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

[amitheotherone]

Empty Reflection

I guess I lost my voice, ran out of ink
Said too much already, hope just sinks
Kindness not likeness, forgotten blink

Deflection not connection, trust not me
To be free, bob and weave you Ali?
Jeti switch glitch, eyes close still see

Fair depths went, bends bubbles bled
Thee hologram me, lacking shadow shed
Well echo screams, memories fade dead

 

[kreemi_pi]

outside cold rain falls
silence in the dining room
poison killed them all

 

[42BelowsBack]

Solomon Kane, the quintessential gentleman,
dressed in a black slouch hat, riding boots &
nothing else. Once rode his horse into his wife’s
dining room. After a bit of a steeple chase, he
wished he’d eaten take out.

Tall, pale, his erudite wife imbued with gloomy
sombre puritan prowess, was ever true to her
marriage vows. In performing her duties there
never was a quiver in her lips, neither either
either nor neither of them regretted anything.

Not even killing that Thanksgiving Turkey.


NQ 47 of 52 poems.

 

[Tzara]

Winter Trees

now barren of leaves
which, fallen, litter the ground
remind me of how
our love was once vibrant, green,
and growing daily.
But that was all long ago.
Now I look out on
a landscape empty of life,
yet still beautiful
even if no other Springs,
their renewal, their new growth.

Week 48 : Poem 2 : Total 71

 

[Tzara]

I listen to her talk,
how cleverly it's phrased.
She's very well behaved
and has a sexy walk.
I listen to her talk—

it leaves me damn half-crazed,
though she remains unfazed.
I'm speechless and in shock.
I listen to her talk

and feel a little dazed,
my eyes unfocused, glazed.
All I can do is gawk
and listen to her talk.

Week 48 : Poem 3 : Total 72


Just a first exercise playing with the Dansa, an Occitan or Provençal form.

 

[Angeline]

Christmas Past
(for Terry)

Remember when you brought our tree
in, all the doorway filled with green?
It's perfect didn't I agree,
the best one I had ever seen?
And late at night I'd watch the lights,
the ornaments, the silver wren,
the snowman, all the magic sights
the fire bright, cocoa, cayenne.
In childhood I'd never known
that all this could belong to me,
that I could keep it in my home,
that sharing our love was the key.
On cold days when I need a lift
I think of you, my Christmas gift.



Week 48, Poem 2, Total 60

 

[Tzara]

National Tie Month

Take a regimental stripe
or soft silk foulard,
navy with light blue accents.

You'll need four. Coördinated
by length, color, width.
Preferably, easy to knot.

Do her wrists first,
A four-in-hand is quick
to knot, a classic choice,

and elegantly slim
along the ulna and radius.
Her ankles will need a stronger bond—

a half or full windsor, thick
and sturdy, can secure
even her most vigorous twists.

The most discerning gentlemen
will add one last stylish touch.
A fifth tie, cut a bit wide but dressy,

perhaps textured, perhaps paisley,
passed gently over her frantic eyes
so that her only sense is touch.

Week 48 : Poem 4 : Total 73

 

[SmilingLez]

Shadows deepen, smiles wide,
Wicked games, no cost to play.
Life thrives on chaos.
Goodness gasps, choked in the dust,
Rewards bloom for those who lie.

 

[_Land]

Permanent Collection
By Bear Sage

We are all walking museums
of private catastrophe.

The child's handprint still on the wall
where he pushed away from the cancer.
Three years. No one has painted over it.

Your mouth full of apologies
you practiced choking on.
Tongue a dead slug behind the smile.

The woman who scrubs her thighs raw
in the shower. Water never hot enough
to boil out what he left inside her.

The man who checks the lock seven times before bed
because his brother's brains
dried on a different door.

Blood under your fingernails
from clawing out of your own throat.

Medication bottles lined up
like headstones. The ones that worked.
The ones that made you fuck strangers
in parking lots to feel anything at all.

Your child's shoe—just one—
in the river. They never found the other.
You keep it in your car.
You smell it when you forget.

We are meat galleries, bone archives.
Our catastrophes ferment in our organs,
pickling our kidneys in what we can't say,
corroding our hearts with every
swallowed scream.

The exhibits leak.
They seep through our pores at 3 AM.
They drip from our mouths
when we say we're fine.

 

[Tzara]

National Popcorn String Day
December 13

The kernels, unflavored for stringing,
Are laced onto thread for their slinging
Over limbs of a tree—
It's all quite Christmassy,
Though chaotic with all the string flinging.

Week 49 : Poem 1 : Total 74

 

[Angeline]

Perspective

We nearly were lost
on the way to the city,
turned off by a sign
heading to New England States.
I'd think about it later,
four women waiting,
four fantasies about you,
three of which would die
there at JFK Airport
when she leapt into your arms.
Forty years later
I spotted a photograph
of the two of you
smiling and still so in love.
i don't hold any rancor:
time gave me the gift
of perspective. I'm alive
and I wasn't lost
after all. Another road
led me to a better place.


Week 49, Poem 1, Total 61

 

[42BelowsBack]

Caterwauling (18+]

Teen Tomcats, shirtless, furious rippling chrome —They’re all just wheel standing,
gawking, romantic motorcyclists —looking at all the hot moms, their hot bodies
the color of hot sand —Their motorcycle kick stands unleashed under streetlights
At nights all the fathers’ daughters are lost to the distant sounds of their laughter.
(18+) Teens trying to blind each other in the testosterone of their open mouths.


NQ48

 

[42BelowsBack]

In Your Mouth

My body parts were spoken. In fingertips cascading silks
the sheets under my body, all were spoken in your mouth,
in celestial guidance, sightings were spoken, rocking
transactional opening, the spirit was spoken physical,
emotional, in your mouth, all were spoken.



NQ49

 

[_Land]

The Mathematics of Middle Age
By Bear Sage

Fifty-two years,
a deck of cards complete,
each suit a season I have shuffled through

hearts worn on sleeves,
diamonds in the street,
clubs wielded young,
spades turning earth anew.

The jokers played,
the aces spent and saved,
the kings dethroned,
the queens reclaimed their ground,

while time, that patient dealer,
has engraved
its wisdom in the lines
where youth was found.

I stand now at the table,
chips stacked high
with memory’s currency,
experience’s gold,

and know the game’s not measured
by the skywe’ll reach,
but by the hands we’ve dared to hold.

Fifty-two—the number sounds like falling,
like autumn’s mathematics,
winter’s sum, yet spring still
whispers in my body, calling:

The best cards yet may be the ones to come.

 

[Remec]

The snow falls upon the trees,
I am beset by winter's chill;
Would the cold bring me to my knees?
The snow falls upon the trees
and I can't help but think it frees
more than it hinders, but still,
the snow falls upon the trees,
I am beset by winter's chill.

Week ? Poem 1 Total 7

 

[Remec]

There was no Limbo, I was simply damned,
cursed with in-laws and lost cousins all season
long, How have they come? And why have they all

seemed fit to drop in on me and mine? It's all
craziness and then some, such a damned
time of it that I almost forget the season

Almost, that is, but enough eggnog brings the season
in to clearer focus, enough that I can put it all
aside and think of changed Scrooge, not Marley, the damned;

"Bah humbug", be damned; 'Tis the season, after all.

Week ? Poem 2 Total 8

 

[Angeline]

Log Basin

When the night is long
I snuggle in my warm bed.
I dream of how Sun
wakes the frozen Delaware.
I dream of skating
along the icy basin
where once logs floated
downriver to the city.
Now it's modern times.
The river carries no logs,
the towpath's remnants
are overgrown in patches.
Does no one come here
on wintry December days?
There was an ice hut
and mugs of hot chocolate
to warm the skaters.
Our noses twitched from the steam
Daddy called us his rabbits.





Week 49, Poem 2, Total 62

 

[SapioSexual9]

Why I hate Thanksgiving.

Daddy will ignore anything that rhymes with maps
including maps. He will stare by the well, meaning,

mountains, by the high hanging stars. We will find
a cheap motel along some forgotten highway,

It will be midnight. There will be a clock ticking.
Getting out of the car will be clown car chaotic.

Eggs and smokey bacon will fry in the morning.
Daddy will roll his t-shirt sleeves, drink a coffee,

light his smoke with Momma’s cigarette. We will
leave quickly. Daddy will reverse one handed, his

arm outside the car window. I will forget my teddy
bear. The big one with Daddies stash hidden in it.

We will go back and find it. There will be a siren.
Momma will stay Daddies arm and say, of all the

conflicts, this Thanksgiving doesn’t need a life or
death situation. Brother will cry about everything.

 

[Tzara]

Polaroid

She wouldn't remember this,
found stuck between the pages
of a novel I never finished.

But finding it I remember
the warmth of her body,
her eagerness in bed.

What I miss most, though,
is her smile, her downcast eyes,
as if she didn't want to see

how much I wanted her,
which could be why she left
and why I never read this book.

Week 49 : Poem 2 : Total 75

 

[kreemi_pi]

in the winter night
frozen breaths in frosty air
my lips brushing yours

 

[42BelowsBack]

The picture.

Examining the picture / two people /
fucking / black / white / charcoal / cross
hatched / scratches layering his back
his chest his ass.

Caught staring back her scorched thighs
stretched white canvas skin, I see only
/ I realize / she is still fucking him / close /
post divorce.



NQ50

 

[Remec]

Promise Fib​

I
would
never
(not ever)
speak badly of you,
no matter how things go with us,
unsav'ry mem'ries
are ignored
replaced
by
bliss.

Week 49 Poem 3 Total 8​

 

[amitheotherone]

Drawing of life

Sharing words, unrehearsed and free
Those dark things, life love the sea
Secrets slip out, trust grows fear flees
Lines appear flow, light shadows glow
Your spirit escapes, hearts truth flows
Connections made, friendship too grows
Give and take, lost and found light
Dark to light, sunset to sunrise flight
Eyes lips smile, heart souls too shine brite

 

[SmilingLez]

Respect steadies me.
Trust opens me.
Worship rises when you look at me.
We choose each other.
No hiding.
No doubt.
Your honesty disarms.
My devotion answers.
I give freely.
With you, surrender feels sacred.

 

[Angeline]

Awakening

I won a contest
in an afterschool program.
I can't remember
what for or why I was there
but I loved the prize,
a color-by-number set
with bright pots of paint,
two brushes and canvases.
I was very proud,

but when I showed my daddy
he was furious!
The smiling man in long robes
and the fancy cross
made my daddy so angry
that he took that set
and threw it in the garbage.
That's not who we are!

This was my gentle father
who taught me to dance
the Lindy Hop and read me
stories at bedtime,
stories of Harry the Horse
and Nathan Detroit.
The man with the cross looked kind.
He seemed gentle too,
but if that's not who we are,
someone tell me who I am.

Week 49, Poem 3, Total 62