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

[SpermFactory]

The moobs are swinging

The start of one thousand five
hundred poems, I empty lint
from my pockets. I say to myself

you’re standing…
….at the base of a mountain,
surrounded by intimidating man
tits…

To get over the mountain…
you’re going to have to seriously review
…which tit you’re going to slap at first?

Slapping a tit, I feel the perfection
in the movement…this tit, a he tit,
deserved it.


[42]

 

[Tzara]

Koi Pond

In the dark water
under the cedars, bright fish
circle aimlessly.
Is my world as small as theirs,
as bounded by ignorance?

Week 51 : Poem 2 : Total 81

 

[SmilingLez]

Dating Apps

Swiping left and right,
Fleeting faces, empty lust,
Hearts missing in action.
Chasing only skin and hype,
Depth crushed under shallow hits,
Souls reduced to likes.
Bodies glow, but vibe is gone,
It's all just a game -
Still alone in a crowded room.

 

[Wonderer67]

das capital

THERE IS QUALITY IN QUANTITY
OR SOMETHIN LIKE THAT

I BELIEVE SOME COMMIE SAID THAT SHIT
ONCE
OR TWICE

MARX OR LENNON?
CHICO OF COURSE

ILL GET TO 52
EVEN IF I GOTTA WRITE A
POEM A DAY
TO MEET MY QUOTA,
COMRADE

42/52

PS. I ain’t really a commie, but I had a dream about this poem. In the dream I mentions of Marx (Chico of course)

 

[Tzara]

night

the house is quiet
but for the spatter of rain
against the windows

so lonely without the sound
of her soft breathing, asleep
​

Week 51 : Poem 3 : Total 82

 

[Tzara]

christmas party

why do I always stand by myself

in a corner, out of the light?
​

Week 51 : Poem 4 : Total 83

 

[Angeline]

Christmas Parties Past

Rhett drank boxed wine from a secretary's shoe. I can't recall which one.

Big party at the Chancellor's mansion. I get a carved tree that breaks.

The Chancellor tells me jokes in Yiddish. I smile and sidle away.


Week 51, Poem 2, Total 66

 

[Quarky]

The morning's burnt. Okay, I admit
to growling when the toaster gleamed
right in my damned eye. Can I please
get my stupid kitchen back?

Fucking Siri conspires with Alexa. Between
them, they play house, changing all my
settings. My passwords. My doorbell
has joined the strike, and isn't speaking
to the ring cam on account of
it's a scab.

Even the toaster oven, one-week
new, is in on it. Burnt toast
hangs from a noose of smoke.
I choke out

"Truce Alexa! Siri, I surrender."
For tea and edible toast
I'll submit. Even admit,
I've become my smart
kitchen's bitch.



(Getting a head start on 2026 if that is allowed).

.