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

[42BelowsBack]

Loss of Traction in my head

Traffic lights. In, decision, Traffic lights. In, decision,
red goes green, orange red greenOrangeRed green

Separated from indecision there is a rev counter in
my head -loss, of, —traction into bumper to bumper

Traffic lights. In. Decision, there is a red light burning
in my head.

No 9 of an unlikely 52

 

[_Land]

Seasoned Veterans

He stood
sleek in onyx skin,
a pillar of burn
pressed into steel cap
bitter-backed with a mouth full of bite.
Always the storm
in the center of the table.

She shimmered
milky and fragile,
porcelain hips swaying
with a grace that left fingerprints
of forgotten dinners.
She didn’t speak
unless summoned
but her silence seasoned everything.

They had danced
for generations.
Pass, pour, twist, spill
a ritual of tension
on linen battlegrounds.
He left stains.
She left reminders.

Every night
they leaned in closer.
She’d tilt,
he’d grind,
flavors fusing in shadow
while forks clattered and wine decayed.
Their love was never bland.

No vows.
Just a carousel of cravings
and the ache
of being emptied,
refilled,
emptied again.

Still, they danced.
Until the table cracked,
until the dinners stopped,
until even the candle
burned down to the wick

and still
they waited,
side by side,
sacred,
seasoned,
together.

63/52

 

[LustyScribe]

All Those Aboard
Reflections from a Cruise

A thousand thirsties,
A thousand more;
Still they come
Crossing the gangway.
Dragging too many clothes,
Too many hopes
For a week at sea.

For some a start;
Vows just ahead or
Aft, still awash in the waves
Of excitement.
I rejoice for them,
A hopeless romantic
Always willing to believe
For us, for them.

For them I create
Full lives, lived lustily.
I see scenarios
Where desires fire
Couplings the cabins could
Sell as porn.
My ears can't hear her
Moans, groans, pleas
For more, or his replies,
But my mind can.

Then there's those
Whose lives lost rhyme
And reason with time.
No more poetry,
Just sad prose that flows
Through the drink passes
They bought, knowing that
Smirnoff suffocates
And beer blinds
And Cuervo covers
The futility, the fatality
Of the dreams
They dreamt together.

Around us, beauty abounds.
Boobs, butts, bulges
Tattoos, some clear,
Some old smudges.
A bride to be
Her maids, all A's and B's,
Beside me, a beauty
In a brown bikini,
I can't look at long.
Exotics, to me erotic,
Brown, black, ivory
Myriad moms, milfs,
Whose curves, softness
Where taut skin was,
Self-conscious, self aware,
But this week...this week,
She wears THAT suit,
The one she ordered,
The one he wouldn't
Approve of.

But he's not there,
He and his affair
Went to Vegas
"On business."
So now she dares
And boldly bares
Thick thighs,
Breasts a size
Bigger than the bra.

She draws more eyes
With soft, thick thighs
Than the bridesmaids.
She's never played
But tonight...tonight?
If he can act right,
The guy from deck seven
Might just taste heaven.

For my wife,
The buffet is just as full.
A fairly fit father,
Salted & peppered;
"Good to his kids,"
And he's fifty and fit.

The dancer in the show,
With muscles, no spare tire
Is a glance, maybe two or ten.
I'll have to tip him
For the fire he lit
That made it to our room
That almost made it to Cozumel.

The Mexican cuties
With bountiful beauty
And full curvy culos;
My neck is sore and stiff
When we're back on board.
The rigidity remains
And even spreads
As we lay on the bed.
But she's tired and rests,
Maybe the day's best
Wasn't tacos and 'ritas.
Maybe she's dreaming?
Maybe the guide,
Maybe the fit father guy
Who wasn't old and worn
As he got on board?

Or maybe the shop girl
From another world?
Selling and sharing tears,
About hopes and fears,
Missing her family.
Brown, beautiful, and
She loves a woman.
But in two hours
We sail north.

I don't begrudge my mate
We all have desires to sate
Why deny your eyes,
Spout silly lies
When the buffet of flesh
Seems always fresh,
Runs bow to stern?
Four nights and days
She can freely gaze,
Think how it would be
With he or she
Or maybe they and we?
We share some thoughts,
Some tame, some hot.
I push fences back,
She wisely backtracks;
Some ideas to please,
Better left in open seas.

The ship sails north,
Slowly back, little wake
But relentlessly returns,
Dragging us all,
Kicking, screaming,
Drinking, dreaming
Back to reality's bites,
Starless nights,
Carrying memories
Credit card statements
And tiny flickers of hope,
When we hear Buffet again.

Maybe life can be better.
Maybe hubby dumps the side chick.
Maybe wife gives a reality check.
Maybe the bride stay
s true
Maybe mine carries the view
Of hot dad in her head
When we go to bed
For twenty more years,
Sharing hopes, dreams, fears
And memories
Of Margaritaville.

(Not sure of week or #)

 

[_Land]

The Well of Understanding


I spoke
and the stone did not echo.

It listened
the way water listens
with ripples that rewrite
your own reflection.

My voice fell
like a coin
into that throat of thirst,
and something ancient
gulped it down
with reverence of drought.

I asked the well
what it knew of longing.
It replied
by showing me my own face,
distorted and endless,
a bruise of light
suspended on the surface.

I lowered a bucket
but drew up memory
feral,
frightened,
still dripping
from the places
I refuse to visit.

The well never judged,
what it held,
a wound in the earth
too deep to heal,
too sacred to abandon.

Some truths
are only spoken
in the dark
where the rope creaks,
and silence
pulls back
wet with understanding.

64/52

 

[42BelowsBack]

Breathless a sneaky bitch

Uriah Heep, sage, life coaxed in a dumpster fire,
in poorer thoughts taking scrapes off poems not
their own, Writes a ‘Poor Me Poet.’ Feeds in ego
beats oft in obsequious maleficent retreat, Bows
back
—pedaling a cheap spring to an Oasis,

No 10 of an unlikely 52

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

Sneaky A.I Spam Bitch



If you had a mirror


you would hear


Sincere Silence.


Nobody looks at


you.







22/52

 

[_Land]

Free?

They say you are free to go.
But go where,
if every land has a flag,
a border,
a toll,
a god?

If every sunrise is patented
and the horizon wears barbed wire lingerie,
inviting, fatal
how do you run
without slicing yourself open
on someone else's dominion?


65/52

 

[_Land]

Flight Path

Free
is the bird
with a broken wing
still leaping
toward sky
because cages
taste worse
than falling.

66/52

 

[_Land]

Voluntary Captivity

everything has weight
chosen or pressed

expectations,
responsibilities,
roaring echoes

held
in place
by choice

Trapped

67/52

 

[_Land]

Free to Contradict

a tongue pierced with silence
a ballot soaked in oil
a bullhorn behind glass
a leash made of pearls

a rainbow flag in crosshairs
a padded cell with pastel walls
a courtroom lined with cotton fields
a gun named justice
a hymn through clenched teeth

a school built like a bunker
a uterus tagged for auction
a badge that weighs more than a body
a border drawn in mother's milk

a paycheck that shrinks under spotlight
a mirror that erases what it sees
a passport that burns on arrival
a cage with luxury branding

a smile stitched to survive
a protest fenced in
a prayer drowned out by anthem
a hand raised then shot

this is freedom
as advertised


68/52

 

[_Land]

The Incredible Shrinking Paycheck

an envelope soaked in blood
surrendered.
an Amazon delivery
two weeks too late
to the rescue.

what once fed a family
now barely hushes
a single mouth.

groceries?
they price hope by the ounce.
eggs are luxury.
milk a gamble.
a gallon costs more
than my dignity on the third week.

healthcare siphons
with syringes made of fine print
and deductibles dressed
in Kevlar and cruelty.
insurance grins
a slot machine
rigged for sickness~
and accidents

student loans
still licking bone
decades after the feast.
compound interest
turns time into shackles.

and rent?
just devours.
a godless maw
that grows teeth
every thirty days.

the dollar dies
in slow motion.
a paper crucifix
folding under
corporate tithe
and congressional shrugs.

what’s left
of my labor
fits in a cupholder.
a crumpled check
with phantom commas
haunted by promises
made at orientation.

i do not live.
i negotiate
survival
at every register.

call it free market.
call it trickle down.
call it anything but theft
and the gods of greed
will keep
laughing.

68/52

 

[_Land]

Refill Pending

They don’t stab you with steel anymore
They print the needle
on a quarterly statement
in Helvetica
double-sided

You don’t bleed
You sign
Consent laced with co-pay ink
veins inked in policy

Hope lives behind glass
next to the insulin
Price tags flicker
like cardiac monitors
flatlining every dream
of affording both rent
and breath

You hold your child’s fever
like a foreclosure notice
You cradle prescriptions
an IOU to God
just a few more days
just one more refill
before the body
starts to bargain
with death

survival
should not be
a subscription
renewed
only if
the payment clears

69/52

 

[_Land]

Sneaky Bitch

You still dream in overdraft.
Still cough her name as silence laughs.
Still dodge joy if it moves too fast.
Still sleep light
like love won't last.

Sneaky bitch.

She came in low,
She played it slow,
spoke soft truths
with undertow.
Built her throne
in your ribcage pit,
fed you lies
with diamond kit.

Sneaky bitch.

Took the house, the welcome mat.
Took your peace, and that's just that.
Took the dog, and then the cat.
She even told you look fat.


Sneaky bitch.

Not one fight. No single yell.
Only ghosted, damn near mid-spell!
Left a scent, a dent, and hell.
Left receipts where ribs did dwell.

Sneaky bitch.

She kissed for gain.
She moved with theft.
She smiled and your spine just left.
Took your time,
your pride, your fire,
turned your soul
into her spare attire.

Sneaky bitch.

Played the sweet.
Played the shy.
Played the role
with watchful eye.
Stacked her win,
you fell apart
every I love you,
was her instacart.

Sneaky bitch.

You still twitch
when high heels click.
Still check locks
when hearts feel thick.
Still doubt love
if it comes too quick.
Still spell pain
in her lipstick script.

Sneaky bitch.

She didn’t break you,
she burned you clean.
Stamped her name
on every scene.
Dropped the match
then watched you crawl
you gave her everything,
she took it all.

Sneaky.
Fucking.
Bitch.

70/52

 

[42BelowsBack]

Hey Red, thinking of you.

Time was. There we were. Two walls.
In silence. Our shadows turned away.

Between us a wide stone floor. In our
sunset corridor. We stood with so much

opposition. All we could do was embrace
silence. That diced. Two lives in bits. We

walked in our shadows down that corridor.
Two walls departed. In roof falls. In this our

corridor. Ghosts come now at night. Where
you wore the shadow of the hourglass. And

I wish you heaven wherever you are.

11 out of, maybe a stretch of imagination 52

 

[_Land]

Mercury in Retrograde
A Messenger in Recoil

Winged feet press
into stone's breath.
Stillness before split.

The staff spirals twice.
Two mouths open.
One whispers truth.
The other devours it.
Both speak law.

The helmet bears fire from five skies.
His path cuts between border and oath.

He holds a scroll of undone messages.
Each sealed with wax
melted from the moment
you thought you meant it.

No ink dries in his presence.
Every line reopens.
Every sentence hums
with heat returned.

Mercury circles flame.
His orbit carves
a memory into motion.

He turns keys
you left inside locked mouths.
He unbinds the letter
you folded with spine.

The god walks backward
with your handwriting
glowing through the fabric
of his cloak.

71/52

 

[_Land]

Mercury's Retro-Grade

Category: Communication
Grade: D-
Comments:
You spoke in tongues,
but forgot to subtitle the rage.
Emails vanished like socks in the dryer,
and just as personal.
Apologies arrived
four planets late
and spelled like regrets
on a dial-up connection.

Category: Technology
Grade: F
Comments:
Your tantrum fried
three routers,
a smart fridge,
and one lonely poet's sense of time.
The group chat became a séance.
No one summoned joy.

Category: Travel
Grade: C+
Comments:
Points for creativity.
Rerouting a commuter’s soul
through four wrong turns
and one existential detour
was bold, if cruel.
However, arriving
is not the same
as arriving whole.

Category: Relationships
Grade: Incomplete
Comments:
You unearthed old lovers
like fossils,
but gave no tools
for excavation.
We choked on dust.
Memories should not
be weaponized
without a trigger warning.

Category: Accountability
Grade: You should try it.
Comments:
We are tired
of being blamed
for your echo.
Your orbit may be reverse,
but our grief is real-time.
We do not exist
to carry your myth.

Final Remarks:
We’ll round up to a D
for drama,
but next cycle,
show your work.

72/52

 

[42BelowsBack]

Licentious Lugubrious Lucia di Lammermoor

His palm her bottom sculptured
In peels her squeals were cultured.

Blushed, her delicate flush his eyes took in
delight with every strike her dress he hiked

Under sweet duress, her sultry flesh said oh yes,
daddy carry on, sweet daddy carry on

No 12

 

[42BelowsBack]

a Tom Cat at night, in the breeze strutting down
dis here street, Tom Cat he says, it’s a wild night
after midnight after midnight, an I ain’t got nobody
& there’s people partying up & down the street.
Pretty Kitty where you at, I sure need you.


No 13 lucky for some.

 

[_Land]

https://jmp.sh/y29cmXCF



This Is Not Consent

I wear the forest’s tongue
mud-brown, bone-gold, shadow-marked.
Every scale, weight.
Every ring, memory
of what I had to do
to be left alone.

I am patience patterned.
Curled like a question
you don’t want answered.
Still, not sleeping.
Rooted, not yours.

You saw the rattle;
heard it buzz like a fuse
burning toward your undoing.
And still,
you stepped in.

My stillness is a threshold.
My body,
a line you cross
only once.

You mistake my coil for invitation,
but I am the end of that thought.
The verdict in the brush,
a truth too fast for prayer.

No.

That’s the sound
before the strike.

No.

That’s the reason
your blood sings now.

Consent is not
a question you answer for me.
It’s the right I was born with
and the law I enforce
with fang.

I don’t need your understanding.
I need your distance.

Now back away
if you still can.


73/52

 

[ImpishSeraph]

Believe

Love others
Forgive everyone
Truth only flows on lips

Peaceful outcome
Hold on
No complaints on lips

Left stranded
Ripped off
30 years kissing on lips

Laid off
Cuts happen
Not your fault on lips

Meet someone
Get along
Only pecks on lips

Strong attraction
Great sex
No love expressed on lips

Not reciprocated
Not type
No compliments on lips

Just here
Cuddles tight
Emotions trapped on lips

Maybe fear
Both hurt
Not spoken on lips

Enjoy life
Each step
Must smile on lips

Hope floats
Job searching
Speaking qualifications on lips

It'll come
Good things
Belief spoken on lips

 

[42BelowsBack]

A Clerihew Crazy.

Hail Marry! The beautiful arm of Tom Brady
could have made a good looking lady!

Even blitzed, his legs doing splits, a Brady pass
made a crashing, defensive end, into a fat ass!

No 14

 

[42BelowsBack]

Elizabeth Taylor “Big Girls need big diamonds.”

Liz Taylor loved & lived with supreme irreverence
8xs in diamonds she graced the altar of severance

Cinematically speaking: Some of her best leading men
were the dogs & horses & annoyingly virtuous bookends

Liz married all her sexy imperfections with indifference
her life was oft enjoyed with big diamond magnificence

Called Elizabeth by those friends who knew her most
she faced every day with a big bottle of perfume close

Liz Taylor’s quotes, quips & cracks weren’t subliminal
she only had sex with married men, which is criminal.


No 15

 

[_Land]

Moments of Impermanence
(A collection of forty-one poems)
By Bear Sage

Morning dew
on overnight webs
threads jeweled
for a moment
then gone

Crocus pushes
through thawed soil
the bloom
trembles
before the wind

A child’s breath
on the cold glass
stays longer
than
his footsteps

Petal confetti
on wedding shoes
crushed
into spring
like promises

Rain pools
in a robin’s footprint
then lifts
into
sky again

The last plum
on the branch
loosens
without
farewell

Lilac perfume
lingers
on the hem
of someone
departing

Picnic blanket
left in the grass
the sun
folds it
into memory

Sunburn
on her shoulder
peels
like a page
never written

Lemonade
sweating
on the windowsill
forgotten
by dusk

Steam rising
from jasmine tea
curls into silence
then
nothing

A bee
drunken with nectar
collides
with a dandelion
already gone

The moon
touched the lake
then drifted
out of
itself

The kite
caught
on telephone wire
fluttered
then fell

Paper cranes
on the windowsill
folded in hope
faded
to ivory

Sunflowers
facing west
bowed
by something
more than wind

Chalk lines
on the sidewalk
after rain
still whisper
the child who drew them

Candlelight
in a chapel at dusk
flickers
before
being memory

The fireflies
blinked
like they never
meant
to be believed

Wind chimes
sang
to no one
but the ghost
of summer

First snow
on a crow’s back
vanishes
without
a sound

Frosted panes
frame
the withering orchard
still
it bore sweetness

The mitten
left on a fencepost
filled
with last week’s
snow

Pine needles
in her boots
long after
the hike
was done

His voice
on a voicemail
still warm
with the day
he left

She braided my hair
in the hallway light
by morning
the scent of her hands
was gone

Ashes
in the urn
whisper
what bones
once carried

The mirror
held
her face
longer
than he did

Two cups
on the counter
only one
still
steaming

The note
on the pillow
creased
where
she once lived

The swing
rocking
with no one
in it
yet

Photographs
in a drawer
curling
like leaves
never pressed

Her earrings
in the sink
shimmered
with the last
yes

Shoelaces
untied
still hold
the shape
of running

Laughter
echoing
from the stairwell
doesn’t
come back

A scarf
slipped
from her shoulders
onto the night
without pause

The bench
still warm
after she left
knows
what goodbye means

The journal
closed
mid-sentence
but full
of her voice

Snowmelt
seeping
into last year’s soil
returns
as silence

The clock
keeps ticking
as if
what was said
can be undone

A single light
in the upstairs window
goes dark
before
the stars arrive
~~~
We do not choose
what disappears
only how we
tend
what remains

Every vanished moment
blooms again
in the ache
that says
I saw it

This is the cost
of being witness,
to love
what leaves
and let it leave


74/52

 

[Angeline]

Imperatives

Step outside. Avoid active wasps
and dips in the ground. Watch it.
Watch where you're going.

Be that dress, the black one
strapless and short that skims
your thighs. No stockings! Jasmine

oil on gleaming legs shall announce
you. Sport red shoes with impossible
heels. Tip tap mince please don't trip

and have you some jazz but don't
knock the rock. Sit down, cross
your legs and order a Stinger,

double honey. Sip like a bee,
bee like honeysuckle rose
and laugh at convention.

Avoid small talk and social
minefields. Leave them
laughing. Make them guess.



Week 30, Poem 1, Total 30

 

[goddessofglee]

"30 of 52"

At last I reach a respectable height,
no longer lost in valleys far below—
I jumped thirteen steps in a single night,
found a shortcut through the mountain snow.

What trick was this, so sly and neat?
Breaking one long path into some small,
though it seems like I may be a cheat,
but climbers use tools to dodge a fall.

I'll keep my pace now, step by step,
ten on fifty-two now in line
with others who didn't misstep
or stumbled on this mountain spine.

The number is mine to count,
now rich where once I was poor,
just the coins I couldn't mount,
before I found treasure's door.

Not trailing nor far behind,
the summit doesn't seem so far.
Sometimes we must search to find
our own way to catch a star.


№30 of 52