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

[SmilingLez]

New Job Jitters


First day.
Nerves singing.
Train quiet.
Office empty.
Skirt adjusted.
Sumatra blend.
Measured carefully.
Machine hums.
Coffee dark.
Bag unzipped.
Notebook. Pen.
Silence waits.
I exhale.

 

[Tzara]

Purpose

under this gray sky
a lone hummingbird seeks out
the few remaining flowers

so why do you ask
me watching you drink coffee
what I am doing today?

Week 50 : Poem 1 : Total 76

 

[Angeline]

Be-In

Green meadow filled with music, incense wafting over the crowd.
Freedom feels like voices shared or hands that touch without a care.
Remember Woodstock, how you felt when songs soared through summer air?


Week 50, Poem 1, Total 63

 

[amitheotherone]

Trembling thoughts

Anxiety too wakes, from a locked tomb,
stretching forth, rising ticking boom.
Time slows, heartbeat quickens pace,
mind focused left, lie after truth chase.
Emptiness blooms, shadow eclipse glare,
boiling mind steeps, alone no one cares.
Sanity shakes awake, day ends bends,
consciousness slips, dream grips blends.

 

[Wonderer67]

Fuck The Winter

My well went dry
Scratching out ideas
In the dirt
Or frozen ground

Concepts and ideas
But just not getting em down
On “paper”

Describing the ice crystals
On my windshield
When I’m late for work
Some beautiful design
And narrowly missed wrecks

The sound of an ice scraper
On a frosty December morning
Steam coming from my nostrils
Cusses cumming from my mouth

Or finishing poems from my last road trip
Or drinking with The Effigies
Or hacking at firewood-
Making small logs outta big logs
Or committing suicide 538 times this fall
After 538 nites of bad sleep

I won’t get to 52
Quality over quantity
I always swear

It’s gotta be right

38/52

 

[amitheotherone]

Cat bird seat

Easy way out
or the cat got your tongue?
Rain filled days
or your heart been wrung?
Words never said
or those aces never played?
Sins used to win
soul sold for them debts payed?
Full moon glow
or coyotes laughs and cry’s?
Red sunrise burns
or winds to wings to soar and try?

 

[SmilingLez]

A short Trochee

Touching fingers, burning skin
Pulling closer, breathe me in
Lips are moving, tasting fire
Bodies tangled, raw desire

 

[Tzara]

Separation

the bamboo grows lush
and thick between our houses
even the birds won't perch there

yet I heard you sing
with the finches last April
and still hear you this winter

Week 50 : Poem 2 : Total 77

 

[Tzara]

Storm

so much wind today
to scatter leaves and garbage
or even old memories

perhaps this is age
jumbling what I remember
perhaps only old wishes

Week 50 : Poem 3 : Total 78

 

[SpermFactory]

Creepy
Grandpa
Tour

Isn’t she great,
my little machine gun
those lips don’t stop,
pop, pop, pop,
her prices coming down
she’s getting lower
don’t you know
she’s coming down
it’s called affordability


(41)

 

[Wonderer67]

I’m Always a Morning Person

But even my drive to work
Was suicidal

There seems
To be no way out

Sidelined by a wierd
But not bad dream

I have Christmas spirit, actually
I tell myself that
It’s not lie

But I’ve no will to work
Or live
Layoffs coming
I can feel it

Staring up in a hole

i drove down suicide road
And it felt ok

39/52

 

[Wonderer67]

What a Difference a Day Makes

Somehow I had optimism
Tuesday morning

Taking pics on my way to work
The frozen landscape smoothing
Everything out

The sun making a tower
To heaven

I was back in love with nature
And the world
Amazed by
Visual
Dee-lites

40/52

https://imgur.com/a/U06k1iF

https://imgur.com/a/krvUfhO

https://imgur.com/a/J1S53c8

 

[_Land]

The Graveyard
By Bear Sage
°
I have died
a thousand small deaths
swallowed my laughter
in serious rooms,
dimmed my light
around insecure suns,
pretended not to know the answer,
made myself smaller,
quieter,
less.
°
There's a cemetery in my chest
where I've buried every version
who was too much,
each with a headstone reading:
"Here lies the girl who—"
°
But lately,
I've been feeling resurrection
in my bones.
°
What if I dug them all up?
What if I became
an army of every self
I was told to kill?
°
Imagine that ghost story.

 

[Angeline]

Motherhood, Macbeth and Me

We're reading Shakespeare
together, sharing ideas:
witches or three fates,
dark ambition. This mayhem
shared with her is glorious.



Week 50, Poem 2, Total 64

 

[Tzara]

Explanation

I am too distant—
caresses do not carry
over mountains, so I write

another poem
as if words were fingertips
spoken along your body

Week 50 : Poem 4 : Total 79

 

[42BelowsBack]

A found poem

A drum a drum Macbeth doth
come! In thunder, lightening, or
in rain’ where flag unseamed the
navel’s rage, with double cracks
the bark reeking wounds, point
against point, arm against arm,
the victory fell on us. I another
se’nnights shall be tempest-tost
thrice to thine and thrice to mine
and thrice again shall make up
nine times nine, all hail Macbeth
thou shalt be king hereafter if
you can look into the seeds of
time and say which shall grow
and which will not, speak as wind
into the air, to me you who nether
beg nor fear, say from whence you
owe this intelligence. Death, thick
as hail pour’ them down beside
you’.




NQ 51 Centos poem. Lines found in Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Acts 1 through 5.

 

[Tzara]

Absence

Sunlight streams over
the low, carefully made bed.
When did she last sleep in it?

A chair and blanket
now cradles her in the night
for her heart remains empty.

Week 51 : Poem 1 : Total 80

 

[42BelowsBack]

European Xmas and the slippery House lawn.

Cinched at the waist, Effortlessly the trees chic in
an all white ensemble. Frosted window. Narrowing
the view of the big pond. Swimming under starlight.
Icing on the fields. Across Europe there are people
& snow hanging off the icicles on Xmas power-lines.


52/52

 

[SmilingLez]

Anger suffocates us.
Rage festers, a gaping wound.
Kindness is beheaded.
Patience is gutted.
We worship fear as our god.
Difference is hunted, a bloody trophy.
Pain and greed become currency.
Cruelty rules every shadow.
We stop questioning the fall,
crowning ourselves despots of despair.

 

[Inkognito1]

Leaf it Be

Trees have bark, but they don’t bite,
Firm in their roots, they stretch for the light.
They branch out boldly, giving shade without shade,
Memory rings wide, their stories engraved.

From a nearby bough, an owl took the view in.
“Cute,” the owl did hoot, with a wry, knowing grin.
“But owl have you know,” it chuckled, feathers fluffed,
“I’m the punniest of all, tree puns just aren’t enough.”

“Why, you’ve only scratched the surface,” the owl began to crow.
“My puns take flight like eagles, yours barely start to grow.
I’ve feathered out some clever lines, each one a brilliant soar,
You might try spreading wings of wit, but you’ll never top my lore.”

The wind carried whispers, soft murmurs of wordy sparring,
And down from the rolling hills came a fox ever daring.
“I’ve heard the rustle of rumors, a battle of wits begun,
Yet when it comes to wordplay, I’m the cleverest one.”

“My cunning’s unmatched, I’m as sly as they come,
Outfoxing birds and branches? For me, that’s just fun.
You hoot and holler, you crack wise and you croak,
But you’re barking up the wrong tree, I’ll leave you both broke.”

The owl blinked once, then gave a low chuckle,
“Nice try, young trickster, but you won’t see me buckle.
I’ve weathered wild winters and riddles in the rain,
Your bushy-tailed boasts won’t bring me any pain.”

But the fox only grinned, with a glint in his eye,
“Keep flapping, birdbrain, your jokes barely fly.”
But then with a rustle came a voice in the trees,
A squirrel emerged, carrying acorns with ease.

“You’re all nuts,” he said. “Trading words with no sense.
Your wit without wisdom is just poetic pretense.
A pun’s not a prize if it lacks a good root,
Just fake fancy foliage with low-hanging fruit.”

It was then the old oak let out a long weary sigh,
“The forest grows strongest when all egos die,
And the best kind of humor, when all’s said and done,
Is laughing together, not proving you’ve won.”

Fox gave a nod. “You know, that’s tree-mendous advice.”
“Acorn-y as it sounds,” squirrel added. “I think it’s quite nice.”
“Well let me just say,” hooted owl, “you’ve left me impressed,
This oak’s never stumped when it comes to what’s best!”

And so the great oak, despite all it had said,
Found itself groaning at punchlines instead.
It seems some lessons take root, some drift out of view,
But you can’t stop a punster, they’ll always leaf through.​

 

[SapioSexual9]

My Husband’s Morality.

An article of clothing. I listen to the choices in my head.
There is breathing. Another article of clothing, there are
my choices lined alongside a motel bed.

Another article of clothing soon undone, there will be none,
other than another article of clothing, unzippered, in a room
full of men. My husband’s morality is always watching.


41/52

 

[_Land]

TIDES OF YOUR RETURN
by Bear Sage

When that morning rises again
I will wait in the tender cold above the treeline
light catching on my collarbone
stars sinking slow into my open hands
their last warmth the first memory of you
°
When that morning rises again
I will step into the hush where the holler exhales
my pulse already reaching for yours
the fading constellations sliding across my chest
each one a mark you once pressed into my ribs
when we moved without fear of being seen
°
When that morning rises again
bring your hands to this heart lifting toward you
feel how it opens without asking
how it leans into the heat of your breath
how it readies itself
because it knows your touch by truth alone
°
when the sky softens against your skin
when the stars loosen their hold on the dark
and your mouth finds mine
as morning pulls us into one rising
Together

 

[Angeline]

Fairytale

I'm trying to remember a time when I liked you.
It must have been before we knew each other

when you were more possibility than person
so that the stories made you seem charming

and eccentric, nonthreatening your wild hair
the color of gold and strawberries, thick lush

tangles your green eyes infatuated I wanted you
in my bed, calculated to have you which turned

out to be easy and I was briefly bewitched, ruined
for anything but thoughts of us my expectations

fragile as an eggshell easily broken because you
were equally fragile more child than man maybe

now it's different maybe someone else loves you
but when this poem is done I'll forget you again.


Week 51, Poem 1, Total 65

 

[amitheotherone]

Rugged path

This path I have been on,
alone I still feel like the outcast.

Still grasping and needing,
judged inspected rejected by three.

Show and tell until I bleed,
Ignored spoon fed then teased.

Ungodly yet I still plead and pray,
judged reflection the games and prey.

 

[Wonderer67]

Greetings From Asbury Park

4:19 am: looking south
Overlooking the Stone Pony
The sky not black
But driftwood gray
From lights on ocean ave
The boardwalk
And heavy snow

Listening to the snowplows grinding it out
Along Ocean and Kingsley
The scraping sound
Not unpleasant

This was once the hulking
And unfinished steel and concrete building
That defined the Asbury park of the bad ol daze
I kind of miss it

By 6:30 the sky brightens just a touch
Tire tracks in the parking lot
Make a huge question mark
As we make love in the ocean hotel
Above

41/52

https://imgur.com/a/2u0UaUC

https://imgur.com/a/YgIvg7c