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

[Ashesh9]

O Kruel Mistress Mine......
Thy edging is exquistely divine.....
As i inch/yearn to Cum
Thou whippest Ass....
as if my Glutes are Thy Drum....
To orgasmic nirvana Gain
I must Submit to Disciplinary Pain
and from premature ejaculation refrain....
Or our Mistress-sub relationship will:
flow down Drain!!!!????
Thy Majesty doth rebellious MCPigs sternly Train!!!!
until it enters each Neanderthal Brain.....
She is Mistress Who must be Obeyed:
he is mere chattel : more chaff than Grain!!?

 

[Wonderer67]

The Best Medicine

Believe it or not
A rainy night in NYC
Was good medicine
For anxiety
For ptsd
For depression
For suicidal thoughts

Yep
A rainy Saturday night
No farm work
No yard work
Housework all done
And no one on the roads
Tropical Storm Ophelia saw to that
One hour thirty two minutes to get into the city
A new record
A date night with Rebecca
Dinner at a fun bar on 11th ave
And walked over to the venue
Only drizzle now
The bright lights and neon in the rain
Made it all look surreal

Down down down – seemed like three stories underground
I’ve been to just about every music venue in NY
But never to Sony Hall

I love ska
And so does Rebecca
We danced the dance
Rebecca ponied up and did the pony
We both skanked the skank
Moshed the mosh
I did the windmill
The pit was a whirlpool
At 56 I still dive into the washing machine
I still pogo the pogo

Four bands
Four hundred of our best friends
The universal language: music and joy

Bad Manners brought it
I’ve always wanted to see them
Second generation ska
Coulda been 1981 again
Buster Bloodvessel is still a giant of a man
Lip up, Fatty
Inner London Violence
This is Ska

At the end of the night
My voice was hoarse
My bad knee and back were far worse
Than the beginning of the night
I scarcely gave a fuck

It was a night of pure joy
I felt like every cell In my body was alive and happy
Five days earlier was a completely different story

But this was a great night
The knee and back pain were well worth it
It was

The best medicine

45/52

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[29wordsforsnow]

Six AM Trianglet

Sex
never
was a test
in the darkness
of tightly shut eyes
she told all the guys
lights on, lids up
for the best
ever
Sex​

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Polyamorous*

complicated
interlaced
matrix
love
never failed us
​

*Teacup Dictionary, from my latest** shape/visual quick reference
** sorry, if I have to catch up a lot

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Crimson Cyclus

Welcome
you monthly mess
for weeks you stayed away
that tender hope is gone
when I see red
Again
Twelve years
you did not care
it's visitation day
fuck you, family law
you break my heart
Again

 

[29wordsforsnow]

The most Concrete Poetry

its
grey
so so
grey
so grey so
is so dull and grey and dull so is
grey gray grey gray grey gray grey
and more so without so more and
and too gray too and
hard dull grey dull hard
so all is grey is all grey is all so
unforgiving grey is understating
grey grey grey grey grey grey
hard
grey
cold
dull
flat
so grey and gray so
is given shape and taking, aching
no black-and-white but pure
grey brutal human hate
so
so
...........................................\ so?/............................................


​

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Commited Circlet

around
my spinning wits
the words we said, not meant
tumbling downwards like maple seed
on the ground, oversalted by dried tears
we'd waited for rain to come, even years
but no streamlet would bathe our feet
this last thoughtless dissent
it stayed and sits
around​

 

[Ashesh9]

& then there was this Runaway Bride:
Who thrashed poor hubby free of Toxic Pride!?
& relieved him of his Entitled Wealth:
Made him scream 'Mummy!?' By Force Not Stealth!!!!??

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Butterflies

pardon
but this is not
for one alone to own
to uproot, cut and monotone
we've all
been once, days ago, just two cells
try cultivate your mind
but not in this
garden
​

}|{​

}|{
​

}|{​

right
the next day
they wilted away, flowers
spent for the lands of those gone
but
here in the furrows, for wings
and memories at home,
don't get me
wrong​

 

[butters]

poem #46

the need for 2 napkins

as i gently suck
just-opaque flesh
of the pan-fried fish
from its bones on my plate
i contemplate
savor
a notion of importance:

how a fish's ribs and spine
are as vital to its living life
as ours are to us—
we, the stand-up
upright
uptight
bipedal sapientes—
tailless, gill-less
out-of-our-depth in high waters

not that it changes a fish's fate
that ends up blind-eyed
on a white china plate
crispy skin & flesh devoured
bones all pale-jurassic
red napkin laid over its head

 

[Tzara]

Jocasta

I was so confident
of the oracle's error
that it was I

who mentioned the fork
in the road
where my Laius was murdered.

The handsome Oedipus,
my lusty and brilliant husband,
paled

as I spoke,
and somehow I remembered the wounds
to his ankles he dismissed

as a childhood accident
and I left that awful room where truth
was bleeding out over the floor

and found a rope,
a servant who could tie the sliding knot,
and a chair from which I could step off.

Week 40: Poem 1: Total 54

 

[Wonderer67]

October Mornings

There is something about these mornings
I don’t know why I like them so much…
SAD… the tilt of the earth facing away now
That 23.5º motherfucker
Leaves me and my home
Shrouded by fog
Hemmed in by the gray
But knowing that the sun
Will burn thru

It’s only temporary
I don’t mind it
Not at all
The gray fog is beautiful
It sands off all of the world’s sharp edges
Obscures and hides all of the fucking McMansions
On the top of the Hunterdon Plateau

I can only see the first few rows of
Soybean fields
Their green just now transitioning to tan
Or a pale yellow
Pregnant with nuts
Ready to be plucked any day now

The sun trying to burn thru it
Ringoes is much clearer
Wertsville Rd, a picture postcard of a valley
Shrouded by fog and mist

And up Sourland Mountain
The green, wet trees
Penned in by fog
Are just starting to show their color
Helios, Sol Invictus punching thru now and again
Sunlight at forty-five degree angles
Slanting through the fog

I wish I had time to pull over a million times
And take a million photographs
To prove that there is still beauty
In this world
Gone to shit

46/52

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Even at eight
the morning looks
like it gained too much weight
overnight

Just a tiny note above
the milky coffee swirling lazily
thoughts not very unlike that
mixed

Some drifting back
into the pillows and sheets
that still might hold an answer
beneath

Somewhere between
the night not too old
the morning still too young
when

Your hand raised a question
carefully, silk at first
more insisting, gripful
later

And now, hips, legs and back
have an answer of their own
time's not standing still for anyone
but you

 

[Ambient4190]

shave you
he asked
she stared
her missionary man

she appraised him
sincere
desire flamed
he approached
towel razor cream

trusting
she laid on
the bed
legs spread
her rose opened
petals exposed
tenderly he
worked
intently she
watched
arousal in force
love on display
her missionary man

 

[Angeline]

sp

You were a pied piper of women
who followed you fearlessly,
joyfully. Why should I
have been any different?
You were irresistible,
whimsical and kind, cerebral
yet passionate, tender.
Your words and photos,
even your drawings
had a pull like gravity.

You had us all, every poet
you wanted. Perhaps
you confided in them, too,
told about the time your idol,
Mingus, shoved you aside
on his way to the bar and still
you felt blessed in his shadow.

You really loved just one of us,
so you told me, not me--
but I understood. I never
expected to own you.
You were too much
like wind: a soft caressing
that ultimately moves on.

We spent a New Year's Eve
together, talked all night,
laughing and confessing
fears and desires. We danced
1,000 miles apart, whispering
into the morning hours.

When you died your sister
called me and I became the bearer
of sad news, all those women
brokenhearted and me trying
to comfort them. How many
wrote poems about you?

It's ok Douglas, even now
all these years later
I think of you and love you,
always.


Week 40, Poem 1, Total 49

 

[Ashesh9]

Om Shanti....
Death is Not an ending:
a Door opens....
a Corridor unfolds....
Souls move onwards...
ever onwards....
Communication is Forbidden
with those left behind...
the Living cannot see
those Who Moved on.......
But Death is Not an ending....
it Never was anything but a Door......
Om Shanti

 

[Ashesh9]

girl math
girl math or girl calculus or girl game theory....
is it tradition trying to reclaim gendered roles.....
or girls getting back at those who devalue them
or Both ???111

 

[Wonderer67]

Monday Afternoon

The fall is here in full force
Trees are turning
And so am I
My mind circling over and over
Like my restless sleep
58 sleep score this morning
My back is fucked

The world is turning too
And burning
It’s also fucked
A new war in the desert
This time in Israel

I look for the good things
The Black Eyed Susan are still going to town
Cosmo too
Montauk daisies bear white in the cool afternoon sun
Coopalong creek still flows…

But how can I try to be happy
When innocent people are slaughtered
If I go down this path
My life will go dark
Not dark, dark like dead
But I will go to a dark place
A special brew of ptsd and sad
As only I can make it

So I look up at the trees on our farm
And try to find meaning

There is none
I am a nihilist

47/52

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[Ashesh9]

Cupid's Cruel Arrow
painfully pierced Her Majesty's Arse!!!??
"Ouch :My Cruel God!!?" She sobbed
" My peace Thou hast robbed!!?"
" 'Tis Not only my curvaceous Arse
Thou hath pierced:'tis Thy Legendary Farce.
Thou art Not Lord of Romance
but Master of Sado-Maso Trance!?
My Regal Glute
is vibrating like a Flute:
it's Flirtin'
4A Hurtin'
I need an OTK Spankin'!!!?
Ow....Mercee ......Master
Harder:.... Smaak me faster!!!!?"

 

[Mrtenant]

Wedding Cake

We had wedding cake
One Autumn Saturday
Just a tiny little bite

I can't remember the taste
Did any of the guests?
Did we really have cake?

I see the pictures
We were so young
Bright-eyed, full of excitement
This was the way!
Deepening love
Boundless desire
Potential
Trust

Where did they go?
Daily do I search
Year after year

Wedding cake?
Was it good?

 

[Tzara]

(Untitled)

Threads separating in a worn carpet—
the lives of this old couple.

Week 41: Poem 1: Total 55

 

[Angeline]

Stormy Weather

On rainy nights we'd sit
in the kitchen by the side-yard,
close to the screen door, safe
from the deluge but near enough
to see the slashing light
and the inevitable crash
of thunder.

We'd share an old chair
that he'd bring up
from the basement.
It was rump sprung, stuffing
drooped from a torn cushion,
but it was comfy, companionable
sitting there together, no one
worrying about who or what
might get wet.

Sometimes we'd share a root beer
and we'd count from strike to crash

One Mississippi
Two Mississippi

enough to measure the distance
and know we were safe.

"You don't have to be afraid," he'd say.
"It's almost always farther than you think."

Sometimes we'd walk in the rain,
so cooling after the hot day,
smelling the raw, fresh earth.

"You see," he'd say. "You won't melt:
you're not a sugar cookie,
Cookie."


Week 41, Poem 1, Total 50

 

[Ambient4190]

hey love

when evil
seeks to
inhale your heart
into the dark

claw back
the diamond
for it is
mine

 

[Tzara]

Trying to Explain
My First Serious Relationship

I wrote her poems.
But she wanted a baby
and a truck driver husband.

So we broke up,
thank god.

Because then,
years later,
I was still available

to meet you.

Week 41: Poem 2: Total 56

 

[butters]

poem # 47

frustration

this isn't a poem about sex.
it's not about the fuck-cock-cunt-ishness
sweet, umami, sticky couplings
of longings unrequited
elevated, celebrated:

people

you know them
you've met them
seen them
heard them
the kind who make you mad with desire
to chew off your fingertips
and pluck out your eyes
perforate your eardrums
with bloody, raw-boned digits

people—!SURPRISE!—
you discover you're trapped with
who impoverish life with their presence
their soupy thinking
cognitive function to rival a peanut
voicing nonsense to scratch your viscera
visions and views that challenge reality
in a shared world

till you wonder
did we fall through some rupture?
land in some rapturous
cosmic
banana-split
a-swim in fake cream from a can
in a universe bleeding realities
that collide?

it's a spatial joke
on us
we
the sleepwalking doppelgängers
seeking our original parallel planet
where once-upon-a-time life made sense
politics were boring
fiction and fact were separate entities
science wasn't deemed fantasy
—or the devil's work—
where knowledge was king
and religion was a quiet, private affair

and so frustration:
as goopy and loopy and maddening and
all-encompassing
intense, mind-wrecking
sensory overloading as
that other stuff
without the payoff
and i'm in a tumbling cycle
of fuck! cunt! cock-ness!
looking for miracles
and trying real hard
to hold onto a faith
in people