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

[SmallTownKink]

A young woman, 21 and free,
My daughter's friend, and a sight to see,
Her petite frame, a delicate form divine,
Inviting my gaze, and stirring a desire that's mine.

Her small breasts, a gentle swell, like a rose in bloom,
A promise of sweetness, that makes my heart feel like it's in the room,
Her narrow waist, a wasp's sting, that draws me in with a sigh,
A fragile, feminine form, that makes me want to touch and explore her sky.

Her long legs, a slender stride, that eats up the floor,
A confident gait, that shows she's a woman, and not a girl anymore,
Her round ass, a peachy delight, that bounces with each step,
A sensual treat, that makes my cock twitch and leap.

Her bright eyes, a sparkling fire, that dances with glee,
A siren's call, that beckons me, to come and set her free,
Her lips, a rosebud's promise, that invites me to take a kiss,
A temptation that's hard to resist, and a desire that I must confess.

Oh, young woman, with your tiny hands and feet,
You're a temptation, that I dare not speak,
A forbidden fruit, that's hanging from the tree,
A dirty desire, that's eating away at me.

But I must resist, the urges that I feel,
For you're my daughter's friend, and a relationship that's real,
I'll hide my lust, and pretend that it's not there,
Unless I find, those dirty thoughts we share.

 

[Tzara]

Untitled

I imagine her
alone in her bedchamber
hoping he will come

while I wait out in the rain
dreaming about her body
​

Week 11 : Poem 1 : Total 11

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

The Slippery Slope

His ice cream melts in my
hand. He is slippery, slipping
in between my wedding and
lite slippery fingers.

Week 10 : Poem 1 : Total 11

 

[Tzara]

Sedōka

here in her garden
watching for the lit candle
that is her invitation

​

preferring sorrow,​

I will sit still in darkness​

for true love is despairing​

​

Week 11 : Poem 2 : Total 12

 

[SpermFactory]

State of marriage,

Starting on day one, I tell Mel, we've really got to do anal
we really do, it will hurt for a little bit butt, everybody wants
this, they really do, it will make erections affordable again,
Starting on day one I will immediately put it up your bum.
It will be amazing, we will be bringing your birthrates down,
because you know woman get pregnant a lot, woman and
babies are bad for the marriage economy. It will be terrific.
Starting on day one it will be very very sad, it will be short
pain, you’ve never seen it before, orgasming won’t be like
sleepy Mo Riden, he wouldn't do anal, he liked to hump his
pillow, a lot of people didn’t know that, somebody did anal
a long long time ago, many many decades.



Week 11 : Poem 1 Total um, 11?

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

Falling asleep thinking of Bad Mr Silver Fox.

Butterfly wings nightly in the ruminating cavity
between my ears. Resplendent in pink ribbons
I called my head my bedroom back then. My legs
enthralled by thoughts of you, shirt off working on
your motocycle. I dreamed you were waiting for
my teen light to go green, and in my day dreams
the mystery of your hairy chest, broad back long
legs and oh so clever manly hands.

Week 11 : Poem 1 Total 12

 

[Wonderer67]

That Day

It was that day
That one very first day of warmth
When someone or
Something finally kicked old man winter
In the balls

The sun beating down on everyone’s head
Makin’ vitamin D
Warming our bodies and soul

I felt it in my cells
My mitochondria working on overtime

There was an energy
A bounce in everyone’s step

Windows open on cars and classic rock
Emanating from cars

People walking everywhere thru Frenchtown
Walking their dogs
Kids, Parents, Grandparents

Generations walking together
Happy to be outside

I was alive
And in love with everything

7/52

 

[Wonderer67]

Rosedale Road

Google maps took me on some roads I hadn’t been on
In fucking ages

A breakfast meeting
Offa Rosedale Road

Great March morning sun
Casting shadows in the woodland trees
A strobe affect

Cold, not quite spring yet
Somewhere someone has not quite broken the back of winter

Was this the Rosedale they talked about in Crossroads?
(I think that one’s in Mississippi)

I aint made no deal w the devil

At least not quite yet

8/52

 

[Wonderer67]

Somehow, On The Back Roads

…Of Hopewell township
Near my cousins old house
Hadn’t been on these roads in 40 years
Near Rosedale and Mt Rose

We came down here as kids
Searching out vinyl at the Princeton Record Exchange
Cow punks
Young skinheads rabble-rousing
In upper-crust ville

But goddamn, I wanted to live in one of them nice houses
I do not know what this means or says about myself
Forty years on

Back then I wanted something nice
Modern
Or maybe old
And nice

I just wanted nice

I knew I didn’t want what I had
I know what I was
And on what rung I belonged

Which was old and dirty and ugly
Dysfunctional
Very Califon

Maniacal parents

I wanted a steady hand
Stability
Control

So I made myself me

9/52

 

[Bn2f]

KEEP ME FROM HAVING TO TELL LIES


Deafening…
The quiet here in our bed alone.
Ever slight movements of my hair rubbing against the pillow
Reverberate through my head…
The crackling sounds of thunder foretelling the coming of another storm.

I could fake pretend sleep.
Though that ruse was attempted and failed just last week.
Who was that person anyway? The one to try and lie?
Laughs the Hollywood makeup artist in me
Adept at applying enough foundation over the bruise of an eye.

All the dishes are clean.
The carpet is vacuumed.
I need to be getting up to greet you with open arms at the door.
And maybe tonight the handle end of a wooden broomstick
Would cease its tapping by a sleepless neighbor occupying the space directly below.

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Going Away



Packing for a trip
A trip for one
What to take and what to leave
Circled wagons
Minimized existence
Cleaning our closets
Emptying the attic
Clearing those treasures
From the basement
Tossing those things
That we meant to fix
Knowing we never will
A life spent hoarding
People, things, and memories
They do not pack well
None of it
It all reduces
To carry on luggage
And TSA will keep the bag.

I know you hurt
You have hurt for years
I’ve had some pain
Bone pain
And it sucks out loud
I have no doubt
You’re at wit’s end
Over and done
Fed up with it all
Ready to go
Plans to move on
When Providence will have you
Circled wagons
Minimized existence
Cleaned out closets
And empty attics.

The world is too loud
The clutter too bright
When noise in the background
Moves into the foreground
I cannot understand
I get some components
I try to understand
I want to
But lacking experience
I cannot
I am not able
I don’t have what it takes
And that frustrates me
To exasperation
Circled wagons
Minimized existence
Cleaned out closets
And empty attics
Strongly, my ego dislikes
Being set on the curb

 

[Tzara]

Prunus cerasifera

a flowering plum
brightens my neighbor's front lawn
despite the black clouds above

and remind myself
I resemble the weather
but rain nourishes the tree
​

Week 12 : Poem 1 : Total 13

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

Nothing to see here 101:

The Kennedy centre God King removes his redactive underpants.


Week 12 : Poem 1 : Total 13

 

[Angeline]

Cynical But Honest Fibonacci

Some
day
we'll look
back and ask
Holy Hell what happened here?
We've propelled ourselves back to the Dark Ages,
which resulted from our own apathy and stupidity
masquerading as some great renaissance.
Not bloody likely!
We're fucked
but
good.



Week 12, Poem 1 , Total 11

 

[Tzara]

Zen Garden

freshly raked gravel
pools around these seven stones
an oak leaf floats on one crest

​

my old knees aching​

from sitting here quietly​

waiting for the coming rain​

​

Week 12 : Poem 2 : Total 14

 

[Wat_Tyler]

You got here


Brought other stuff
590 Caterpillar
18-speed 'Ranger
Noisy exhaust
Smell of diesel
In the bright sunshine
Geese in the smoking area
Which one is their brand?

 

[Angeline]

Pineola

Some write in metaphors,
I'm a crow and the sky my highway
a ribbon winding through clouds
and I'm diving for shiny things

when really I'm a person maybe
on a quest but always with a story
because life, even when it's a bird
or how a tree shadows the end

of the street where your lover
doesn't show and true the moon
can't weep, heaven knows, but maybe
it's shrouded and the rain cries

for you is still stories and we are
a collection of tales from forceps
to stone and some are embellished,
soaring through fantasy soft, gauzy

while others are vomited up, straight
Come home right away, he said
and I couldn't do a thing but sit stony
and rock unspeaking until bed

and oblivion which is a true story
tragic and old but real enough
to live in me a monolith an albatross
but mine alone to carry forever.



Week 13? Poem 1, Total 12

 

[LustyScribe]

Depression Expression
Time tirelessly ticks,
Dreams birthed,
Grow tall too quick,
Fall to earth;
Another wasted hope.

The rising sun,
To you, fair morn;
To the despairing one
Another day forlorn.
It's just that depression,
I'll try again to explain,
Leaves the impression
That the dark gnawing pain,
Will never, ever fade
No matter the verses,
No matter the songs played
The whole universe is
Determined to fail me
To piss on my dreams
To assault and assail me
That's how each day seems.

So if your cheery grin
And bright "Good morning!"
Don't seem to soak in
I give fair, gentle warning:
My day's still inky black.
And will be til I carry
This monkey on my back,
Onto Charon's dismal ferry.

Week 13(?!), poem 1, total...11?
*In Greek mythology, Charon ferries the dead to the underworld.

 

[LustyScribe]

Pain, Living, Loving
Damn!
The best kitchen knife,
The one I've honed this last bit
Bit my finger tip.
Gliding over the polish stone
Glass on oily glass
It slid, swerved,
Sliced, stung.

A crimson drop
Came quickly up;
I clamped down.
As I I cleaned and clothed it
In a band-aid
I thought myself a fool;
This will hurt for days!

Then I thought of love lost,
Goodbyes unsaid,
Thanks ungiven,
Hugs not squeezed
Tight enough,
Long enough...
Of short walks
In marble gardens
Words whispered
Too little, too late...

The pain pulsed
Just a bit less
As it reminded me:
In pain is Life;
In Life, Opportunity.
Do more, love more,
Say more, pray more,
Play more, give away more.
While you can,
While you hurt,
Even as you draw
Labored breath.
Live until you die,
Love until you leave.

Week 13, poem 2, total 12 (I think)

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

There is no soap in war to clean our hands.

Out of the slippery smooth bath a golden duck
exuding blue bubbles tail dives into a youthful
splash of happy childhood giggles fffast forward

in a flash, a piece of burning sky collides with the
ceiling forcing it into that bathtub tumbling toys
exploding duck bubbles melt overseas where

once there was a wall of bravery now a hole exists
in the chest of heads who care a less about the lost
innocent lives in the tiny photos burning evidence in

the shadows those power hungry brokers with their
flaming eyes dream of their children one day playing
among the disappearing kiddie bones and rubble.


Week 13 : Poem 1 : Total 14

 

[SpermFactory]

The best laid plans
of painters and
wayward men.

if i were a surrealist
there would be
a sailing ship
between a woman’s legs

with a bobbing mast
stuck up right in it
her panties a sail filled
by two billowing balls.


Wk 13 poem 1 total wreck.

 

[Tzara]

Liberal Arts Quad, University of Washington

cherry blossoms burst
to life from the gnarled old trunks
as we stroll on the brick path

our hands twined branches
now grown knotted together
though fingers lumpy with age
​

Week 13 : Poem 1 : Total 15

 

[Bn2f]

THE CENTIPEDE MIND


Evenings, as I ready myself for bed, are the best time for me.
I scribble my wants and intentions in a wagged notebook I store in my nightstand.
My filled is head to the brim with high octane optimism fir the coming day.
Then restful sleep comes.
As the rises sun, something though has changed inside me.
My morning bed covers way heavy on me.
The eager rays touch my skin as does paper burns through fire.
I can’t move.
I’m afear.
The day, no matter how beautiful or rainy, the weather, floats my grasp away.

A man comes in and shutters the blinds and checks on me.
He is made from a granite rock of kindness, this man is.

“It’s still a beautiful Spring day,” he says.

His statement oddly hits my ear as a question rather than fact.

“What time is it?” I ask.

The man walks from the window and I make space for him to sit beside me.
He looks through my notebook, patiently reading my entries.
Page after page of a written listing of 'to dos' repeating themselves.
Misspellings abound.
Phrases are mixed up and out of order.
Inexcusable errors to have been written by a once teacher of English.

The man pats my legs and says, “Rest.”

“Rest?!” I insist. I have tasks to write in my notebook! Christmas is upon us! Doesn’t he know?

He looks at me and smiles and in a moment of clarity I see it!
I SEE IT ALL swirling beneath my husband's tightly clenched lips!
A pain trying to stay hidden.
The extinguished light of hope.
Disease testing the vows of marriage.
Sympathy’s stranglehold on Love.

I feel nothing.
He is the one who suffers this.

“Rest,” he says again, “You have one hundred legs all wanting to go in different directions.”

 

[Tzara]

Onstage at Club Crow
Cashmere, Washington, 2 AM

she holds the Telecaster like a lover
but one she wants to wring its neck

as if depression's the fault of the strings
or the sustain or the goddam lyrics she can't

quite wrench out of the instrument
every night on stage in front of a crowd

she's always afraid would rather be screaming
for anyone from Mick Jagger to Phoebe Bridgers

instead of a lonely kid from Ohio
who's worn off her fingertips playing old blues songs

too loud too often too late at night
because it's the only thing she ever wanted to do

no matter how painful it always seems to be
walking on broken glass her entire fucking life

Week 13 : Poem 2 : Total 16

 

[Wat_Tyler]

Poor child out in the rain


Poor child out in the rain
Not sure why
Uncertain how long
Feeling the victim
Convinced this is something
He does not deserve
Trying to deduce
Where the wheels fell off
And when, no idea
A cold wind blows
Drops at an angle
Pushed hard through cotton
Driving, stinging, soaking
A poor child,
No doings of his,
Out in this mess.

Mother won’t
Open the door….