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

[OtherMan]

Some of you have fenced your mind
With words as cattle, just
a few, not caring breed or kind,
small acre turned to dust.

But some of us have rustled. Rut
the herds - they run - stampede
as bards. The wire’s cleanly cut
with words - our minds are freed.

3/4/23

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Bucket List of Dreams

My bucket list is no more,
transformed, by circumstance into
dreams. Nerves of steel are not required,
nor fear of injury. So, in my dreams,
I leap, unscathed, from the protective
metal shell into the howling wind.

Below the fields are a counterpane
of colour, growing bigger as
I tumble, spread-wing, downward.

Time to pull the rip chord and life
slows down abruptly. The air
no longer tears at me, but caresses,
gently, as my parachute and I drift
down to reality.

The next I’m bungee jumping
in the Grand Canyon, or sailing
through the Amazon Forest on a
zip-line. I can take a trip on
the Orient Express from London
to Venice and back in one night.

The Great Wall of China can wait,
as it has for hundreds of years,
first, the Terracotta Warriors will
be my next destination. In the morning.
I’ll wake exhausted but exhilarated.

 

[Wonderer67]

Uninspired

I was thinking about giving up on this
I’ve got no ten cent words
Not even a nickel word
I looked under the couch cushions
Scraped a few pennies together
And it got me thru 10…11… poems.

I know I cannot write
I have no idea how to punctuate these things.
My writing is forced and terrible - I have no grace
It’s like punk rock
Short, sweet and straight forward
I got no idea how to play this guitar.

I am not fishing for compliments
Nor am I feeling sorry for myself
Just coming face to face with the truth.

I started writing here so I wouldn’t kill myself
And try to deal with bad ptsd flare-up
But I don’t wanna kill myself anymore
So I guess I’m outta material.

I promised myself I’d get thru
This game of fifty two card pickup
I am a determined motherfucker
And I ain't gonna stop
Till mission accomplished.

11/52

 

[Piscator]

Every

Every tear has some salt
Every breakup has its fault

Every morning brings its light
Every evening brings its night

Every A has its B
Every say its ‘can’t you see’

Every road will have its bend
Every story has its end

 

[goddessofglee]

#10/52
•unheard rhymes•

In the depths of my heart, there lies a yearning,
For rhymes unspoken, for melodies unturned.

I seek in vain, for words to match my soul,
In a world of verse where I remain unheard.

I long to find the lines to express my heart,
Yet my thoughts remain in shadows, still deferred.

Oh, how I wish to sing of love and joy,
To share my soul's essence, freely conferred.

But the words I seek are elusive, fleeting,
And the phrases I find seem already absurd.

So I pen these lines in hopes of finding,
The rhyme and reason for words deferred.

May this song speak to the heart that listens,
And may my unheard rhymes be finally heard.

 

[goddessofglee]

#11/52

Rolling hips,
Swaying to the beat,
Mesmerizing rhythm,
Graceful movement, hypnotic flow,
Sensual.

 

[OtherMan]

No sup’ tonite we’re knowing’
though somethin’s boilin’ in the pot.
The peas are overflowin’,
and the cornbread’s blackened hot.

Momma’s sittin’ cryin’
with black-eye swellin’ tight
‘cause Daddy wasn’t lyin’
when slurrin’, “No damn peas tonite.”

3/9/23

#11

 

[Angeline]

Unchanged

The Moon watches me silvery, shining,
whispers night's fallen, the Sun is abed,
the hour compels time for divining,
for questions that ask where fortune be led.
So now yarrow reeds are shaken and thrown.
Thus lines are divined and future is read:

Rain weeps on the mountain; winds on the stone.
All lines unchanging, no new love be born.
Future like yesterday. Future alone.

I breathe in the silence edging toward morn,
dwelling on memories of you my sweet,
dreaming in quiet, eschewing the storm.

We had a fortune that made us complete.
Terence you live on within my heartbeat.



Week 11, Poem 1, Total Poems 15

 

[Tzara]

Once Again On Time and Under Budget

Another week of desperation,
My mind all cluttered, bursting seams.
My heart's all flutters, but ablation
May settle it. I'll find a theme
To craft into poetic matter,
My usual doxastic chatter
Or mournful moaning about sex
In metered lines inane, complex—
A meaninglessly perfect stanza.
Ah, well! It occupies my time
And though it's never quite sublime,
It's fun, a real extravaganza.
So here it is, the one this week—
Onegin stanza in technique.

Week 11: Poem 1: Total 19

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Week 11 Poem 18

Buttons

This is the same shirt
he wore when we first met
at Daniel’s by the lake,
with its fabulous views
of lake and mountain?
But I couldn’t take them in,
our conversation absorbed me.

That day he’d chosen casual,
tieless. The shirt was button-up,
old school, I like that. Top two
buttons open, no bling, to my relief.

While we talked and ate our
lobster salad I imagined undoing
those buttons, one by one,
slowly, looking into his eyes,
his hands resting lightly on my hips.

I found myself smiling, he
asked me why. Too nervous,
I couldn’t tell him, I hedged
and changed the subject.
To my eternal regret.

Tonight could be my chance

 

[Mrtenant]

Just Yea, Okay

Just closed my eyes
While standing in the rain
My face raised to the sky
Rinsing away my tears
Witnessed by the old fruit tree
Whose persimmons scented the air
Last Christmas
When the children became adults
How I saw the dancing flames
Of that fireplace with their stockings
Tell their stories of joys
And comforts, curiosities,
And all the laughter after dinner
While drying dishes
Those years went so fast
Bicycles and sports
Coaching and toys
School and sleepovers
It was all their world
And we were just in it
Me and their momma
How now my knees hurt
And my eyes are lined
And oh so sleepy
That right foot will never be the same
And the back ache that only fades
Just me and my roommate now
She who loves them so
Their most amazing mother
And the sacrifice we made
Our passion for each other
Exhausted in daily weariness
Now barely a whisper
Lost somewhere in the years
And yet they turned out okay
Good, really
Those young people
Now with so little time for us
But that was the deal
They are good
We did it
I smile in their wake
As they sail past in their dream
Fleshing out their world
Growing it day by day
Out there
So very young and strong
Full of hope and fire
And me
I look out at the sunsets
The sunrises
Those breathtaking hot Summers
I just want to sleep
Somewhere by a small cool stream
Off in the mountains
Where the quiet reaches deep
Into my heart and soul
And says it will be alright
Just rest, close your eyes
It's just a little rain

Week 11, poem 1, total 16

 

[OtherMan]

Alone we walk an alien shore
that floats inside our head -
in wonder wander as waters pour
and rivulets are led

into all the wrinkles gray and tight
the ghosts of thought and hope
and faith and fantasy as real might
find other worlds to grope.

3/17/23

#12

 

[Tzara]

After Dinner

We walked out on the pier
to watch the sunset
reflected in the buildings

across the lake. It was cold,
and she leaned into my side
as I wrapped my arm

around her shoulder. When
she turned toward me and lifted
her face, we kissed,

and her lips tasted
of coffee and viognier
and promises of whispered

desires and gentle touches,
disheveled bedsheets,
and more and more nights together.

But when her Lyft arrived,
she disengaged, and I was left
with a long drive home

to a late brandy,
a muted symphony by Mozart,
and a phone number I would call

not quite so early as I might wish
the next morning.

Week 11: Poem 2: Total 20

 

[Ambient4190]

dripping gurgling
braving pollen grenades via
coffee infusion

 

[29wordsforsnow]

t's seems not hard to put a label
on a recent, mixed-up love affair
someone might even write a ballad
when it does involve some royal pair
unless it's her, the Queen of Salad,
chewing over this vegan fable.

The story brought here to the table
involves the ruler of the ocean
Triton by name, if you haven't heard,
still suggests it was sunscreen lotion
on Mabel's naked skin, he did squirt
one morning in the seahorse stable.

But later big-tailed mermaid Mabel
ate more and more to grow her belly
a telltale sign of that fruitful date.
"Get legs," warned kitchen aid Shelley,
"the Queen would love you both on her plate.
Scaling fish, she asked, I'd be able."



What kind of morale is this you ask suspici'?
When a green-eyed monster says, "Something's fishy,"
your way to hug could look way too squishy.

 

[OtherMan]

He is just a people pleaser
no treasure pleases more
than pleasingly he agrees - her
pleas - pleasure to his core.

And so he pleasantly has pleased
on knees until he knows
she’s pleasing him to feel appeased -
unpleased to be.. he goes.

3/19/23

#13

 

[Rockymtnman]

ode to Tucson

old dusty and beige
devoid of any color or hue
other than brown
cacti sprout everywhere
breaking up the monochromatic
high desert town‘s endless taupe
but it’s not enough to break through
the blah

 

[Mrtenant]

Vague

Why must I bear this crutch
So I may see what others see
Maybe for me I see too much
Those things that should not be

Give me those fuzzy lines
Details I just don't want to know
Vague letters on nameless street signs
Shapeless forms just for show

Colors that flow and blend
Many brights, dulls, whites, grays and blacks
These are visions I'm born to tend
Smudges, blurs, well worn tracks

Streaks of light fill my gaze
Floating colors and dim auras
No one else sees this purple haze
Shadows and bright floras

I'll keep the crutch around
Except for when I want to see
The real sea, sky, and bumpy ground
Say what you want, it's me

Week12, poem 1, total 17

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Elusive Inspiration

Don’t worry when you may be lost for signs
when ideas and subjects are hard to find,
and, God only knows when you’ll write some lines.

So you’re worrying you might fall behind,
everyone has a few patches of drought
when ideas and subjects are hard to find

and there’s nothing at all to write about.
Remember that adage all writers know,
everyone has a few patches of drought.

Perhaps time is slow, an adagio,
Lovely, relaxing whenever it’s played.
Remember the adage all writers know

even sour lemons can make lemonade.
With some time and fortune, you’ll find a tune
lovely, relaxing whenever it’s played.

God only knows when you will write some lines
Don’t worry when you may be lost for signs.
All this activity might seem jejune
but time and fortune will bring a new tune.

 

[OtherMan]

Buck a duck and hold on tight
‘cause this’ll quack your ass.
Fuck the luck. Emboldened fight.
Pause life? I pack a pass.

Cock a walk and strut and crow
and bandy on the earth.
Unsock the talk of smut and go
and randy it with mirth.

3/13/23

#14

 

[Wonderer67]

Sticker Bushes

I am not a young man anymore.
Firmly rooted in middle age now,
Hacking at invasive sticker bushes,
Multiflora rose…
Barberry…
Clearing them outta my woods and my brain.
A figurative and literal clearing out of things.
Our forest manager and my therapist both told me to pull them out by the roots.
“It’ll be impossible to remove them all” they both said.
“But do the best job you can.”

Last spring, my daughter was near death
And I felt like I had to go to Ukraine
To fight another war.

Calmer minds intervened.
My ex-wife and my current wife both told me,
“You are not a young man anymore.”
“You have a bad back.”
And, I could not turn my back on my daughter,
Like I did in 2002.

I am an avoider.

Growing pumpkin and flower seedlings,
Splitting and selling firewood,
Cleaning out the woods
And holding down a day job for benefits
Are better tasks for a man of 55 years
Than waging war.

Trust me.

12/52

 

[Piscator]

Astrophysics

Black lives matter
and dark matter
hides in black holes.
While here on Earth
the universe ain’t
unfolding as it
should.

 

[Tzara]

17 Syllables

The basics of poetry: That person I don't want to live without.

Week 12: Poem 1: Total 21

 

[Ambient4190]

frost on pink petals
natures psychopathy strikes
no guilt remorse stills

 

[Angeline]

Photograph

She
stands
alone
in the road
in a gown and furs,
a lady on a city night
sometime in the 1950s.
She's a jazz goddess,
a study
in black
and
white.


Week 12, Poem 1, Total Poems 16