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

[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
​

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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​

 

[Broken_paladin]

Through broken lens of time and space
Shed light upon a shadowed place
My heart still yearns for one more taste
Of magic born from beauties grace

In hollowed world we will reside
By stupid rules we most abide
Till something happens that turns the tide
Be cautious still but embrace the ride

Lay beside me here in bed
Use by chest to rest your head
Kiss me deep with lips so red
Release my mind from thoughts of dread

I loved you then as I love you now
By fates grand scheme I ask not how
But with a might roar scream "Holy Cow"
As I shoot my load across your bow

I claim you mine, my whore my slut
My handprint welt upon your butt
We fuck like deer full-blown in rutt
A jagged line desire cuts

 

[Broken_paladin]

A summer day in a remote place
As my dog ran on his wind swept race
My heartbeat up from the steady pace

There within a hidden glade
A car somehow had made its way
A forrest maiden on its hood there laid
With her big boobs out for the sun to blaze

A bark rang out as he ran on past
With a startled word she sat up fast
An embarrassed smile my way she casted
A fantasy sparked within a flash
With tongue tied words whispered "Sorry lass"

Try as I might I could not turn
Her eyes held a hunger that made me burn
Something primal for which she yearned
For the touch of passion from one strong and stern
With a bold step forth I tossed my hat
Stood between her legs on the hood she sat

A deep long kiss and feelings bliss
She moaned and sighed as she ground her hips

Stroking, pounding with throbbing dick

Passion, hunger, desires met
She came so hard so fucking wet
With out a word as if she knew
She dropped to knee as if on cue
Sucking my cock as if its due
Swallowed every drop till it was through

 

[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

 

[Broken_paladin]

So much transpired as life changed again
A story to tell but were to begin
Or is it just pointless as we are approaching the end
Wanting so deeply for something to grasp
Screaming in silence till our voice has a rasp

Learning and loving on this ride we call life
Be gentle and kind to cause no one strife
As words can do damage like a sharp kitchen knife

 

[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

 

[Broken_paladin]

Deep is the calm when closure is here,
No longer anxious or questions of fear.
No rosy cheeks left streaked by the tears
With a big breath I dive in once again
See my old self how long has it been?
So much was written, so much was said
The truth of the matter is we are fucked in the head
Wanting of someone who will be not in our bed
But a thought will still linger till the day I am dead
So stand and walk bravely along your new course
Smile for the masses and show no remorse
You chose your own path without being forced
No questions no answers no time to explain
Conversations are worthless with nothing to gain
Let the time be short that you process the pain

 

[Wonderer67]

Another Long Day

A walk in the woods
On our farm at dusk
Helps me unclutter my mind
Long and tough day at work
My day job…the one that pays the bills
But now I am here in my woods
I have to tell myself that
To force the discipline of mindfulness

October has arrived in force
44 this morning at wakeup and still only 54 now
I love the weather
The crispness in the air
But the shorter days
Fuck with my head

I am a wonderer
A wanderer
My mind wanders
As I walk the trails
I’d love to quit my day job…
And focus on farming 24/7
But the money is shit
And the benefits package is even worse
Stacy focused, Tim…be in the moment.

This time of year, I walk extra carefully
As quietly as possible
I try not to scare the deer
Or the birds
As I walk up the main trail into the woodS
I look up and marvel

I love these woods
I know almost every tree
The throngs of black walnuts
The tulip poplars standing ram-rod straight at attention
Red maples and their invasive cousins, the Norway maple
Regal oaks
Dead ash trees – their skeletons scratching at the dark blue skyThey will be firewood soon enough
Swamp maples, dogwoods and sycamores
Cooling their root-toes in the swamp

I resume my march
Tactical now, trying not to crunch leaves or snap sticks
No deer today
Which is good: I do not love them

The only thing I hear are the
Birds conversing
Talking amongst themselves
And the cascade of acorns
Hitting branch after branch;
Natures pinball machine

I hear the thud of
Heavier black walnuts falling
In the light wind

It’s time to turn for home
To make dinner
Nearly dark out now
Miss Conduct will be hungry
And hopefully horny too

48/52

 

[Ashesh9]

Her unclothed Bum: clad in scanty G string....
To the heart of Bottom lovers Bliss/Joy doth bring
In a hot parched desert like a gushing deep spring
: to tone Gluteal muscles she cycles..Kring Kring ...

 

[butters]

poem # 48

the art of the tortured souls

it's said the greatest art
is forged from the crucibles
of the most tormented souls

it hangs heavy on a wall
haunts the hollow hallways
infects the very air with misery

beware your choices:
you can close a book
turn off the music
change channels on t.v
but you give a picture time
an ubiquitous presence in your life
reaching for your shoulder
or staring you right in the face

the greatest art
can suck light from its source
eclipse joy
press us down into
cold, sinuous shadow
as siren-songs of madness
seek company for misery
in long-extended visits

i can't give them house-room
they shrink me too much
burn my mind even as i know
i can't ease an artist's essence—
that distillation of themselves
steeped into canvas skins
too heavy a burden to lighten

 

[Tzara]

Geoff and Tom Discuss Spring:
A Kind of Mash-Up Glosa

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
Of which vertú engendred is the flour
—Geoffrey Chaucer: From the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales

Can it really be the cruellest month
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote
Wets the desiccated earth
Like an IV in the arm of a etherised patient?

It should be more of a miracle, as
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
That lilacs or lillies, even luscious weeds
At last rise up and live again.

Surely Dionysus would caress these plants
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
That a drunken riot of colors—the green
Of life, blue of remembrance, the red swell

That is desire. Such vigor!
Of which vertú engendred is the flour,
The bloom, bursting, stirring the lust
Of long dulled roots to thrust skyward again.

Week 42: Poem 1: Total 57


Thanks to Angeline, il miglior fabbro.