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

[Ash999]

It was a funny but strange feelin'
To witness 3 Strongmen in Tianjin
This was a result of Tariff swing
Goodies were presented to Beijing
For Orange leader:
What good did it bring??!
'tis too early to speculate
What will be each man's Fate....
It's early days yet : not too late....
But whole Nations R held to Ransom
As Leaders their enemies berate
Which Leader will be first to Blink ??!
Who shall Win with cheeky Wink!!?
But if Tariffs bring Quiet to IndoChina Border:
Peace Nobel to Donald may yet be in Order!!!

 

[goddessofglee]

"A sweet juicy dream!"

She lies before him,
ripe, glistening, unguarded.
naked right before his eyes.
Weight presses into his palms,
desire of thoughts of softness
begging to be broken.

He leans forward—
sluuuurp!—
flesh gives way beneath his lips.
Juice bursts free,
running hot, sticky, wild.

Chomp, squish, schlup…
the air fills with wet sounds,
mouth working in rhythm,
lips smacking,
tongue dragging with a heavy slurp.

Sweetness streaks his chin,
slides slow along his neck,
pools in the hollow of his wrist.
He does not wipe.
eyes shine with delight

Smack… sluuurp… gulp.
Breath deepens,
each pull more urgent,
each sound heavier, rawer,
until silence breaks again—
another tearing chomp,
another spill,
another schluuup.

The mess grows,
sticky, shining, unashamed.
It is hunger,
it is surrender,
it is beauty found
in the ruin of taking,
in the undoing of giving.


№35 of 52

 

[Wonderer67]

Late August

August slides into
Not so far away September
School buses on the back roads on the way to work now
Yellow amongst the green, wet woods
Of August 25th

Used to be
When I was a kid
All the schools started on the Wednesday after Labor Day

Shorter days for sure
A bit cooler
But no less humid
A touch of yellow on the leaves, grasses and crops
To remind me that autumn is calling

Different flowers emerge now on roadsides
Queen Anne’s lace
And the wet dew
Dotting the fields
The smoke from Canadian wildfires again
The odd stalk of taller corn or sorghum
Sticking up out of the field of soy beans
A periscope looking out for its brothers or sisters

The 4-H fair now in my rearview
Took a few more blue ribbons this year:
Tallest sorghum
Best sunflower ready for harvest
Best beets

Zinnias and sunflowers stand guard at our farm stand
Waiting for their turn
To be sold
Or to wither and die

33/52

 

[Ash999]

Late August

August slides into
Not so far away September
School buses on the back roads on the way to work now
Yellow amongst the green, wet woods
Of August 25th

Used to be
When I was a kid
All the schools started on the Wednesday after Labor Day

Shorter days for sure
A bit cooler
But no less humid
A touch of yellow on the leaves, grasses and crops
To remind me that autumn is calling

Different flowers emerge now on roadsides
Queen Anne’s lace
And the wet dew
Dotting the fields
The smoke from Canadian wildfires again
The odd stalk of taller corn or sorghum
Sticking up out of the field of soy beans
A periscope looking out for its brothers or sisters

The 4-H fair now in my rearview
Took a few more blue ribbons this year:
Tallest sorghum
Best sunflower ready for harvest
Best beets

Zinnias and sunflowers stand guard at our farm stand
Waiting for their turn
To be sold
Or to wither and die

33/52

" School buses on the back roads on the way to work now...
Yellow amongst the green, wet, woods
of August 25th."
Sooo much hath changed....
Now dark hubris in guise of shooters
Stalk schools.....
Closed doors , hiding kids, desks as protection...
Armed teachers.......oh Jeez
....
Facebook posts.
Rambling minds, weeping parents.....
Lockdown in schools....
Assault rifles.....
NRA vote bank / lobby
Easy access to guns.....
Disturbed minds
Bullied victims, dead Perps.....
Kids in body bags ....
Constant, nagging fears
Timid Congress
Rigid Presidents.....
Gun as Culture....
Glorification of Wild West...
Ends up as tragedy....
Endless night:
Will it ever end....
Columbine, Sandy Hook.......RIP

 

[Xenofidelity78]

We live together

And yet all alone

Stuck in our thoughts

And on our phones



We're gathered in Media

And hunted like hare

Made to feel surrounded

When there's nobody there



It is a dead space we worship

And a chain we put on ourselves

And the worst part about it

Is that we're forgetting everything else



So we sit in virtual pens like animals

And Shuffle our fingers to White Noise

While the world goes on without us

And we shout from boxes about illusion of choice

 

[Ash999]

The Drums of Mumbai
≈===================≈
Ash999
The Drums of Mumbai hv started their Beat!!?
In relentless Rain, Hailstones and Sleet.....
It's Visarjan Day
When Ganapati goeth Away....
Our hearts R sad
We R feeling baad
But the DJs will Rock....
The streets will witness Shock
As Disco takes over whole Avenues
Lorries will form looong Queues....
Leading to Wells, Ponds, Creek....Sea shore
Our Happiness today go out the Door....
But Crowds will Revel
The streets will Rebel
We will set up a heartfelt Cry
GANAPATI , come again : it's Not Goodbye!!!?
Phudchya Varshi Lahukar ya!!!
Come back again Next Year , my Dear!!!

 

[Angeline]

Culinary Exploration

It's my favorite song
when I hear it, a new flavor
I'm unsure of at first. It is
and isn't familiar, different

on the tongue, bitter perhaps
with hints of sweetness,
then a vinegary spice, Frank's
Red Hot Sauce, awakens me,
an amuse bouche

and I'm hungry for more
because it's delicious,
satisfying and meaningful,
a part of my world, a part
of me, gumbo that belongs
in me.


Week 36, Poem 1, Total 40

 

[_Land]

The Not-So-Gentle Art of Refinement

Furnace roar, the ore screams loud,
stone cracked open, no mercy allowed.
Blood of the mountain, dragged to flame,
what is impure will not remain.

Hammer falls, the iron weeps,
every strike breaks what it keeps.
Slag to the side, the heart revealed,
steel remembers what pain concealed.

Gold is never born from ease,
it claws through rock, it cuts, it bleeds.
Molten rivers burn the lies,
truth is hardened where fire tries.

Mind in the crucible, soul in the pyre,
heart on the anvil, fed to the fire.
What was brittle, now must bend,
or shatter clean with nothing to mend.

Chant of sparks, the blacksmith’s hymn,
beat of flesh, beat of limb.
Sweat is salt, and salt is cure,
each blow demands that we endure.

Plateless shine from pressure deep,
platinum forged where darkness sleeps.
Buried long, then torn awake,
worth is proven by what will break.

Impurity screams as it is torn,
refiners never ask to be born.
We choose the flame, we choose the scar,
tempered into what we are.

Strike again, let thunder sing,
fire crowns the suffering.
What survives the brutal rite,
stands unyielding, carved in light.

 

[42BelowsBack]

My Dad is as dated as a
broken metaphor,

He said, “In latter life there are
two things a man’s got to look

forwards to: we age a waterfall
looks like our piston, it needs a

bit of motion, hauling on the old
crank shaft -to get a drip of—”

—“Dad” I said, “yar Mad!”

But he didn't care sitting there
in his old rocking chair.



NQ 30 (not inspired by jazz).

 

[Angeline]

Sisters

It was your birthday
yesterday I couldn't admit
I cried or gave a hint in any way
it was your birthday
because there's nothing left to say
except it barely hurts a bit
It was your birthday
yesterday I couldn't admit




Week 37, Poem 1, Total 41

 

[SmilingLez]

Coffee;
Teases,
Seduces,
Ignites,
Awakens.

 

[butters]

eclipsed

i sent the moon to you today
it sped serene, true
blue arc brushing our void
a trail of tears were shed to glitter
on night's dreaming ocean's breast

i sent my moon to you, today
but when you lifted up your face
you'd no eyes left to see—
you were already blinded
by her cruel, callous, sun

 

[Wonderer67]

In Anticipation

Of the 4H Fair
Carefully pulling up beets
Finding three that were
As perfect and smooth and uniform as possible
No blemishes
Giving them a haircut
Trimming their leaves
Gently scrubbing them with a sponge
Taking off just a tad of their root tail
Prepping them for show

Same for cukes, tomatoes
Largest ornamental gourd
Best pumpkin
Lovingly scrubbing and cutting

Five wild fowers - just weeds really
Not too hard to find this time of year

Readying the largest sunflower head
Saying “I’m sorry” for decapitating it
The lopper straining and cracking
Cutting through the fleshy, fiberous stem

Killing it
As gently and as carefully
As possible

———

Enjoying The Process

I should have enjoyed bringing
My goods to the fair
I wish I’d appreciated the process more

Been more in the moment
Less harried
And manic
Not as rushed

Fat old and slow 4H ladies
Master gardeners…takin their time
Slow and methodical
I could not have tapped my foot more loudly
As if to say, “where is your fucking sense of urgency? I got stuff to do!”

Making small talk with milfy moms
Bringing in their flowers and punkins and peppers and eggs

Usually my favorite day of the year
The anticipation of
The 4H fair
Looking forward to
Ribbons

Horticultural glory

But this year
It felt like just another
Thing to do

———

Home Made Greek Salad

It rained on
The first day of the fair
A mist, but hard enough to keep us home

I made homemade hummus
Sliced fresh cucumber
Halved a bunch of cherry tomatoes and cut up some purple onion

Miss Conduct, my Domme
Fished a few olives out of a jar
To top the salad

And instead of going to the tractor pulls
We watched the Mets lose
As the rain overflowed the gutter
Splattering on the Belgian block
Below

34/52

https://imgur.com/a/di74qb8

 

[_Land]

Welcome to My Reality
By Bear Sage

Here, the air is raw nerve,
a tremor between what is
and what you think you see.
Every breath tastes like iron,
like the mouth of a wound
pretending to heal.

Truth is a carcass on the table,
still warm,
while perception arranges flowers
around the smell.
Both are honest,
both are liars,
and I am caught
in the marrow of their argument.

Walls pulse here,
not with blood,
but with unfinished sentences.
Each echo stabs the ear,
demanding: who decides
what’s real
the one who bleeds,
or the one who watches?

Step closer.
My reality is a blade
suspended above your throat,
swaying with every heartbeat,
waiting to choose
whether to cut
or to let you believe
you are safe.

 

[_Land]

Today is national suicide prevention Day

Today I want to remind you that silence is a killer.



Silence of those who are suffering

Silence of those who noticed but choose not to speak up.



Silence is not okay.



Choose to speak…. Let your voice bring life.





Cacophony of Silence

By Bear Sage

°

Silence is not empty.

It gnaws.

It rots like fruit left too long in the bowl,

skin softening,

flies already circling.

°

It is teeth clenching against the scream,

nails carving half-moons in the palm,

the taste of copper behind the tongue.

It is the heartbeat no one else hears

pounding against the inside of the ribs,

pleading for release.

°

Silence presses its hand

over the mouth of the suffering,

teaching them how to choke politely,

how to smile with a noose braided

from their own quiet.

°

Silence infects the witness too

eyes that look away,

ears that choose not to hear.

Each swallowed word

becomes a stone

heaved into the coffin

before it is lowered.

°

We pretend silence is gentle,

but it is jagged.

It slashes deeper than sound,

a death sentence

written in invisible ink.

°

Speak

even if your voice trembles,

even if the words arrive broken.

°

Reach

because silence kills,

but presence heals,

and no one deserves

to be buried by what we do not say.

 

[Angeline]

Morning Glory

How do you do Miss MaryLou
with your riotous curls
and long dark fingers
that sing the blues, bold
as your wide sweet smile,

making way all the while
in a man's world, secret
clubs of late night jams, cutting
contest dawns, Prez and Bean
honking up the Sun and you

right there with a taste
for jazz and keys that breeze
or linger at your command.
Miss MaryLou you stand
out though years roll on
I still see you.



Week 37, Poem 2, Total 42

 

[Tzara]

Unsuccessful Poems

At times a poem is a task
too onerous to rattle off
as if a sneeze or, rather, cough
when touched off like a molotov
could burn the page completely black—

say this one here. I sense a lack
of honesty, a mere array
of mundane words put on display,
quite meaningless to my dismay.
(I may have gotten well off-track.)

Ah, well. Some poems have no smack,
no charge, no life. There's nothing there
to grasp or gasp or see as prayer,
to be some fancy thing to wear.
Some hide emotions like a mask.

Week 37 : Poem 1 : Total 47

 

[Ash999]

Senseless killing
===============
Dear Charlie....
I don't know you
When you burst
Into my mind with....
The tragic news....
I also willy nilly,
Had to read ur' views...
U didn't like Indians
Especially in the Vale
Of Silicon ...Oh well...
I am very much an Indian....
But you also were precisely, prescient-ally
Gandhian....
Must love those whom U fear
Must forgive those whom U hate....
If we sit and talk with opponents
Violence decreases....
At least 2 Amerindians
Or America n- India ns
Have called U Bro:
2nd. Lady Usha Vance
and FBI boss Kash Patel-Oh!?
Your views on Women
I feel are medieval
[ " Taylor forget Singing , retire to Kitchen..
Cook meals ...produce kids..!?]
The most successful Singer
In the World ....
Horror!?
But Bullets R no solution
To disagreements...
U supported Gun Rights
Even said few collateral deaths R alright...
These theories wud have led to verbal fights...
But a senseless, targeted killing
Only leads to body bags
Not peace ...
World stands@Crossroads of Polarization...
In Gaza...
In Utah...
In Ukraine
Rest in Peace , Bro
Om 🕉 Shanti....

 

[Ash999]

translation...Bollywood love ballad 1972 circa
a Mystical NightFlower came to me ...
in my Dreams...and threw her arms
round my neck as a loving garland!!!
when i woke up my eyes were still
goggle eyed in sweet remembrance
eyes lined with dark kohl
like a dark Monsoon sky
eyelashes as black as Thunder...
like rainy dawn
call it my infatuation
laugh@me , if you will
i don't know
what has happened to me
perhaps U can tell me...
when your dainty foot kisses the floor
why doth joy reverbrate in my chest???!
since your lovely face has
blossomed in my life,
my life has turned Golden!!!
i meet new Beauties every day...
but after meeting them...
each time i meet you
you look lovelier than last time!!!
to scoop U up in my arms
hath been my desire
not once but multiple times...

 

[Tzara]

Reading Some Old Poems

her verse still leaves fingerprints,
as if she has caressed
my opened lips

but I can only sigh
in distressed contentment,
unable to touch her words back

Week 38 : Poem 1 : Total 48

 

[Lily1011]

Ashes of my drive

I used to wake with fire,
a pulse that carried me forward,
but now—
my soul feels like sand slipping through
a clenched fist.

Anger sits in my chest,
a restless animal pacing,
gnawing at the ribs
that try to cage it.

Frustration claws at me—
Why this stillness?
Why this silence inside?
I used to bloom,
but now I am the husk of a flower
that forgot sunlight.

I mourn a self I can barely touch,
a spirit that once sang,
a drive that once pulled me
like the tide to the moon.

Now I am drifting—
a body without compass,
a heart without spark.

And yet,
even in the ashes,
I feel the faintest ember—
a whisper that maybe,
just maybe,
I can breathe myself back to life.

 

[_Land]

So I wrote this a while back, but I just put it to music..... Would love to hear some feedback back

https://suno.com/s/Hskf1Fm5qSEUVJu4



“Snapped Thigh, Sax Slide”
(A Funky Free-Scat Poem)

Skidda-bap bam!
hips like hi-hats, thighs go wham!
Tongue be tappin’ on a conga line spine,
grindin’ that groove
like the beat owed time.

Click-clack crackle,
she struts in syncopation
heels spit fire,
rhythm’s reincarnation.
Jazz in her jawline,
moanin’ like a midnight muse,
scat-slick sugar tongue
whispers dirty blues.

Zuh-zuh-zow!
Bow-chicka-bow!
Lust licked the lip
of a bourbon vow
and the saxophone begged
for a second round.

Snare-popped heartbeat,
bassline thighs,
she moves like velvet
with a vengeance inside.
Shimmy that sorrow,
honeydip rage
body a stanza,
each breath a page.

Doo-wop twist
hips disobey laws of motion,
dripping with sweat
and sonic devotion.

Skat-dat-dip! Brrap-pow-pow!
Even her silence got rhythm now.

She don’t walk
she scatters.
She don’t moan
she matters.
And the night?
It bends to her beat
like sinners in satin
on salvation street.

 

[42BelowsBack]

The
Jagged
jigsaw
puzzle

Sleep. Doesn't come easy.
It comes quick. …………..
In an instant my eyes droop
……………I am blown off
the roof………In an alt world
greasy tin slide, ….grainy
images super imposed….

The meat…….. My body
blossoms into your body.
Your ribs exposed……..
-accusatory………Bone
fingers reaching from
inside my spine… your

……my chest flapping, a
fish… my mouth moves
out of its place… there is
no candy in two bodies
morphing un-controllably

The limbs of it, …of us,
…spread out. I will wake
sweaty and write I saw
you last night…… in my
dream I hear their lingo
then, a metallic click?

A thousand times more…l
…I wake thinking it
would have been me,
and when I sleep I keep
knowing that there is still
a
bit of you still missing
-out there somewhere.



NQ 31 Halloween came early.

 

[Angeline]

Autumn Leaves

In autumn the beautiful scent of decay
Is rising miasma to curl the leaves
And paint the trees in dying hues at play
In autumn the beautiful scent of decay
Accompanies this riotous display
As if life, not death, danced on the breeze
In autumn. The beautiful scent of decay
Is rising miasma to curl the leaves.




Week 38, Poem 1, Total 43

 

[Ash999]

Bengali folk song 1950-s' ...translation....:----
' i have named her mind,: Madhumati!!!
Her Eyes , I call....
Mirror....
I love her,
So much:
Why doth her Eyes Not Sparkle'n...
Speak to me??!