January Poetry Challenge A - A 5-word prompt poem

[butters]

Happy New Year!

The challenge will be to write a poem, no minimum length but preferably less than 40 lines, using the 5 given words as springboards for your interpretation.

* Any form or none at all

* Try and include all 5 prompts but no penalty if the poem works better with 4

* Synonyms acceptable but original words preferred, though alternate spellings for a different meaning are fine

I want to see where your imagination takes you and I hope I've provided words that can lead in a multitude of directions—the challenge being to take the journey and write something that might even surprise yourself for its pathway and where your destination is found.

For this challenge, I'd rather keep this thread just for the poems, with any questions and comments on the offerings posted in Angeline's companion thread, here

Posting the words in the following post.

 

[butters]

Your prompt words:

steel

therapy

compress

lupin

map

 

[29wordsforsnow]

For this was a Drinker's therapy*
they should have made a song
chanted by sailors choirs airily
Lie on your back all day long

In its absolutely sober routine
compress first and then deflate
Paul existed since he was thirteen
a long life by the steel lungs' dictate

The floor tiles in the mirror above
a map of the routes his guests took
on K-12 a bouquet made of foxglove
and lupin next to a children's book

All his pleadings, as it seems
didn't bother his sister at all.
The echoes of his screams
reflected by the solid wall.

~~~~

Philip Drinker, a US engineer, constructed the first Iron Lung in the late 1920s, a then breakthrough therapy for patients with an acute paralysis of the breathing system's muscles caused in some (and until then lethal) cases of a Polio infection.
An historical footnote says that due to different developments in the different ideological system the then socialist East Germany had access to a Polio vaccine years before its Western counterpart, which it even offered three million doses, and which was declined. The vaccination campaign in West Germany started around 1962, a year after the Berlin Wall had been built.
So the morale of this story is, even if communication is the key, and no language barrier exists, extremism of ideas doesn't care about the people, but reelections only.

 

[Tzara]

In the Remembrance Garden

The planter is a Corten steel box,
patinated red with rust, stuffed
nearly to the brim with compressed loam,

in which bright lupine and phlox
stand tall among feather-moss tufts--
therapy for those lost or alone.

I visit it on my afternoon walks
through the drizzle or the hushed
but steady rain, mind speaking monotone,

tracing a well-creased map of old pain.

 

[Angeline]

Thoughts In A Waiting Room

Where should I sit?
Is the couch too obvious
or does the chair seem evasive?
I'm not ready to lay down
my life to some stranger. I won't

spill my guts on the first
visit, compress my multitude
of neuroses intro some single
childhood trauma that I'm not sure
even happened. It's not like I need
to unfurl the whole map
of my particular brand of crazy
in the first fifty minutes.

Oh God.

I might not even like her.
I don't have to come back.

I'll just steel myself
to be brave, sit near the Kleenex
just in case. There's always a box
of Kleenex, right? I don't even have to
look her in the eye. I can stare
at the diplomas: there's sure to be
a few, announcing her credentials,
or at least some amorphous,
nonthreatening artwork,

and hell if I get too anxious
I'll talk about the wild lupin
on Campobello Island, how sweet
and purple they smell, just like grapes,
how happy we were that day.
And if I do cry

so what;

why the Kleenex will be right
there. I can do this. After all
it's only therapy.

 

[butters]

mid-winter visions

my mother's eyes
were a faded shade
someplace between bluebell and steel
her touch brisk, warm
no-nonsense in a busy house
but less sterile than her sister's
with her crisply cold nurse-whites

mum's therapy was a cool compress
to draw the fevered imaginings
of a yet un-charted brain
reeling from a double-whammy—
ear infection and tonsillitis—
with me clad in floral flannel
and nested in that living room chair
with colourful blankets
to shiver under or shed at whim
plenty of fluids
and the freedom to fall
between sleep and wake

i don't recall
if there was snow on the ground
but in the quiet hours
where all siblings are in school
and perhaps to the muted rumble
of tumbling laundry
i swear
beyond the open curtains
the sky—
oh, the sky:
a field of lilac lupins
light and laughing
reaching down
calling me come play
come stay with us
forever

 

[Ashesh9]

Steel Rod crasheth down on unprotected Glutes.....
BDSM Dom/mes call it Attitude Adjustment therapy:
,,,,the Sadistic Cruel Brutes!!?
Spl. Cold Compress is applied to
Red....burnin' Buttooots......
sob..... 'tis manufactured by Lupin Labs, Mumbai:
Sweet Mesdames 'n Dudes!!!!

 

[Tzara]

Master Criminal Foils Super-Sleuth!

Arsène Lupin, the gentleman thief,
Slips along the corridor in soft-soled shoes,
The location of the safe in his mind-held map,
Leaving in his wake not a single clue.

With a rap of steel rod and a cold compress
Of chloroform, Sir John's valet's out cold.
With a stethoscope and a few deft twists,
The safe's emptied of its jewels and gold.

Can the great Sherlock Holmes hope to crack the case?
He crawls ant-like over carpets, thumps carpentry,
Tweezes up filaments of threads and hair,
All to no avail. He fails. Next, therapy.

 

[Remec]

Morning Ritual

The coolness of the blade
brought memories of other
therapies I had tried,
not exact ones,
mind you,
since hard steel was quite
different from soft, moist, compresses
and the feeling as it stroked
my face rather than just
lying against my forehead,
wasn't the same, at all;
but a quick washup dissolved
such things in the warm
blend of the water and the fluffy
hand towels with their crisp scent
of fresh lupins,
made me right as rain,
back on the map once more.

 

[Wonderer67]

Soaking Wet

I've mapped my route to her one
Very specific place
One of the many destinations I know

A thousand routes to bring her pleasure
I know all of those trails by heart
Like the back of my cock

I think of myself as, Arsene Lupin, the gentleman thief
Here to steal some fluid from Miss Conduct

She calls it rain therapy:
Soaking her slave in her fluids
I love seeing her tight stomach turn to steel and
Then compress back in orgasm

She gushes and cums again and again
When my cock hits that

One

Perfect

Spot

 

[XShadynzX]

Maps are just lines on paper
Drawn by those who think
They know where the world ends and begins
Steel on steel clashing
To defend those imaginary lines
The lupin growing wild
Regardless of the lines
Knows the truth
The world is compressed
Onto a single sheet of paper
No wonder everyone
Is clamouring for therapy
In a world gone mad

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Drive

It's a long way to go down this well-known road
we've put the map away a long time ago but I still
wait for directions to come along as the sky turns
all shades of lupin fields long before their toxicity
takes over and there's no longer any other therapy
than a shift of gears and the polished long steel
pistons compress the heat in the longing embrace
of their cases no longer with the sweet mercy
I showed through the first long mile.

In the end
you ask for a cigarette
looking out of the window
the elephant in the room
is waiting for the recharge.

Long afterwards, we change the sheets.

 

[XShadynzX]

Eyes, grey and hard as steel,
Look at me as though
They could speak
And if they could
What would they say?

The mouth below the eyes
Opens and then closes
Without uttering the words,
The words that will map my destiny

My destiny, like the colourful lupins
Is spread out in a kaleidoscope of colour
So many directions to go, so many ways to choose

I feel time and place compress around me
The world around me shrinks
And I find there is only one place to go
Unwilling I take the path laid out before me

"This is like therapy!" my mind screams the words into the wind
Giving me so many options when, in reality there is only one

No choice really

I take the knife and plunge it deep

 

[JCSTREET]

Happy New Year!

The challenge will be to write a poem, no minimum length but preferably less than 40 lines, using the 5 given words as springboards for your interpretation.

* Any form or none at all

* Try and include all 5 prompts but no penalty if the poem works better with 4

* Synonyms acceptable but original words preferred, though alternate spellings for a different meaning are fine

I want to see where your imagination takes you and I hope I've provided words that can lead in a multitude of directions—the challenge being to take the journey and write something that might even surprise yourself for its pathway and where your destination is found.

For this challenge, I'd rather keep this thread just for the poems, with any questions and comments on the offerings posted in Angeline's companion thread, here

Posting the words in the following post.

We used
steel therapy to
compress the lupins, map
their flattened bodies
on a palate of color

-30- (in telegrapher's code -30- means endit (The End). I was a telegrapher, early in life

https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=346675&page=submissions

 

[JaySecrets]

Your prompt words:

steel

therapy

compress

lupin

map

Compress a kaleidoscope of heartbeats into
40 words or less... like gold compounded
to steel, butterflies
reduced to map points. As though
life's chaos in lupine madness
could be contained
in lines drained from depleted essence.
Raindrop therapy in reverse —
Take in pain.
Release peace
drip drip drip drip...
In 40 words or less,
spell mystery and beauty
sprinkled with wisdom's empathy.

But you damn well better entertain us!

 

[JaySecrets]

In the Remembrance Garden

The planter is a Corten steel box,
patinated red with rust, stuffed
nearly to the brim with compressed loam,

in which bright lupine and phlox
stand tall among feather-moss tufts--
therapy for those lost or alone.

I visit it on my afternoon walks
through the drizzle or the hushed
but steady rain, mind speaking monotone,

tracing a well-creased map of old pain.

There are certain poems that only the old can write. This is one of them. This kind of depth of thought and insight only comes with years. It's a beautiful piece.

 

[JaySecrets]

Drive

It's a long way to go down this well-known road
we've put the map away a long time ago but I still
wait for directions to come along as the sky turns
all shades of lupin fields long before their toxicity
takes over and there's no longer any other therapy
than a shift of gears and the polished long steel
pistons compress the heat in the longing embrace
of their cases no longer with the sweet mercy
I showed through the first long mile.

In the end
you ask for a cigarette
looking out of the window
the elephant in the room
is waiting for the recharge.

Long afterwards, we change the sheets.

The first half of it. I'm not a huge fan of. It does feel like it's a bit contrived to get all the words in. So maybe less focus on the words and more focus on the story so it weaves and then the words will fall in their natural place. The second half of the piece though is beautiful. That second half is the real poem in the mix here. The simplicity of language is clearly your honest voice and it's beautiful. And "the elephant in the room is waiting for recharge"? Seriously?!! That is brilliant. And that single line closing the piece is just pristine.

 

[JaySecrets]

Thoughts In A Waiting Room

Where should I sit?
Is the couch too obvious
or does the chair seem evasive?
I'm not ready to lay down
my life to some stranger. I won't

spill my guts on the first
visit, compress my multitude
of neuroses intro some single
childhood trauma that I'm not sure
even happened. It's not like I need
to unfurl the whole map
of my particular brand of crazy
in the first fifty minutes.

Oh God.

I might not even like her.
I don't have to come back.

I'll just steel myself
to be brave, sit near the Kleenex
just in case. There's always a box
of Kleenex, right? I don't even have to
look her in the eye. I can stare
at the diplomas: there's sure to be
a few, announcing her credentials,
or at least some amorphous,
nonthreatening artwork,

and hell if I get too anxious
I'll talk about the wild lupin
on Campobello Island, how sweet
and purple they smell, just like grapes,
how happy we were that day.
And if I do cry

so what;

why the Kleenex will be right
there. I can do this. After all
it's only therapy.

This is how it's done. The piece is beautiful. So well crafted. But what impresses me is that this is one of the few pieces off this prompt that doesn't feel like it's contrived to fit words in. It just flows and the words fall naturally. This is amazing. Bravo!

 

[JaySecrets]

mid-winter visions

my mother's eyes
were a faded shade
someplace between bluebell and steel
her touch brisk, warm
no-nonsense in a busy house
but less sterile than her sister's
with her crisply cold nurse-whites

mum's therapy was a cool compress
to draw the fevered imaginings
of a yet un-charted brain
reeling from a double-whammy—
ear infection and tonsillitis—
with me clad in floral flannel
and nested in that living room chair
with colourful blankets
to shiver under or shed at whim
plenty of fluids
and the freedom to fall
between sleep and wake

i don't recall
if there was snow on the ground
but in the quiet hours
where all siblings are in school
and perhaps to the muted rumble
of tumbling laundry
i swear
beyond the open curtains
the sky—
oh, the sky:
a field of lilac lupins
light and laughing
reaching down
calling me come play
come stay with us
forever

There are no words... This piece is breathtaking. And that last line... Reaching down calling me come play, come stay with us forever... So evocative. Thank you.

 

[butters]

There are no words... This piece is breathtaking. And that last line... Reaching down calling me come play, come stay with us forever... So evocative. Thank you.

thankyou for letting me know what impression this left you with.

 

[42Below]

The riddle of steel
is a compressed map
of therapy for Vikings
and Lupin’s tales.