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

[OtherMan]

We swallow shallow evils; all
are surging decadence.
The week’s allowed revile is small -
not urging innocence.

So, Friday celebrates the wait
that next berates the morn
then chuck upped in Sunday service
‘til Monday then is born.

3/24/23

#15

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

week 12 poem 20

Before and After

I must express to you how I feel,
a strange longing masquerading
as an emptiness.
It might be love, perhaps it is lust?
In either case, words must suffice.

A poor substitute for the warmth
of your form against me
in the dawn light, and the morning
wood reminding me of the night before.
My hand lets you know I am ready for more.

Dinner had been filled
with talk of shared passions,
music, books, travel and
poetry. It grew into the
realization that we would
not be saying goodbye that night.

I smiled all the way home
on the train that morning.

I am smiling now.

 

[Tzara]

Book Club

I could offer you wine,
but I would rather right now talk
about that book

we both found appealing,
and so strong coffee
might be more appropriate,

to keep us focused
on what we both found compelling
about the narrative,

though that does in no way imply
I will not confess later
how much I really like your company,

which I will, finally, clumsily,
before slinking off home, hoping
I have not been too forward

as to completely ruin my chances
to form at least some slight kind of connection
with the so beautiful, beautiful you.

Week 12: Poem 2: Total 22

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Dementia

The street lantern takes a bath
in the puddles forming outside
liquid light is a fleeing deer
in the wake of the passersby.

Night has fallen on the stairs
and the large door left open
that's not invitation, unless
you think of leaving.

The floorboards squeak weakly
your every step reflected
in the rooms of the vanished
shades of grey here and there.

Wandering the void, finally
a back room with some
memories you haven't seen
and boxes for takeout.

The rain's still falling
beyond the window
your time has come,
stranger, hurry.

 

[Ashesh9]

Diamond
----------------
Precious Stone:
Thou art Heera in Hindi....
Blood has been shed
To steal, acquire, own Thee
Art thou even worthy of love ?
Or a purveyor of pure greed:
Wars , Conflicts, Deaths Thou dost feed...
Thou Humankind doth not need.

 

[Piscator]

Posthumous Humus

Four dead Jesuits,
now confirmed as child
molesters, but when alive
these monsters’ crimes,
were covered in
obfuscation.

And when they passed,
were the Last Rites recited
and are they buried
in sanctified grounds?

May their rest be as
unrestful as their
victims lives and
and the fitful sleep
of their confessors.

 

[OtherMan]

An epiphany - that god I am!
…inside my mind and world…
a symphony of thought I slam,
conduct baton as swirled

to instruct instrumentally
the ones who string about,
to orchestrate them mentally
since they’re the ones without

the access to the universe
that’s mine and mine alone,
and mine is All… Creation’s verse…
go play with one your own.

3/27/23

#16

Bwahahahahaha…

 

[Polranny]

The Gastro Pub
A country pub where hungry folk
gorge on gourmet pies and fizz

weekending in their thornproof clothes

with doe-eyed dogs and matching kids


Gap-year girls with stick-on smiles

take orders for a ploughman’s lunch

of deep-fried camembert and brie

with onion jam and crusted bread

washed down with Pimms or Pinot G.


I prefer a proper pub

with kegs of beer and basic grub

an ageing bar
and matching staff

A laminated menu,

a Specials board in fading chalk,

and in a distant kitchen

(stainless steel and out of sight)

A minion makes the sandwiches:

Just ham or cheese on brown or white!




(In memory of a very dear friend)

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

week 12 poem 21​

​

Dirty Dancing​

A gust of wind
dances dust
and turns it into a dervish.

A capricious partner,
it skips away
to engage a cheap candy wrapper,
or yesterday's Gazette.
Next, a flirty food-court carton
is sent cartwheeling into traffic.

The fickle breeze drops them all
and they lie breathless,
waiting for the next blustery gust
to whisk them off for
another waltz.

 

[Rockymtnman]

It’s whip smart and agile
it chit chit chits on my fence
just out of the reach of my aging dog
but he never gives up
never
he’s worn the ground away
like a deer trail in the rockies
back and forth, never catching
never
i tear up thinking one day
I won’t see him chasing
those furry little shits
but I wish that day never comes
never

 

[OtherMan]

The shape of thorns curves on the stem,
it shields the petals though -
a drape of hand through all of them…
allowed one way will go.

But brushing back against their grain
to pluck the blooming bud,
brings sharpened prick and tearing stick
and scratches, scrapes and blood.

3/28/23

#17

 

[Wonderer67]

Coffee Kisses

My wife can’t drink coffee anymore
Makes her wavy she sez
But she loves the taste of it on my lips
In the morning
I give her gentle kisses
In bed
Having just had a sip
Softly clasping her mouth
With mine
Letting her smell the faint aroma
As I hover over her mouth
She tastes the fleeting taste
Of the forbidden bean
She sighs contentedly
Like she’s just had her own sip
She is my wife
A dominatrix
Not cruel or mean
But loving and kind
She knows me too well
Our mouths connect each morning
Mine, coated with the tiniest amount of coffee
Giving and receiving
Something much more than
Love

14/52

 

[Rockymtnman]

Her

she pouts ever so slightly
as I get up to leave
her hand half heartedly
clutching at my back
begging me for another hour
but she doesn’t quite mean it

she will miss me in her own way
but like me, we see most people
as toys to be played with
Laid bare, fucked, given pleasure
to and by, but very few, too few maybe
actually mean anything to us

but the sex is amazing
we have much in common
so we play the game
but we both know the other
will not miss anything about us

 

[Mrtenant]

Bedtime

So often I lay here
Gaze at the ceiling
Out the window
Into the shadows

So often I lay here
Senselessly asleep
Where all is darkness
And a few dreams

So often I lay here
I touch my partner
She is alive, breathing
Deep in her sleep

So often I lay here
And wonder small
Or wonder big
Wondering about it all

So often I lay here
And it seems too much
Fear that grips me
Is this my final rest

So often I lay here
Exhausted and relieved
To just close my eyes
From just too much world

So often I lay here
And wish she were here
Just once in this life
We surely would not sleep

So often I lay here
Sleeping here again
To awaken once more
To a day like yesterday

And so often I lay here
Among the clean sheets
Tidy blankets and pillows
Grateful of simple blessings



Week13, poem 1, total 18

 

[Piscator]

All the good lines

All the good lines taken,
but I was never good
with words
anyway.

Though it really doesn’t
matter this bar's too
loud for conversation
anyway.

So let’s let our bodies
do the talking as
the music shakes
our souls.

 

[Ambient4190]

small child ice for feet
tiptoes on cold dark wood floor
stealthy pushes old swing door
bright kitchen
warmest room in house
a hand well water pump
bygone housewares
long since thrown in dump
cathead biscuits
fried eggs and ham
saturate the air
familiar weather worn face
tender smile embrace

to a woman passed on
compassionate selfless
strong in belief
not perfect by any means
does she know I miss her

 

[Angeline]

Photograph #2
Sonny on the beach: saxophone colossus. Jazz sings out to the waves.

Week 13, Poem 1, Total 17

 

[Tzara]

Zen Garden

isolated stones
surrounded by gray ripples
of fine raked gravel

a place of contemplation—
then, the chirping sounds of birds​

Week 13: Poem 1: Total 23

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Week 13 Poem 22

Andromache comforts Hector

Lovingly she lifts away
his battle-crusted linen,
palming his furred chest as she
feels him rise against her.

Her lips graze the stripes and scars
of past carnage, now memories
that only he recalls.

In the silence, her breath is a sigh,
his, a groan, as he lies back,
weary of the fight, eager for her love.

She takes him, kneeling astride
his muscled thighs. His knotted
strength is heat on her.

Leaning in, she sweeps
her hair aside, her breasts yearn
towards his.

Course hands cover her hips
as he deepens their bond.

Outside the walls
Achilles waits but, for now,
he is hers.

 

[OtherMan]

I want to tear and rip and claw
the night out of the sky
and cram it down the inky maw
that’s always asking, “Why?”

On that the dark can gag and choke,
and I can have a pause
from blackness that is ever woke -
but never breathes, “Because…”

3/31/23

#18

 

[Tzara]

Cleopatra's Perfume

Could it actually have been her fragrance
that snared both Caesar and Antony?

That mix of desert date oil,
myrrh and cinnamon,
that small bit of pine resin

that so charmed the powerful Romans?
Or was it her sinuous anatomy,
how she could coil like a supplicant

about their so eager bodies?
Perhaps it was simply her power, being queen
of a great, though failing, civilization

and the scent the two detected
was merely fear, or worse, decay.

Week 14: Poem 1: Total 24

 

[Angeline]

Transcendent

Biology is not identity.
Identity is not chosen by flesh.
Gender is a choice
imposed by a culture
or known by an individual.

Why is that hard to understand?

I loved you even before
I held you in my arms.
I loved the possibility of you,
the unexpected blessing
you brought to my world,
the way you would enrich it
and do, even to this day.

When I carried you I didn't know
your gender. There was no reveal,
no pink or blue confetti
shot joyously skyward
in celebration of something
I thought I'd know at your birth.

I was wrong.

Your gender was known
only to you and revealed to me
years later, in a brave act
of trust, a gift.

True love is pure.
It doesn't worry about acceptance,
who approves, who rejects.
Love simply is and so I celebrate
who you are because I know
who you are to me~

my dear, good-hearted child,
generous, wise and kind,
my unexpected daughter
who I forever cherish,
love undying.



Week 14, Poem 1, Total 17

 

[OtherMan]

The apple red has raised its head
at end of highest reach
two fingers grazed and feet were led
to linger steps as each

on each in trip to highest rung
to grab the fruit forbade
a grasping slip to earth we’re brung
to dirt as both are made.

4/4/23

#19

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Here where I love to rest
my head beside the world's
weight you carry and love
the feathery touch of my
kiss on the landing strip
next to the tower's base
that speaks to more
than I could answer

Your shoulder

 The line barely curved
holds magic to slip
down in whispering
fabric and handfuls
of grip that come
to send the day
away and handle
our moment
of passion.

 

[goddessofglee]

#12/52
Oh dear,
I'm behind schedule,
Running late
and feeling fretful,
Tasks and chores
pile up high,
And time just seems
to fly by as I lie.

I take a deep breath,
steady my pace,
Focus my mind
increase my chase,
I'll catch up
soon be on track,
And get everything done
in a flash.

So I won't be daunted
by this delay,
Or let anxiety get
in my way,
I'll keep moving forward
do my best,
And put my mind
goals to the test.

For whether late or early,
it's all the same.
I'll keep on working
playing the game,
when I'll finally caught up
be there at last,
I'll feel a sense of achievement unsurpassed.