It's the 2025 Poem-A-Week Challenge! (This is a *poems only* thread.)

[Angeline]

Idiosyncratic Poetry For Old People

When I hear 77 Sunset Strip I snap my fingers. Twice.


Week 16, Poem 1, Total 15

 

[Remec]

Rhythm Section

My joints ache, but I can almost always snap my fingers to the beat.

Week 16 Poem 1 Total 4

 

[Tzara]

The Poet, in a Moment of Self-Doubt,
Questions His Rhapsodic Talents,
Only to Be Reassured of His Genius

I sometimes wonder, rather idly,
If I be poet or poor fake,
Ignoring answers stating snidely,
Your poems make my belly ache.
For readers err in their opinion
When poesy's not their dominion
Nor I mere vassal to their taste
(Of sycophancy, not so chaste).
But yet I strive for lyric preening,
My feather'd phrases plumped and pruned
As bird of paradise festooned
With imagery dyed deep with meaning.
I think as poet, I'm quite good—
One solid-sounding block of wood.

Week 16 : Poem 1 : Total 20

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Inspired



Or not
Things to say
Sound like blather
Thoughts
Refuse to gel
Feelings
Masquerade as
Important ideas
Sounds are
Cacophonous
Ideas fade
To blurs
Focus is
Not an option
No matter my want
Wish in one hand
Shit in the other
See which fills first.

 

[D_K_Moon]

1. Words

My words,

Are my life,

Silent testimony,

An admission of guilt.

2. Writing

I write,

Not to be read,

But to prove,

That I was here.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Emotionally unavailable


That’s what you said
In our chat
In your kitchen
In your house
Anal-retentive decoration
A place for everything
And everything in its place
You brought it up
I didn’t ask you
I thought to
And didn’t
You thought, too
Apparently
And then announced
“I’m emotionally unavailable”
A new concept to me
then
Yet a long time condition
Now named
For years
I thought you meant yourself
But no.
You were right about me . . . .

 

[sister jenny]

when the planes fall from the sky
you will know how much I love you
when the earth is but dust and ash
you will understand how much I care
when the flood has drowned us all
you will know I regret it all
and I will lie about it every time you ask

I lie to you every day
I lie even when I tell the truth
I put it all so far away I can't even find it myself anymore
when the birds fall dead from the sky
I will already be long gone
you won't miss me
you might not even notice
because I push you so far you will leave before I do

I hope you find love again
I hope they are worthy

I hope you never read this

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Distrust



We’ve had this talk
You said you would
Do what we agreed
You said
You didn’t
Again
Damn it!

 

[Tzara]

From the Heian Period

Soft kisses, whispers,
my hand inside your nightgown,
your faint little cries.
How urgently we both make
promises we will not keep.

Week 17 : Poem 1 : Total 21

 

[Angeline]

Any World

I dream of roses
gently waving and the beach
is spare and rocky.
The language of waves and gulls
speak cool, peaceful solitude.


Week 17, Poem 1, Total 16

 

[Angeline]

Rising Appalachia

The Blue Ridge Mountains
Look hazy from a distance
They blend into sky
Like Earth and Heaven were one
And some days it felt that way



Week 17, Poem 2, Total 17

 

[Politruk]

Your best chance for your seed to implant is
The hot quent of my aunt from Atlantis
When she gets in the groove
You can feel the Earth move --
Chanters rant, but we know the risk scant is!

 

[LustyScribe]

When Did We Forget?

Since when again
Did grown men,
Clad in Death's hue,
Snarling, snapping
Like eager dogs of war
Warrant our excuses?

Their prey, again:
Men, common, poor,
Humble men
Whose dark sin
Is hoping, working, and
Mothers, fears trebled;
For Children, mate,
And lastly self.

And then most coarsely
The eyes of the Innocents,
Pulled from schools
Churches, Grandmas.
Understanding naught
Save fear, and
Daddy's gone.

The dogs of Hate
Surround, contain,
Hate and fool-fed fear
Fuel abuses
As they simply
"Follow orders."

Have we lost lessons
From Nuremberg?
Do Dachau, Auschitz,
And the frozen camps
Of Siberia
No longer urge,
Weep and warn?

Who gave hate
The bullhorn again?
Will we avert eyes,
Harden hearts
Excuse evil?
Will we feign the same
Naive blindness
To the trains,
To the pains,
The pleas?

May our hearts
Be melted,
Minds mended,
Resolute rightness
Returned,
Lest the High Court
Of tomorrow's
Hindsight
Condemn us for our
Complacency.

Week 17(?), poem 1, 15 total

 

[Wonderer67]

Gift Advice for Father’s Day

Everyone saw it coming apart
Except me of course
Blissfully stupid

It was that year of dis integration
That year of slow burn
That my daughter
Gave me the best
Father’s Day gift ever

“Dad, let’s go for a drive over the mountain.”

She controlled my iPod
As we drove through the warm
Farmlands and woods of
Sourland mountain

She made a playlist of my favorite songs
The weather was a perfect
Late spring
Or early summer day

We listened and sang
Windows open
Us hollering and screaming

The Ace of Spades (Motörhead)
Rockaway Beach (Ramones)
If The Kids Are United (Sham69)

And other songs 10 year olds
Probably shouldn’t know…

I had to admit she had a good year
She capped it off with a moldy oldie.

Skinhead Moonstomp

I don’t need stuff for Father’s Day

But i will always cherish
Those memories

11/52

 

[Wonderer67]

A Wednesday Morning Drive to Work

Thinking of our
Particularly vigorous session
This morning
Her riding me
Then fucking her from behind

She insisted on her 10 second hug
Before I left for work

“Ten seconds or you have to start all over…”

“Babe, I’m late for work, I gotta roll!”

“Ten seconds…”

She wins

She always does

Outside, all of the trees are pushing:
The most delicate neon green
Or reds of the oaks
White puffs on apple and pear trees

I literally feel all of that energy
And mine
Coursing through my veins

The choke is off
My throttle is

Wide open

12/52

 

[Wonderer67]

Pointillism or is it Post Impressionism?

A world of color opened up
This week
As I crossed Sourland Mountain to work
Dim tones
Barely emergent
On the branches

Tiny, almost indiscernible dots
Of pigment
Where pointillism, Impressionism and stippling
All intersext

The spring is a series
Of tiny points
The woods now speckled with soft hues
Pollen thrusting outward

Emerging neon green
That color of leaves pushing
The deep red of oaks and maples
Tiny colored tines of fruit trees
Ivory apple flowers
Pears of purple
Cherry pink flowers…

All emerging
Pressing out
Birthing and being borne

I feel that energy
And I too am stimulated
Engorged…

That technicolor world
Of leaves
That cycle of ends on ends
Everything awake
And intent

One giant vibration
The world waking up and
Getting off

This phase of the cycle

Waking
Life emerging
And coming out

And everything before
After
And in be-fucking-tween

13/52

 

[Angeline]

Slightly Irritated Limerick

Methinks I've detected a troll
Crept out from some unlikely hole
If argue he must
He'll find it's a bust
Most poets just ignore and scroll



Week 18, Poem 1, Total 18

 

[Tzara]

The Poet, Too Tired to Come Up with a Title,
Offers This Gratuitously Self-Important Phrase Instead

I've been quite indisposed. Like plain sick.
So my poetry hasn't much kick.
Thus, this weak little thing
That (half coughing) I sing—
A quite sad, limerickian shtick.

Week 18 : Poem 1 : Total 22

 

[Tzara]

Villanelle of Separation

I wonder if you'll miss me when I'm gone.
Our life together hasn't been the best,
but back when times were good, our love was strong.

We've been together oh so very long
our separation gets me quite depressed.
I wonder if you'll miss me when I'm gone

or if it wouldn't matter. You've moved on,
I guess, in ways I haven't yet addressed.
I'm stuck where times were good and love was strong.

It leaves me in denial—sad, withdrawn,
and thinking all the time like one obsessed,
I wonder if she'll miss me when I'm gone

or if, in future, you'll suppress a yawn
when asked if you remember my caress
back when times were good and love was strong.

I can't believe how things all went so wrong.
I really thought our life together blessed
back then when times were good and our love strong.
I wonder if you'll miss me when I'm gone.

Week 18 : Poem 2 : Total 23