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

[Rockymtnman]

The wind sings
through the branches
as the chill
settles into my bones

once again covered
in a blanket of freshly
fallen snow
covering my blemishes

the dead grass
rotting leaves
broken branches
and the scars of a hard winter

 

[Mrtenant]

When Disease Stalks the Land

Our world, our land, our seas and sky
Our blue marble full of myriad texture
Ecology, both natural and unnatural
Our home, with our family and friends

Not just family and friends, but them
Those acquaintances, neighbors, strangers
All with a story, all with their own people
Each of us, no different, our blood runs red

When Disease came and brought us fear
That Death would stalk the land as well
And did it ever, and ever and ever and
Until it became a part of our fabric of living

And how did we respond in our fear
Did we cling all the tighter to one another
Neighbors delivering their care boxes
All their well wishes, hopes, thoughts, prayers

Health care workers on the front lines
Day in and day out, working throughout it all
Aghast and saddened by the daily falls
Of their people, their patients, their duty

Whole families wiped out in the fury
And death stalked us all, who is next, me, you
The trauma has grown great among us
Who do we cling to, who makes us whole

Do we reach for our friends and loves
Or push away in stubborn fearful pride
I got this, be proud from afar, watch me
And miss what our hearts truly need

Long hugs and support, crying and empathy
Lending you my chest my dear, let it all out
We suffer trauma together, binding us deeper
Sympathy and lending our courage

Or do we pull away, gradually, slowly
As the pain grows great- losing aunts, uncles
Mothers, fathers, children, friends, neighbors
Gaining momentum in our continual fear

Until we become strangers afraid to touch
Pushing harder and harder until it is too late
What bridge will span the gulf, what words
Do we accept this direction of what was us

Or do we stand, and remember our love
Our people, and decide, that today is ours
Should we claim it in our love and grace
Lean on each other, know that people break

Cling to each other- fear cannot win
Disease and Death may claim our bodies
But never our spirit or hearts
We, the people, may always love

week 2 poem 2

 

[Wonderer67]

Contrast

I fell asleep 2x on a flight to Rome

The first time, I awoke with a helluva start…
Heart racing
Unsure at first where the fuck i was
I wasn’t panicked,
Just unsure of where I was.
Forgot I was flying
I felt weightless
But not in a good way
A bad dream moment, to be sure
So real: I mean you can hear the whine of hydraulic systems traversing the turret
You feel the CVC helmet pinching your ears, hear the radio chatter…
Don’t close your eyes, it’ll be there for you if you do
So focus on the chair back ahead of you,
Read, watch a movie
Distract, breathe, focus
Go to the bathroom and get over it.
Ground…

——————-

Second time, awake for coffee…
Morning sun steaming in
Creating slits of orange sunlight across the cabin
Happy
Like the first dream had never happened
The clouds flow by my window
Cotton balls
Soft and fluffy
Like your skin and lips and hair
(God, you have beautiful lips)

Sunlight halo
On low scudding clouds
I feel actually quite calm now
And look out my window for you
I see wind turbine farms down below, Turning with your breath
You are out there below me,
Somewhere.

Two different moments become one.
Terror cancels out pleasure
Pleasure cancels out terror
A compromise reached, somehow
Stasis
Two people merge into one
Two busted up brains become
One whole
You grounded me two times
When I needed it the most.

2/52

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Week 2 Poem 4

Ruminations on Sexual Intercourse - (terza rima)

They boast of nonexistent conquests, notches in the belt.
Of pretty girls, they take to bed then leave with damaged souls,
no mention of the agony from disrespect they felt.

The sexes are so different, just very distant poles
There must be distaff counterparts that I have yet to see
It is clear to me that genders have very diverse goals

When I began my sexual quest I was all at sea,
ignorant of sensuousness, nervous and shy at first,
it took a kind and gentle man to teach me to feel free.

We learned to find those special spots and use them unrehearsed
Time disclosed the magic skill, to embellish and enthrall,
to bring each other to the brink, to feel that we might burst.

Often sex is slow and sweet, sometimes a sexual brawl
Whatever we do it is good enough for the long haul.

 

[Angeline]

Orono in January

Just about now
the Stillwater is frozen
along its banks. The river
holds diamonds, sparkles
with icy shards. On the bridge
you can slide from Old Town
clear to Mill Street.

It hurts sometimes
to remember us there,
rushing red-cheeked past the drug store
to the warmth of Ampersand's
where we'd huddle over hazelnut coffee,
share a blueberry scone,
The New York Times.

It hurts sometimes
still. I feel so cold
as if the Snow Queen shot ice
into my heart, just like the fairy tale.
The tragedy of loss is unending. Winter
winter, winter no matter the season,

and yet I did have you
through them all, our love
 a sea of passion, of bliss and safety,
late nights of secrets and laughter,
kisses and promises on our island
of blue-covered eiderdown.

The memories are so comforting,
yet the comfort so elusive.


Week 2, Poem 3

 

[Ambient4190]

endless thunder racks the night

daylight spread black wings fight

top a pole anticipate

raw delight

extinguished breath

blinded by natures tempest

en route i suffer

death

feeds

life

 

[Piscator]

Panning Poetry

Sifting slurry through my word sieve
occasional bright flashes give hope
but there is so much dross and the
yellow flakes in my quicksilver amalgam
may be naught but fool’s gold.

 

[Moochienanu]

The Downpour

the rain was coming down hard
her fingers slid up my dress
when the rest of the night
she was nowhere around
and I could smell her
I told her she would be trouble

she sank into my skin
following me
in the memory
of her tongue running over my neck
hand lifting my chin
so much trouble

my hand wrapped around her breast
nipple in my mouth
the heat between her sighs
held around us in a bubble
lost in the downpour
and the realization
that she’s trouble

I cheated and wrote this on my ampic thread first… but I think it counts in case I don’t write another poem this week

 

[Lyricalli]

You liked the way I loved you
constancy you could always count on
through all the missteps and madness

I still remember what it meant
in the newness of being accepted
appreciated for all you are

But even the shiniest things dull
and can lose their value
in the erosion of time

And I could only watch
helpless
to stop the degradation

The fierce loyalty
and warmth (sometimes heat)
that I offer
is less captivating than the chaos
of jealousy and ultimatum
that your hypocritcal lips
deny desiring
as you push that button
over and over again
bemused by the continual clusterfucks
that swirl around you
like cyclones

Maybe if I made it work
something you had to earn
it would have more worth
but my love is simple
straightforward
and doesn't demand sweat equity

What I gave to you is still yours

 

[Rockymtnman]

Ode to the end of the day

the last ray
bounces off the mountains
splashing blood red
orange and fiery yellow streaks
across the dark green carpet of trees
whilst pale grey rock shines
as if on fire

 

[butters]

week 3: poem 2


project runway to project poetry

Art
in the measuring
making of a pattern
choice of fabric

no
wait
re-order:

the concept
the choice of fabric
the measuring, patterning
the cutting of your cloth
construction—
the basics of creation
you breathe life into
godlike

but there's always someone
who skips steps others fear not to tread
who lets the fabric whisper its intent
its raison d'etre
as it drapes itself
free-form
into something exquisite
effortless
breath-taking

but the true artist
whose concept is pure
also understands their materials
how the very best master techniques
render them invisible
till effortless is achieved
beyond the serendipitous
organic moments

so here we parade our arts
on the catwalk of words
some more prepared than others
to receive critique
some more nearsighted to their flaws
others
morbidly aware
hoping judges' eyes
instead
are dazzled by the lights

 

[29wordsforsnow]

from the corner
of your hurricane eye watch
my bare soul always solely for you
to see in the dark and feel in the sea of
tranquility we stepped in obliviously
man on the moon ever turning
watch over me​

 

[Tzara]

Dysphoria

This isn't love. It's merely sex,
But all the same it's quite complex
How our two bodies join and move—
Delightful, when we're in the mood,
Both engines humming below decks.

If this were love, what happens next
Would be all gentle tenderness.
Instead the atmosphere's subdued—
This isn't love.

For whatever we might expect
From this, it isn't loneliness,
This low emotion that obtrudes
Post-coitally upon we two
And forces us to both reflect:
We're not in love.

Week 3: Poem 1: Total 4

 

[Remec]

There's something soothing when things are complete,
when you don't worry about the darkness since the light
of clarity (and cohesiveness) makes for an easy mind;

When I can think clearly, I find that I don't even mind
being alone, since even calm thoughts are incomplete
compared to how your presence brings everything to light

And leaves me with such a feeling of composure, a light
spring to my very step, not to mention an ease to my mind
that make me wonder what I could use to make everything complete;

Sunday brunch, complete with mimosas, and light jazz comes to mind.

 

[Mrtenant]

One cannot see a reflection
Unless there is light
Why is a mystery found in mirrors
Since the day we were born

Are we all just navel gazing
Excessively searching for meaning
In ourselves and our world
Finding out who we are

Be it in poetry or in art
Long discussions deep into the night
Delight in what we find
With one and another

Whether we be so very similar
Or so very different
Or somewhere in between
Choosing our streams to follow

Exercising our free will
Taking chances and finding scars
Keeping an eye on the mirror
Still certain of what we will see

What of those dark days
When shadows play on the reflection
Or our reflection seems to be missing
What ever does that mean

Bring the light closer
Certainly we will see
Shadows will evaporate
Leaving only you and me

Week 3 poem 1

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Week 3 poems 5

Journey by Canoe to the Potlatch (a villanelle)

A loon cries clear across the still
waters of the skin-smooth night-lake
oiled by the moon, it bolsters his will.

The rank smell of the paper-mill
fades as the gentle breezes drift,
and loons cry clear across the still.

The sound of his paddle, a thrill,
the boy looks down at his feet, his gift,
lit by the moon, it bolsters his will.

He speeds up his progress, it’s the chill
sending his thoughts wildly adrift
as the cries come clear across the still

The gift he made with carving skill
is for the potlatch, he must be swift.
Oiled by the moon, it bolsters his will.

The longhouse is near, his spirits spill.
He smiles as he treks, a perfect thrift,
and cries come clear across the still
oiled by the moon, it bolsters his will.

 

[Lyricalli]

My arms have gotten tired
fingers a little numb
from successive grits of sandpaper
coarse to fine
and there's a metaphor in there
that I'm going to trust you'll find

Next will come the stains
on my hands
probably all the way up to my elbows
at least a few on my face
because even when I try my best
I end up a mess

And this massive chest
with all its little details and designs
will either be a point of pride
or a disaster to laugh about

I've never done this before
lessons will be learned

You're with me here
within a cloud of sawdust
I can hear your voice
just underneath the shh shh shh
of each stroke
that displaces the past
to prime for something new

 

[Angeline]

Terzanelle For Lady

She sings full throated: she's a bird
with head thrown back and satin breast.
She sings full throated: she's a bird,

Cafe Society her nest.
She is the music and the night.
With head thrown back and satin breast

she takes you on a blue-toned flight
of sailboats, moonlight, southern trees.
She is the music and the night,

an ache that calls through centuries
yet still survives, still singing strong
of sailboats, moonlight, southern trees,

and when you listen to her song
you'll know her sacrifice and pain
yet still survives, still singing strong

to linger with you in refrain.
You'll know her sacrifice and pain.
She sings full throated: she's a bird.
She sings full throated: she's a bird.


Week 3, Poem 1, Total 4

 

[Rockymtnman]

as I lay sleeping
you come to me
like days in past
warm, supple, wet
my moans wake her
she wonders of what
i dream

 

[Wonderer67]

I got high before dinner

And watched the A team.
It was the episode where Boy George was the guest star
It was so bad that it was almost…good!
Ridiculous, over the top
1980’s - edness
Murdoch pretending he was a disc jockey, then dressing in drag - I am not making this up
BA, sufferin no fools
It was so bad it was bad
Being high helped.
It may have been necessary.

Then jeopardy came on
God, I miss Trebek…
But I was locked in and on a roll right out the gate.
Lazer focused
My wife was fucking amazed
Till my mind wandered…
Two of the contestants were far more locked in than I
Poor lady in the middle wasn’t even a factor
Yogesh and uptight Michael
Duking it out
Back and forth
like a heavyweight fight
Two titans of jeopardy trading answer
For answer, like Ali and Frazier II
And me, barking out the answers,
(two seconds too late)

I got final jeopardy right tho
(The answer was ‘who is Tom Clancy’)
And Yogesh
Destroyed Michael
Crushed him out like a cigarette
He only bet $200
But knew the answer
And stood victorious at the end
The best final jeopardy I’d ever seen…

Then a college basketball game came on
The team in white was clicking
Just pulling away from team blue

But then a pivotal change in momentum…
It was all blue
You could see it in their body language
Strong, alert, focused, swagger…
Confident
And they erased an 11 point gap like it was nothing.

Then momentum shifted back to team white
Then they started going at it like Yogesh and Michael on jeopardy
Trading basket for basket
Back n forth…
Now showing some swagger of their own
The coaches were intense
Barking orders from mid court..
I was transfixed.
My wife was passively watching and keeping her books…

The announcers were dissecting every pass and shot
Sounding so authoritative
Gods of basketball knowledge…
I hung on their every word with amazement
My own basketball playing emotions,
We’re amplified by their passion.

It came down to the final possession.
My wife and I were literally
On the edges of our seats…
As team white sunk a basket w 2.5 second to go
Sealing the victory
One last dying, heave from blue
They must’ve been heartbroken…

It was too much for me…
I turned on a Spoon album and wrote this.
Had a few fits of the giggles as I wrote
Thinking back to final jeopardy
My wife was laughing at and maybe a little with me…
I got in a groove
And I thought
I was the greatest poet that had ever lived.
A genius
So damn profound
Able to articulate my experience in ways
That would make everything seem so alive
And fucking evocative.
I wrote descriptions that would make women wet
And then I re-read
This absolute
Horseshit.

3/52

 

[Tzara]

Therapeutic Advice¹

Love, to which we all aspire,
Or sex, of which we're needy?
One which beauty all inspires,
One leaves us feeling seedy.

Urges twist us retroflex—
We're quite frustrated. Thereof,
Deduction: For better sex
It's efficient we share love.

Week 3: Poem 2: Total 5




¹ In keeoing with the current emphasis on form poetry, this is my attempt at ae freislighe.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Week 3 Poem 6

The Post Form Blues

My poor brain is battered and bruised
from bending each sentence and word.
Put away the Thesaurus used
and be proud of being a nerd,

I will now stop writing in form,
and give my poor brain a good rest.
While drawn to the composing norm,
my poetic muse is impressed.

I will now stick to free-forming
so no need for so much hard work
I’m done with all that brainstorming
but I see my muse give a smirk,

he/she knows I’m not finished yet,
there is a sestina to write.
The thought’s giving me a cold sweat
That’s later, I’m just too uptight.

 

[NC_Coastal]

Love is Made of Sand not Marble

Always late but never sorry
Aphrodite in a quarry
Unrequieted lover's story
All is sand and never sorry

In the void we come and go
Talking of Maya Angelou

A universal question poses
Days of wine and nights of roses
While our flower decomposes
Beauty dark thus counterposes

In our hearts we ebb and flow
Cursing Edgar Allen Poe

Magic spells and Cupid's arrow
Pierced my heart and sucked the marrow
God's sharp eye is on the sparrow
Flying straight and ever narrow

You will always come and go
While quoting Sappho so and so

Count the days, forget the years
Hear the music of the spheres
Sand can't wash away the tears
The tide reveals our greatest fears

Damn the poets who cannot know
Learn from Michelangelo

 

[Ambient4190]

fear atop six geldings grey ignited a carriage white

wind then fury lashed red and bright into the dark

fog of hopelessness behind curtains abided

set to disembark

in my heart

 

[Tzara]

The Origin of L'Origine du monde¹

The artist, Courbet, exploring this nude creed,
Produced a painting which fired his crude need.

Week 3: Poem 3: Total 6



¹ My attempt at Schüttelreim.