere but left.
I do not disappear,
I go off and reappear,
As a moon would
Do without fear,
That is my style.
Follow me and reappear,
Dids,t thou follow loud and clear?

Why wouldst thou want to know,
Where, what, and why?
If thou art too nosy,
I would tell thee to go!
I hardly know,
What I am to show,
I just think,
I would lead thee to my door.
That is not right,
I am not nice,
This thou wouldst hear,
From my rhymes!
This was to be this,
It slipped,
pulled out of turn,

Here she said,
do not burn,
The time, thy turn,
Or I would never return.
I am trying to find,
A blind faithful guy,
Who would be confined
And beat my style.
Lip look lock loo,
Here she says
What she wouldth do?!

Pimps and simple
Would fall in for me,
From here and there,
All but thou wouldst
be to see.

Search me,
I allow thee,
But do not ask me,
For I do not know.
I am a Goddess,
Just landed from high above,
Like a flying white lighter dove.

Do not repeat the same verse again,
It leaves a bad uneasy trail, no gain!
Do not thou dare
To be unfair,
I would be lying
If I said I was sublime
And I ain't crying.
Without touching me,

Thou art not allowed
To touch the Goddess!
Talk in rhymes,
It sounds more creative insertion,

Nuclear bomb,
The process
from subcritical
to prompt critical?
Than bland assertions.

Hold on, hold on,
Fear no more;
I am already here,
Thou wilt stay in touch.

Let it go, let it go
Let go of fear;
I am still here,
Friend, hold on.

 

[goddessofglee]

#36

rather, in a chatroom!

If thou dost seek for pictures, cam, or voice,
To sate thy lust and feed thy roving eye,
Then thou hast come to the wrong place,
I do say,
For I do not indulge in such a way.

Dick pictures from thee,
or watching thee on cam,
Doth not my fancy strike,
nor doth it jam,
For I do prefer to have it live, I swear,
Right beside me,
where I can touch and dare.

I only chat here,
in this one place,
No other realm,
no other space,
No web cam, no voice,
no pictures sent,
No demands that I shall ever bend.

So if thou'rt looking for such things, then go,
And find another room,
or even more,
For I am Glee,
and I am here to stay,
From another hemisphere, and for another day.

 

[goddessofglee]

#37
He said...
I find you beautiful within,
You are not trite
But I decline your invite
Until you give more in.

My reply...
**Invited, declined, with arrogance and spite**

You say you find me beautiful within,
But I am not so easily won.
I've seen your kind before, they all begin
With sweet words, but then they turn and run.

I'll keep my heart safe and sound,
I don't give in to just any around.
Not a prize to be won,
I'm a lady fair,
And I deserve to be treated with honour and care.

So don't even bother. I'm not interested.
I'm not going to waste my time on someone
Who's not willing to give me what I deserve?

Oh, you would flatter me with words so sweet,
But I am not a fool to be so easily deceived.
I know your kind, you are all the same,
You come with promises, but the delivery is lame.

So go on, tell me I am beautiful within,
But I will not believe you until you give in.
Give me more than just your words,
Just bend on your knees, yes, you've rightly heard.

Even then I may not consider your invite.
I will remain indifferent, in my own light.

I am too strong, too dominant, too arrogant.
I am not the kind of girl you can tame.

I am the queen, and you are but a pawn.
So come bow down before me.
or be mashed under my heel.

You say I'm beautiful within,
But I find you trite.

You offer me an invitation,
But I refuse to bite.

I'm not one to be trifled with,
I'm not one to be played.

I'm not one to be used and discarded,
I'm not one to be made.

 

[Wonderer67]

Ich komme auch aus Berlin (I too, am a Berliner)

I am from Jersey
But also a Berliner
A country boy
Drawn to this big city
Berlin is no longer ripped into East and West
But I think about and see her scars…
I am whole yet apart too
As I walked from Spittelmarkt in central Berlin to the northern neighborhoods
Where my cousin lives

The U-Bahn (subway) was closed for repairs anyway
So instead of taking an Uber
I decided to hoof it
A good Sunday morning walk…
An hour to exorcise my own ghosts
It thunderstormed last night
And it was a nice cool July morning

I crossed Alexanderplatz at 10am on a Sunday
The bells of St. Marienkirche (St Mary’s Church)
And the Berliner Dom (Berlin Cathedral)
Rang and rang
They didn’t want to stop
Ringing like there was no tomorrow
Perhaps there wouldn’t be one

I walked across Spandauer Straße
There are still bullet holes
And patches in the Humboldt Forum,
Now it’s a music conservatory
Thru an open window, I heard someone practicing
Or giving a lesson
I sensed the ghosts of the battle of Berlin
The city was leveled
I felt the breath of ghosts on my neck
Tugging at my heels
The peals of the bells, seemed almost deafening
I couldn’t shake the feeling of not being alone

I walked more
I passed the TV tower
A monstrosity
Lording over me
As I walked a street I’d never been on before
A bunch of rough looking characters
Were hanging at a kebab joint
Next to the s-Bahn train bridge at Alexanderplatz station
I fluffed my fur
Trying to look like I can still kick ass
Baring my tattoos like I’m some tough guy
(I’m not at all, I gave it up for Lent and never went back)
Nothing happened
It was all good

It was an otherwise beautiful morning
Sundays are slow
And peaceful in Germany
Almost nothing was open
Which I kind of like
A Sunday morning walk
Is a good cure for what ails me
An hour to exorcise my own ghosts
In my head
I say a silent prayer for
All of the dead
Those trying to cross the wall
Berlin is still a city divided
She has a vibe like no other city
An invisible wall now separating the haves and have-nots
Now the enemy is gentrification

I met my cousin for a late breakfast
Near the flea market in Prenzlauer
She is a country girl too
Who came to the big city
And never looked back
Attracted to the music
The energy
The people
Before this week
It had been 35 years since seeing one another
Her baby is gone now
In heaven

Both of us, a bit broken
Divided, having two halves
Like the rest of this city
We are connected by blood
Five, maybe six generations removed
No one can quite agree on the genealogy
Both of us are happy and also sad
Stable in our lives but also unsettled
Drinking a beer together on a late Sunday morning
Tearing apart a fresh loaf of bread
Like this city

31/52

https://twitter.com/x/status/1688669937521328128

 

[29wordsforsnow]

As the straw and hay grow
and the heys and bows die
the sky is painted black
ready to breakdown bitterly
the planet's sweet sweat

With summer storms aside
breathless days wind down
the green blades capitulated
and bend their twisted knees
for the Barbie-pink cornucopia

The garden queens' birth
surprisingly a second one
is the green-eyed morning talk
toe-deep in the teary grass
a titan's stone throw south of Berlin

Of course, I could break a neck
so easily a winner's tale at hand
to lay beside your resting place
but no palace for this royal plant
so better leave the thorns intact

A gallery instead I rob
for you to find unlocked
swipe silly screen secrets
and more folklore to the side
you know I've got nothing to hi-

Fortunately, I set the dustbin free
my digital me a phoenix on fire
all those pregnant poems will
nevermore make it to fifty-two
only for you my rose to see

 

[Ashesh9]

Sitting alone@night
Wallowing in solitary delight
Having watched serials/Soaps, news and a ...
Hockey match
I yawn and glance down
@my watch.....
Soon oblivious to the world
I'll be gently sliding into the Realm of Nod:
I'm just an ordinary, average sod......

 

[butters]

poem # 25


free range poets

roam the yards
flock to the sound
of an opening door
hoping for scraps
tossed our way
tasty, random, diverse

cluck and quibble
scrabble in life's compost pile
double-scratch for juicy tidbits
snatch ideas that wriggle
moist and twisty

before moving on
as a group
play follow-my-leader
across overgrown
unmown
meadowland
picking the winged
and the shiny
from lush stems

taking time to visit shrubs
glean soft-staining fruits
leave scattered, half-digested thoughts
to seed the soils or stick to souls...

now and again
we check the skies
for ominous, circling shadows
lay an egg
with much announcement
or hop up on the midden-heap
spread our wings
and crow

 

[Tzara]

Ars Sexualitatis

And the Mask of Tragedy over her pubic hair.
—Charles Simic

I am no Romeo. And though I long
for Macbeth's sexual connection
with his lady,

I am of woman born.
So, Hamlet—indecisive, conflicted,
oddly concerned about my mother

so much so that sweet Ophelia is left neglected,
even as she shivers
to death in an unheated bathtub.

All of this because sex
is not something I can handle
with more than one hand.

While I long for your body,
I don't seem to be able to offer
much more than desire,

the ability to quote Shelley and Keats,
and accept that my fate
is to die in Act V, belatedly recognizing

that had I paid more attention
to you and the promise of reproduction,
the curtain would not come down

for some three or four more decades,
not two weeks from Sunday
if the ticket sales hold up.


Week 32: Poem 1: Total 45

 

[butters]

poem #26


cosmic shit
as i lay in bed
aligned east-west
curtains drawn to form faux night
a constellation's born:
three new stars
burn bright and fierce
Coxa, Genu, Talos
in the cluster hence named
Faex​

 

[butters]

poem #27

he sits at his desk
writing poems in his head
stares out at the clouds
attempts to decode Nature's own
writ in dripping cyphers on the panes





(accepted for OAF FP publication Dec)

 

[Angeline]

Saturday Girls
(for Leslie)

That morning the backyard
was damp. Rain had beat lilacs
down, purple petals drifted,
wrought asunder. Roses
were open-mouthed, grass
leaning in untidy tufts.

We peek from the kitchen
out the screen door, waiting
for thunder to subside, to rumble
distantly. Then we emerge.

We're Saturday girls,

Mama's worker bees sharing
a heavy basket, draping sheets
and pinning them on a squeaky line.

We shout and play, race
through bleachy secret tunnels
when sheets billow in the breeze.
We look up, spy animals, ships,
fluffy white faces against the blue.
And when the Sun pokes golden rays
through the clouds like fingers
I say that must be God.

Later I'll sit on the green bench
by the rose trellis. I've cashew nuts
in a cracked pink bowl, a book
and time to read and dream.

Week 32, Poem 1, Total 38

 

[goddessofglee]

#38

The Queen, the rogue rook, the pious bishop,
The wanderer knight, and the slave pawn,
Stand poised for deadly combat,
The fate of the game depends on them.

The Queen, her regal head held high,
Surveys the board with a piercing cold eye.
She sees the rook, a rogue and a cheat,
Whose only aim is to scheme a defeat.

The Queen plans her moves with care,
The Rook, he charges with a roar,
The Bishop, has his faith laid bare
The Knight, he jousts for something more.

The roguish rook, with his wild mane of hair,
Is a dangerous foe, unpredictable, unafraid,
So brash, so bold, so laissez-faire
This one can strike from anywhere.

The bishop, pious and devout, stands ready to define the truth.
The conscientious one, with long, white beard, wise and cunning player there
He knows the game inside and out,
And will use his wit without a doubt.

The wanderer knight, his armour bright,
Is a fierce warrior, and a sight to delight.
His thoughts are crooked his moves are tight,
And he's never afraid to genuflect or fight.

The enslaved pawn, with his simple mind,
Is a tool to be used in the game, and he accepts without shame.
His only choice is to obey his Mistress command,
A simple tool, used, to relieve her stress.

The Pawn, he knows his place is low,
He's just a foil to be used and thrown,
Yet still, he fights, for he has hope
That one day he will be next to her throne.

The pawn moves forward, into the fray,
He knows this day may be his last,
But he does not care, he has but one task:
to worship his queen, come what may,
and to win the game, and save the day.

But the pawn, poor slave to the last,
Is sacrificed without fame nor caste.
But still, he fought, with courage and pride,
To protect his queen and his side.

The battle rages, the pieces clash,
The air is filled with smoke and flash,
And amidst all the chaos the dye is caste,
All fight on with fearless force to the last.
The fate of the game hangs in the balance,
And only one emerges to win this deadly dance.

Who will it be, all poised strategically?
The Queen? The rogue rook? The pious bishop?
The wanderer knight? Or the slave pawn nestled behind the queen?
Only time may tell, the outcome of this game,

And your guess is as good as mine.

 

[Ambient4190]

rest my eyes
yellow black elliptical
stares back
a mans face
flashes then turns
majestic scaled dragon
wings unfurled
soars into clouds
his mountain peak
sight unseen
i dream