30 Poems in 30 Days

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This is a challenge.

Yes, a challenge to write 30 poems in 30 days to encourage you to get off your lazy poetic asses, out of your winter blahs and back to writing some poetry. Just so you all know, I totally ripped this idea off a community in Live Journal that I'm a part of, but since I like the people over here better I'd rather try it over here instead of there.

So these are the rules:

• The challenge is to write 30 poems in the course of 30 days.

• All poems written in the challenge must be posted here in this thread, but you can submit them too. You also can take poems you wrote on the other challenge threads for the 30 Poems In 30 Days challenge.

• If you take the challenge, start the title (subject line) of each entry with "(x-y)" where x is which is the attempt at the challenge it is part of (including those that were unsuccessful) and y is the number of poem in that attempt. You may also add a title to your poem as long as you have the attempt and poem number too.

• You may stop and restart the challenge at any time. For example, if you forget on the 17th day to write a poem you can restart at "1" on day 18, which would make it a second attempt of the challenge.

• The most important rule is to have fun!​

GOOD LUCK!


- First to complete the 30 Poems in 30 Days challenge
GREAT JOB!

**Please direct any comments to this thread to Senna Jawa's a companion to 30 in 30. This will keep this thread all about the poems. Thank you.
 
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I am so glad you are doing this. I am in.

My question: If you miss a day and start over, do you have to still get to 30 (after returning to 1) or is it for a total of 30 days?

Example:

1-1 My first poem
1-2 Coffee in Bed
1-3 I am so sick
(day 4 no poem)
2-1 A new start


do I have to get to 2-30 or 2-27 so they add to 30?

I am sorry, a bit mathematically challenged, but thankful for this incentive.

Do we get to pick a body part for your av if we make it?
 
1-1 Your Sour B.C. Apple

Okay I ripped this off of response to calli's response to my response to her poem :rolleyes: but I did write it today so I am saying it counts :)


Your Sour B.C. Apple


I too do not like tomatoes
(but perhaps you knew that)
until processed at least three steps from the field
peeled pureed simmered canned
or chopped deseeded marinaded
bruchetta to top french bread
perhaps melted mozarella

Whole tomatoes are deceitful
fruit hiding among the vegetables,
giving teeth the illusion of solidity
with firm skin tight resistance,
but they collapse on the bite through
Hollow, you never know when they will cave
and gush their slime and seeds


Let me slice your B.C. apple translucent thin
with toasted foccacia, thick pesto
and warm brie.
We can watch over any field of vine ripened tomatoes
early girl big boy plum cherry
heavy on the stem

(metaphorical, slightly sexy ending that will wow your socks off yet to be written perhaps about how we plan the demise of the deceitful tomato, decapitation, dissection, pulverized, pressurized, spiced and bottled, how we like our fruit to crunch, to make our eyes water, licking our fingers sticky with cinnamon and sugar)
 
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1-1 pseudo recall 3

Winter sand sifts through toes
like gritty snowflakes
numbing them, but not the walker

Memories stay warm
hard-packed behind a zipper

The salt still isn't in the breeze
it's on the back of tongue
where pseudo and reality are the same
 
She Rises at 3 am 1-1

I fake sleep
and like a clock
peer over at her seated profile.

She laughs quietly
Until I say "good morning."
We talk till dawn,
she pours juice and I slam coffee,
planning the day loosely.

I drive for a paper,
the roads sugared in snow,
and I cant wait to return,
in fact I nearly miss the turn,
slipping in under the sky-full of stars-

Gone for 5 minutes-
Eternities behind rock haulers,
Diesel rigs and thumbs twiddling-
BBC news and first light.

Hello Love.
 
1:1 Bread and Butter

You are so the kind of man
who could have once upon a time
conned me into going
Mosquito Coast with you.

I was wondering if you could
lay it on a little thicker?
I think I can still see some bread
under all that butter.



feeling really inadequate already <gulp>
 
lay a lie 1-1

I lay a lie at your feet
a promise of fidelity
I will compete

I will complete
thirty in a row
shallow rows plowed fast
and crooked never allowing
roots to take hold
and satisfy the public

thirty days of buying pots
never planting a garden
 
When I Can't Sleep 1-1

I understand everything:
the curve of wide-awake back,
restless legs tucked too neat
for sleep and worry times
breath equals tension

squared in a tiny room,
blue oasis where we dream
an isle of safety in this sea
of ice and uncertainty

has nothing to do
with insomniac hearts
attended by stolid pines,
brightening sapphire skies
and keytaps that comfort

you every space you occupy
even gaps of absence are filled
with your scent, the dip
in the pillow, the wristwatch
draped with my necklace.

I can't explain the depth
of this falling nor circle
the radius of its completion,
only fit centered within it,
one piece of the puzzle,
a fleck in the pupil
of your sleepless eye.
 
1-1

Maria2394 said:
golly neo :D ya lost me with the x,y thing. :(

haha you aren't alone.
math was never my strong point.
but i'm smart enough to copy off someone else (see subject line)

elemental mirage
constructed in the mindset
a dollar a day
two on thursdays
a policy of peace
mixed with taurine
and 3rd step prayers
chiding banter of
invisible pro self premise
i digress;
ability to digest
a worldly mess within
begin
again
reiterate the fact of this
mostly cause i can't
seem to hear it enough.
 
1:1

Just Another Fucking Aucklander aka JAFAs

Stuck in traffic they sit
feet on brake or accelerator
cell phones to their ears
razors to throats, hot coffee
in holders sloshing
over the gear stick
music or news
on surround sound
and air conditioning
cooling pre-shredded
rages, the JAFAs weave
with expertise
from lane to lane
and back again
in late model cars
destined for the City
of Sails, primed for stress
consoled by pay checks
or pills, pampering or purchases
from Friday night retail therapy
splurges. They’ll be home
again soon travelling the motorway
the chaotic day churned
in their minds, chewed
and twisted, turned and tattooed
into the dyed memory cells
of yesterday.
 
1-1

Ok, I'll bite. I need the peer pressure to get writing.


Smoke and Mirrors

Well hell's bells,
of course I must genuflect,
as causally as I can, not to draw attention,
(I know you hate attention) to the
magnificent act of crawling through
the dark and damp sub-space
of my sapience,

catching slippery beasts
with bare hands,
and teaching them to sing
in unison.

You're a Siegfried and Roy
antithesis, with genuine magic
and as camp as a punch in the face,
and every spiced wine conversation
is a grand finale showdown.

I could never figure you out
and a true master never tells,
so just seduce me with laser
presicion skills, sputter spells
through laughter and your
Vegas shiny grin.

Just snap snap snap
your fingers, here where nobody
is looking, and I'm yours, a fan
forever spellbound, my life
a stage, my mind a tool
for your rapid fingers.
 
First One

Here I sit all broken-hearted
paid my quarter and only farted

<Licking finger> Chalk me up for one!
 
1-1

Across Spirit Sails

At the shore there is a white
wind that blows across the spirit
sails there on the carving
of beaver, eagle and bear.

They are wise and know that no
matter what man says
the trees will always grow
greener for the fire.

With sharp soul eyes to see
far beyond the sands and waves
to dance beside the fast
river, the creatures know

we will be long gone
with our contrails spun to cloud
and burning flares gone to soot
and gas to feed the trees.

The shore will still be here
and the beaver, eagle and the bear
will stand and taste the white
wind that blows the spirit sails.
 
Tzara said:
I have a technical question, Mr. N. You may have answered this, but I am picky about answers and want to prod a bit.

I have no problem with the "write a poem a day" requirement. Well, I do, of course, in terms of actually satisfying it. I have been debating with myself whether my y would ever reach double digits. I am sure my x would do so.

Not the point. My question is: Is the requirement that a poem be written once a day, or that a poem's post be once a day? I know, for instance, that I will not have internet access during some of the next 30 days. (Scheduled vacation in idyllic isles.) If I write a poem that I can't post on that same day, does that disqualify me?
Yes, it should disqualify you because it's 30 poems in 30 days. A new poem written and posted each day. I'd like this challenge to last more than just 30 days, meaning that you can go back and do it more than once throughout the year if you choose to do so. The other place I ripped this off had made it 100 poems in a 100 days. Yikes! I can't imagine re-starting at poem # 89. As for the X or Y, whatever. Just so you and/or everyone else knows what attempt you're on and the number of the poem in that attempt is.

It's a poem challenge and just for fun. No prizes in the end other than all the swell poems you wrote and to get the winter fog/rain out of your head.
 
1 - 1

sitting demurely upon her exercise mat
she meowed, a hungry cat,
“Will you make me purr?
I will wear my hat of fur
that makes me look like a cat,
for I am playfully kittenish like that!"

lifting my gaze to stare as she sat on her mat,
“Wouldn’t you prefer a civilised chat about this and that?”

sitting straight up on her exercise mat
she hissed like an angry furious cat,
“Listen to me you dirty rat!
I’m not in the mood for a genteel chat!
I want to be stretched out, held down flat
to have my tummy tickled just like a wriggly cat!”

I stared as she sat so prettily angry on her mat,
“If I’m a dirty rat then you are a spoilt little brat!”

sitting all yoga-like on her exercise mat
she spoke with a voice so chillingly flat,
“Listen up you pompous twat!
I don’t really want a stroking like some silly cat!
Lady that I am, I’m hinting I want pleasure from you on this mat!”

putting down my book I said to her, still on her mat,
“I feel such a prat, I thought you wanted to be a cat!”

sitting very pleased upon her exercise mat
she squealed just like a trod upon cat,
“Only you can make me purr like a contented cat!
Using your beautiful cock so fat that’s the length of a baseball bat!
Your reward will be I’ll stroke your `bat` until you go splat…splatsplat!”

I unzipped my pants as she wriggled and giggled upon her mat,
“My dear I’m going to make you one very sticky creamy wet cat!”
 
1-1

raw sugar melts
beneath the heat
of good hope
vanilla, slows pulse
and warms hand
against the grip
of boredom, sparks
something more than rote
activity, aimless fretting-

when did i become
the person who thought
in maybe, possibly,
it just might
be so. But when it's done,
the faucet cleaned
and the sink polished,

another tea bag
tossed in the trash.
 
Mr Pickle 2-2

I got a pickle in my pocket
cut to be kosher
big as a dill and twice as sweet

I heard you're vegetarian
even love to party some
the kind of dish he'd love to meet

I got some greens in my pocket
four Jacksons and a Hamilton
I'll buy a salad and amaretto

hey how about some romance
he loves to slow dance
with a really hot tomato
:D
 
1-2 I am what is wrong with internet poetry

I am what's wrong with internet poetry


I have the abc and the snap shy star sign
glow my teeth white
I write poems
like most people shake a hand
say
hello
how are you
it has been so long

it has been so long

and again
tomorrow
something new
another hand out
close eyed captive audience
another flip chart snap shot
of these struggles better left pencilled in
 
Fifteen Hearts 1-2

Tathagata said:
by living diminished
she has made me peripheral
a vanquished soldier on the hillside
watching my home
being desecrated
from afar

Namaste'
:heart:
 
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1-1 Alcoholism tastes like salsa

i can’t tell if it’s salsa or blood
in the skincracks around my fingernail

i frankly don’t fucking care

blood’s so thin these days
runs like watery salsa
same color

doesn’t matter

all tastes the same, anyway

alcoholism sounded
like so much more fun
at twenty one

now its salsa on my hand
no appetite
wondering if i can remain sustained
with brown bags,
excuses at work
 
1-2

Bartok String Quartets
Brings a flock of crows
Meandering-quizical even.

Water heater is on the fritz
Shaving with cold water
As if in a prison camp-
The great escape,
Cooler time-
Just me and Steve McQueen-
a ball and a glove
staccato Impresario
the cold like razor wire.
 
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1-2

The Queen Of The Universe got bored
of contemplating Everything,
and strolled my way to seek affection,
or rather Demand it, she is the Queen
Of The Universe, after all. She draws

a straight line across the room, willing
furniture to scatter aside, The Queen Of
The Universe takes aim for her humble servant,
strikes a no nonsense post with a crystal clear
'Adore me, Pet' unspoken in the air.

The Queen Of The Universe knows just how
to get it all, how to play me right. And in reflex
I react, a hand behind her hears, a lap for her
paws and an hour cut from all else, to let

her purr drown out the world, shrink
the room to whiskers. The Queen Of The
Universe knows her pleasures, and her powers
to claim them. I am, after all, only Human.
 
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1-2 Stripping The Light Fandango

Squint against the dawning flare
see white stars
blood behind my eyes
We are caught in the blue-black
road map, spider's web

Shut out the lights to only trip in the dark
There isn't a right side
no up or down
veins pump to the heart

I keep biting the inside of my cheek
thinking this will bring reality
but poison spreads so fast

We watched it darken, grow
bigger and irregular
Felt it suck life away, leaving pain

So tired, so tired
I know
but we'll dance again.

I know
 
1:2 god

Been look
in for you everyw
Here (Hello…)
(god?)
Churches e
Special
ly (it’s me)
methodistbaptistcatholic
lutheranbuddhistunity
(are you t
Here?) I
have sung countless hymns
without knowing their tunes.
 
1-2

Sweet Girl

Sing for me in that voice
which sends me swimming
in the current

emotions roused and full
my eyes spill their liquid
onto the linen

of your hair left soft
down upon your fragile
tissue paper cheeks.
 
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