2023 Poem-A-Week Challenge (Poems Only Thread)

[29wordsforsnow]

Once upon a time if they haven't died...
life is short, even with all the warning
for I am a C short of Prince Charming
this is not the story told about Snow White

There's not a story told about Snow White
where the seventh bed whispers with sighs
moonlight on the sheets of pale blue like ice
as the next million days will end with a night

As the next trillion days will end with a night
the walls are mirrors of this darkest gray
reflecting the things that you have to say
but this isn't anything like Snow White

Because this isn't anything Snow White
people will live, but emotions are dead
the horizon's cut, bleeds a fuming red
...once upon a time if they haven't died

 

[Ambient4190]

names etched
on my heart
lives too short
ended in pain

know that
as long as
i am around
i will always

remember

 

[Tzara]

Vespers

Cedars wrench and twist
in the wind. The few leaves left
spiral to the lawn,

but are quickly blown away
to gather along the fence.

Near the fire, I read
poems about dead flowers
and resurrection

and I remember Louise--
how slim she was, her pale skin,

and autumn evenings
like this one, where I would pray
fervently for one

more long hour to be beside
her, watching the fading sun.

But this is only
memory and those flowers
are finally gone.

Week 45: Poem 1: Total 61

 

[Wonderer67]

It Wasn’t All Bad

A Veteran’s Day panel at work
And of course, we focused on the good things
Transferrable skills in civilian life
The camaraderie
Teamwork
Nice shit for a work meeting

Talk did shift slightly…
Things that can only happen in a combat zones
The funny shit that happened
Black humor
But we kept if rated PG

No one talked about things
That they could not unsee
Sleepless nights
Losing your shit when a balloon pops at the 4H fair
It was a nice change of pace

Out came all of the good stories
The funny anecdotes
How to transfer military skills into civilian life
Although I think of my time and deployments
In largely a negative light
It wasn’t all bad

And some of it was magical

Christmas in Iraq, 2004

It couldn’t have been more than 0002
Maybe 0003 Christmas morning
When the shit hit the fan
Mortars first
Then machine gun fire
And a few RPG’s for good measure
A typical nighttime cacophony
Bad guys fuckin with us
Making us remember it was Christmas morn’

I was asleep at the time
But we quickly shifted into “fuck me” awake mode
Eyes rolling and sighing
Same shit, different (Christmas) day
Jumping out of our bunks
Throwing on flak jackets, Kevlar helmets
Grabbing rifles
And running to bunkers

We normally didn’t take this shit too seriously
Usually a nuisance attack
Just bad guys
Trying to keep us from
Catching Z’s
Or celebrating Christmas
(And I am half Jewish for Christ’s sake)

But this was a pretty heavy one
They were fucking with us pretty hard
Somewhere in the darkness to my right, someone started returning fire
Then someone else
Then another and another
It was clear that they were all just going at it
Aiming everywhere and nowhere
At the same time

Soon we all broke in…
Full auto – rock n roll
Just lighting it all up
Absolutely no fire discipline
Hollering “Merry Christmas, motherfuckers!”
Or other unsundry terms…
No one knew why, how or even where
But we all let loose

And in the light of muzzle flashes
Behind our hesco barriers
Several guys had on Santa hats
Instead of their Kevlar covers
Our driver, Johnson wasn’t even dressed
Just whitey tighties
A Santa hat
And flip flops
Crouched behind a hesco
Having at it with his M4
Not exactly a regulation uniform

We were all just shooting for the fuck of it
We were pissed and happy at the same time
Maybe even more happy than pissed

It was a magical moment
At FOB Dreamland in Diyala province
Combat high
Totally unsafe
Hot shell casings falling all around us
Some of my brothers not even wearing pants
Sporting just flip flops
The un-safest
Shooting back because
Why the fuck wouldn’t we?
Our company commander and platoon leader
Didn’t give a shit either
They may have been out their firing along too
Maybe they knew that their men needed to
Blow off some steam
No KIA, no WIA (no one was hurt or killed)

It was thirty-maybe thirty five minutes into Christmas morning
Before things quieted down
An Apache made a few sweeps nearby
We streamed back to our bunks
And had a great laugh
Breaking Johnson’s balls - nicknames coming from all over
Santa. Flip-Flop, Nudie Patootie, Black Santa
(Johnson was black)
He was unfazed – he truly didn’t GAF
As annoyed as all of us put together

We tried to get back to sleep
Till laughter or snickering broke out again from the other side of the barracks
Calming down again
Then I started laughing
SPC Kelly making fun of my wheezing laugh
It was too fucking comical
We were all just losing our shit
Simultaneously
A 20 and 30 something year old slumber party

Eventually we all slid back into sleep
No visions of sugar plums dancing around our heads
We all got wild laughter and dumb nicknames
That year for Christmas
(Smiles)

51/52

 

[Tzara]

Chinese Whispers
After Alvin Lucier's I Am Sitting in a Room

I am sitting in a room
different from the one
you are in now.

Ich sitze in einem Zimmer
anders als der eine
Du bist jetzt dabei.

Ek sit in 'n kamer
anders as die een
Jy is nou daar.

Sedim v sobi
razen tistega
Zdaj si tam.

Je suis assis dans la pièce
sauf celui-là
Maintenant tu es là.

Mi sidas en la ĉambro
krom ĉi tiu
Nun vi estas ĉi tie.

Jeg sidder i rummet
undtagen denne
Nu er du her.

Estic assegut a l'habitació
excepte aquest
Ara ets aquí.

Nimekaa chumbani
isipokuwa huyu
sasa uko hapa

Ég sit í herberginu
nema þessi
nú ertu hér

I'm sitting in the room
except this one
now you are here.

Week 46: Poem 1: Total 62



Translated via Google Translate from English to German to Afrikaans to Slovenian to French to Esperanto to Danish to Catalan to Swahili to Icelandic and back to English.

You can listen to a recording of Lucier's work here.

 

[Ambient4190]

angry scissors
violent
painfully tear
hair

cold metal
pressed to head
snip snip
elicits fear

today
luxuriant curtain
behind which
to hide

only when
excessively long
gentle shears
appear

prompted by butters "scissors are not a simple machine"

 

[Broken_paladin]

winter creeps through open door
blowing leaves across the floor
cold wind chilled the old mans core
stirs memories of a youth less sore
stoke the fire, smoke and ash, close the door and set the latch
through hazy window view the valley low
pray the prayer of hunters old,
in this field a deer it holds,
a mighty buck big and bold,
tonight they sleep despite cold
with morning light the hunt unfolds

 

[Ashesh9]

Sitting alone
In Dead of Night:
Attended the funeral of a close friend today...!!!??
Who left for heaven on pancreatic flight...
Hearing in ears dirge's notes shrill:
If old age does not get you....
Cancer surely will!!!!??

 

[Angeline]

Two Fibonacci Poems

1. lowercase demand

this
poem's
tiny
appearance
seems aloof perhaps
but really that's just a smokescreen;
of course it wants your
attention--
just read
it,
please.

*****

2. Moosehead Lake

I
wish
we were
together
in that small cabin
with the big bed and cotton quilts.
Never did see moose,
not a one
all week.
So
what?



Week 46, 2 Poems, Total 56

 

[29wordsforsnow]

above the dark bitter hot chocolate
where heat swirls and condensates
tendrils of Leonard Cohen's voice
embrace the abundance of space
a too happy blasphemy to my abyss
the venomous snake nest, my heart
still can't believe that the golden band,
my ring finger wields, doesn't own you

alone, the walls are repeating my question
with not any answer, "Don't we all deserve
some happiness?" never reaches the door

the reading lamp does not go beyond
a few steps from the center of my life
at night the couch isn't holding back
its every comfort hungry for my soul
why does it not start and sink its teeth
deep into the trouble caught between
lap and chest, eyelids close through
Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight.

my amarogentin dreams are shattered when
the door opens to your "I missed you"-smile
oblivious to the last page, my feet fly to you

 

[Ambient4190]

pies
corn
apple
homemade treats
coconut cream sweet
potato pumpkin pecan pies





mac
and
cheese
glazed carrots
turkey and dressing
squash casserole gravy giblets

 

[Wonderer67]

Mid-November Afternoons

The dying embers of Sol Invictus
4:18pm driving home from Veronica’s
So relaxed
She does that for me
Fixed my back and shoulder

On Gravel Hill rd.
The trees still amazing to my eyes
Past their peak - not as radiant as last week
Or the week before
Muted, yet still brilliant somehow
The bright yellow of Norway maple
The red oaks – the color of dark red wine in the failing light
Red maples bright red when backlit
Just for a second by the setting sun
The color of tail lights
The reddest red
No word(s) can describe it
The pumpkin orange of sugar maples
Shedding their clothing

Everything mottled
The leaves subdued now in their death throes
Most have fallen
Or will be soon

I arrive in the hollow on our farm
4:38… dying blue light now
A small herd of deer have moved over
Into the soybean field
No bucks, just doe
It’s the height of the rut
And they are skittish

Losing light quickly
Someone has bought two stacks of wood
At our farm stand
I fill them back up
Like a good soldier

Home at 5:06
The pink sky
Giving way
To blue
And then black

52/52

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[Tzara]

Another Sermon in the Church of Denial

The hall is full of fog or dust or smoke
or maybe my head has tumbled off its stem
into the basket of my lap,
unable to follow the lector's nasal drone.
Or am I simply drunk on Marianne's scent?
O, how the elders would condemn

such lost and licentious thoughts on these hard pews,
though Solomon's Song of Songs is hardly chaste.
Don't even think
about her breasts, loose among the lilies—
white blooms smoothed along her silken skin,
slipping down toward her waist.

Turn your thoughts to your stern God who yet
forged her figure, full of curves and swell
as the swirl of the endless sea,
teeming with Life as if temptation dwelt
in the dense waters of everywhere,
and such Love all but compelled.

Week 47: Poem 1: Total 63

 

[butters]

poem #51

life's road

we bury parts of us along the way
parts we want to leave behind
parts we must

do not just discard them
by the side of the road
to shock unwary eyes

bury them deep
be done with them
to dissolve with time
out of sight, out of mind

to carry the rot of them—
wet stench & drop of maggots
dry, nagging clack of memory—
is self-inflicted abuse

so carry a sharp spade
tamp back the soils
replace each divot
and walk on, walk on
however long your road

 

[Angeline]

Weather Report

On a cold day, if I were
the Sun I'd beam just enough
to warm you, make you cozy
as if my rays covered you
like a sweater (and not
the itchy kind). You'd wrap up
in me, catching scents of cinnamon
or cardamon or maybe bread
fresh from the oven. I'd caress
you, protect you from the chill
so you'd think Ah I'm safe
here in her shine.

But sometimes Sunny
amps up the heat and then
I'd show no mercy,
let my very presence
raise your temperature
(not just your temperature),
so when I pull you down
under the boardwalk
you waste no time
wondering how I could
be so hot even in the shade,
but struggle out of your clothes
and reach for my liquid core
when I say Oh honey
let me burn you.



Week 47, Poem 1, Total 57

 

[Ambient4190]

a tree
pressed me
as i
wandered below
where are
you going

i stopped
don't know

fly in
my branches
tree urged
and smiled

upon limbs
on high
i spy
hunters nearby

i close
my eyes
nestle tight
and sigh
a moments
retreat

 

[Ashesh9]

Petting dogs
Singing songs
Writing poems
May right no wrongs
But bring great joy.....
Good reader.....O Boy!!!!

 

[Ashesh9]

Swimming pool laps....
To marbled buttcheeks
Applying sharp smarting slaps
Hearing giggling shrieks....
Muscled hunks'n nerdy geeks
Into my consciousness stream..
Smorgasbord: a few peeks!!!

 

[Piscator]

I've been remiss
in my reply
too often I start
only to falter
while what I really
want to say
is that I
miss you.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Girls just want to have fun
when the busy day is done
strolling through the streets
smile for anyone she meets
a song on her painted lips
careless swing to her hips
no worry if there's a next
easily forgets the last ex

Girls just want to have fun
take a walk, but not a run,
through a vast labyrinthine
what's yours or is this mine
the look over her shoulder
that asks you to be bolder
not a doe in the headlights
illuminating skirts and tights

Girls just want to have fun
damental human rights too
equal chances in this race
a home that is a safe haven
not hiding the swollen face
in a world that cries craven,
not a man with knife or gun
becomes the killer she knew

​

November 25th is the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women - and a sad day as of 2023, looking back at the highest number of femicides in the last 20 years. This boys' club could do better!

 

[Ashesh9]

The Rain in Ukraine.....
Is full of tears, fears and Pain.....
Now once again : Why doth it rain??
In Ukraine...in Ukraine.......

[ with humble apologies to My Fair Lady ]

 

[Tzara]

Medusa

Her looks would kill
unless seen reflected,

which is why, I suppose,
she did not turn herself to stone

while combing that bedhead
of writhing snakes

each morning. As for her lovers,
who of them would know

whether she was beautiful,
given that they either must

have been blinded by sash or fate,
or else dead before the two could mate.

Week 48: Poem 1: Total 64

 

[Angeline]

Fibonacci For My Daughter

When
you
arrived
it was as
if you were driving
for NASCAR, fast and furious.
My little racer--
you haven't
slowed down
a
bit.


Week 48, Poem 1, Total 58

 

[Wonderer67]

Miss Conduct

Really got fired for misconduct once
But now she is my dominatrix
The most beautiful woman
I’ve ever been with
Thin waist
5’8 AND 5’10”
Her long legs are of different length – true story
She is off-kilter
I love both of them
Especially when wrapped around my head

I love her stinging hand
On my bum

And the way
She teases me

She almost never lets me cum
“I am withholding your sacred seed.”
She tells me
Mischievously and
With a wicked smile
As she edges me to tears
“No cumming for you…”
I gladly suffer for her

We watch Jeopardy every night
She always get the medical questions right
She’s a medical professional
And a professional gardener
She laughs at all of my dumb jokes
And my sense of juvenile humor
Meshes with hers

I don’t know how she was dropped on my doorstep
I was back from the sandbox
And very freshly out of a bitter divorce
Her, sadly, a recent widow
This was eleven years ago

But we turned misfortune
Into a series of fortunes
She is quite an entrepreneur
Smart as the whip she wields
As hard of a worker
As the day is long
As beautiful as
All of the similes put together

I treasure her treasure
On this day
Our anniversary

 

[butters]

poem # 52

Medusa's shoes

...were too tight
inflexible
pinched and chafed
& were a misery to walk in
making her grimace in pain, hobble
& be consumed by bad humour

it doesn't matter their colour
or style
metaphorical shoes don't care

but if we were forced
to cram them on our feet
to step the length of life in them
maybe we'd sympathise
with her distress:

how she'd wish her sensibilities hewn from rock
when no suitor could look her in the eyes
and not grow hard
all over
and how rumours of unruly hair
brought women-haters to her door
intent on murder most horrible
when she only ever wanted to be loved
for them to see her heart
instead of the writhing shame
they wrapped so tight about her

all were found wanting

none said "let down your hair
kick off your shoes
dance barefoot in the rain with me"

i think she would have loved to dance
but then some fucker came
and cut off her bed-head
end of story