Tanka Poem

[_Land]

New Batteries
(An Ode to the return of Rowdy Ted, Formerly Known as Al Pacino)

Rowdy Ted once buzzed
beneath a bachelorette’s bed—
forgotten, lipstick
smeared where love left its imprint.
He dreamed of power returns.

She called him “Big Red,”
then later “Al Pacino”
(‘cause he brought the heat).
He did impressions at night—
“Say hello to my lil’ friend!”

Batteries went dead.
He slept through one president,
two bad hookups, and
a pandemic of silence—
until she found him, dust-cloaked.

Fresh charge in his bones,
he roared like resurrection—
vibrato reborn.
“Jesus, Ted!” she whispered loud,
as saints wept in the drawer next.

Now he hums with pride,
vintage but still fully charged.
Legacies don’t die—
they just need a reboot and
someone brave to press ON twice.



Oh Angeline the stories good old Ted could tell

 

[Angeline]

one of my favorite books: Memoirs of a Geisha!

also... La chair des femmes a toujours occupé, sans doute, une grande place dans mes rêves

couldn't agree more! now...please share more of your poetry...

The child Chiyo
destined to be Sayuri
has grace and beauty.
Her sea eyes captivate men,
but the Chairman holds her heart.



(I love that book, too. Watched the film recently for the first time. Great adaptation and the cinematography? Wow!)

 

[WCSGarland]

Often do I fret,
Worry at the knot within,
Try teasing it loose,
And when I get part way through,
It reconfigures itself.

 

[_Land]

One of my favorite movies


brothers cast their line
faith flickers across the stream—
grace in every loop
but no prayer could reel him back
from the current he belonged to

 

[Jocelyn_Nicole_Sawyer]

could you please show me
where you keep the...sapphic books
I'm looking to learn
soon we're alone and kissing
then she causes me to melt

 

[AlinaX]

follow the lipstick
between the pages devoured
and held in bondage
do not be shy to inhale
that irresistible scent

 

[_Land]

Assassin Bug
By Bear Sage

~This is not camouflage. This is a trophy to the dead.


---

I. Benediction Before the Bleed
She opened for me—
soft like dusk before the storm,
mouth full of hallelujahs,
never saw my hands were knives
carving altars from her ribs.

…

II. Appetite in Drag
I am no lover.
I am a hunger with legs,
slick with charm and aim—
feed slow, devour the sweet parts,
leave the bones where they can see.

…

III. Mausoleum Display
Do not bury them.
Stack them spine to trembling spine.
Mount each name in blood.
Their moans rot in my shadow—
proof I was once called divine.

…

IV. Armor of Devotion
She stitched herself in—
a cathedral of belief.
I peeled prayer from skin,
and wore her trust like armor
while she screamed into the void.

…

V. Elegy Without Guilt
I wear their echoes
like perfume behind my ears—
guiltless elegy.
Masculine myth, sharp and slick,
an autopsy made of silk.

…

VI. Bleed Me a Legend
Call it seduction.
Call it conquest, art, or shame.
I make legends bleed.
Each ex-lover, a medal
pinned to my still-beating chest.

…

VII. The Theater of Ghosts
No grave. No goodbye.
Just this theater of ghosts
dragged behind my teeth—
not to hide but to display
how many believed in me.

 

[Jocelyn_Nicole_Sawyer]

Major League Shortstop
Dives, catches the game-winner
tosses me the ball
I give him phone & address
leave the glove, I crave your BAT

 

[_Land]

Major League Shortstop
Dives, catches the game-winner
tosses me the ball
I give him phone & address
leave the glove, I crave your BAT

You left your number.
I brought more than just the bat—
hard wood, no mercy.
Your glove’s still warm from the game.
You ready to play for keeps?

Daddy Grammar

Whispers—
velvet command,
syllables twist like rope,
a hush that tightens when I breathe—
yes, Sir.

Word knots
pull at my wrists,
syntax like leather cuffs
fastened to the frame of my thoughts—
I moan.

Sentenced
to silence, but
his vowels bloom in my mouth—
a gag of grammar, bitten down—
obey.

Punctuation
is discipline:
pauses spanked into place,
his ellipses stretch me open—
good girl.

Grammar
as bondage gear,
brackets lock limbs in place,
verbs like lashes, marking my skin—
possessed.

He reads
me backwards, slow,
a novel he rewrites—
his breath annotates every page—
devoured.

Tied down
with tongue and tone,
his diction curls like chains
around the ache between my legs—
spellbound.

Rules are meant to break—
like a cinquain in a thread
posed as tanka bait.
But mine? Unfuckwithable.
You’ll bend... or beg for silence.

 

[AlinaX]

I cured a vampire
with a kiss that burned her lips
like holy water
she is flesh and blood once more
while I am no more than ash

 

[AlinaX]

taste my lover's cum
it lingers still on the lips
that kiss you, my love
such rigidity inspired
by denying you the same

(Inspired by someone looking for stories where an unfaithful wife gives her lover blowjobs but not her husband.)

 

[Jocelyn_Nicole_Sawyer]

You left your number.
I brought more than just the bat—
hard wood, no mercy.
Your glove’s still warm from the game.
You ready to play for keeps?

I had to read that 3 times...kept thinking, "but it was his glove not mine...." then I had that "a-ha" moment... oh, he's talking about my...warm... 'glove' -- what a clever turn of phrase! (plus now the reader is hooked...)

 

[_Land]

I had to read that 3 times...kept thinking, "but it was his glove not mine...." then I had that "a-ha" moment... oh, he's talking about my...warm... 'glove' -- what a clever turn of phrase! (plus now the reader is hooked...)

I must admit I thought it was a pretty clever turn of phrase myself it was a fun tanka to respond too

 

[NivKay]

Beauty is a wound


There are tender points
In one’s days and ways, the maze
Of unholy pray’rs,
When, like Owen, we are met
By silent visitations.

In these syncopic
Still frames, nor here, nor there,
Au de la, we lose
Vestiges of sheltered selves
Cloistered in sepulchered cells.

This I know, my friend:
Beauty is a wound, engorged,
It’s flowering pain
Blossoms multifoliate,
Like rivered blood, rubied death

 

[_Land]

Beauty is a wound


There are tender points
In one’s days and ways, the maze
Of unholy pray’rs,
When, like Owen, we are met
By silent visitations.

In these syncopic
Still frames, nor here, nor there,
Au de la, we lose
Vestiges of sheltered selves
Cloistered in sepulchered cells.

This I know, my friend:
Beauty is a wound, engorged,
It’s flowering pain
Blossoms multifoliate,
Like rivered blood, rubied death

Thank you for the inspiration


Thresholds of the Undone


I have stood inside
the hush between breath and name,
where silence weeps light
through cathedral-broken bones—
each echo, a confession.

The veil never tore.
Only we grew used to dark.
Beauty sat bleeding
on the pew of memory,
unfolding thorned revelations.

Time is not a thread—
it is a blade in still hands
paring back the soul,
a precise unmaking hymn
sung in marrow and shadow.

I did not resist.
I laid bare my inner rooms—
let the wound speak fire,
let it be a sermon flung
through ribs like shattered stained glass.

Through ribs like shattered stained glass,
let it be a sermon flung,
let the wound speak fire.
I laid bare my inner rooms—
I did not resist.

Sung in marrow and shadow,
a precise unmaking hymn,
paring back the soul—
it is a blade in still hands.
Time is not a thread.

Unfolding thorned revelations,
on the pew of memory
beauty sat bleeding.
Only we grew used to dark—
the veil never tore.

Each echo, a confession
through cathedral-broken bones,
where silence weeps light—
the hush between breath and name.
I have stood inside.

 

[NivKay]

Thank you for the inspiration


Thresholds of the Undone


I have stood inside
the hush between breath and name,
where silence weeps light
through cathedral-broken bones—
each echo, a confession.

The veil never tore.
Only we grew used to dark.
Beauty sat bleeding
on the pew of memory,
unfolding thorned revelations.

Time is not a thread—
it is a blade in still hands
paring back the soul,
a precise unmaking hymn
sung in marrow and shadow.

I did not resist.
I laid bare my inner rooms—
let the wound speak fire,
let it be a sermon flung
through ribs like shattered stained glass.

Through ribs like shattered stained glass,
let it be a sermon flung,
let the wound speak fire.
I laid bare my inner rooms—
I did not resist.

Sung in marrow and shadow,
a precise unmaking hymn,
paring back the soul—
it is a blade in still hands.
Time is not a thread.

Unfolding thorned revelations,
on the pew of memory
beauty sat bleeding.
Only we grew used to dark—
the veil never tore.

Each echo, a confession
through cathedral-broken bones,
where silence weeps light—
the hush between breath and name.
I have stood inside.

‘Let the wound speak fire’

 

[_Land]

Wagging tail of guilt
thumps hope against the silence—
I still did the thing.
But you're home, so I forget
how shame tastes, just for a blink.

 

[WCSGarland]

Waging tail of guilt
thumps hope against the silence—
I still did the thing.
But you're home, so I forget
how shame tastes, just for a blink.

Is that supposed to be wagging instead of waging? That would make more sense.

 

[_Land]

Is that supposed to be wagging instead of waging? That would make more sense.

Yes ty.... Now edited

 

[WCSGarland]

Back from a road trip,
Family is such a grip,
My heart warmed anew,
Memories the rest of life,
Or until my mind is lost.

 

[Jocelyn_Nicole_Sawyer]

Just started to read Counterfeit Rose...and crazy coincidence... literally, just a couple days ago I bumped into this girl at Starbucks and we chatted while waiting... then they called her name (don't think it was Rose or Polly though). anyway, she walked back to me instead of leaving and showed me this QR code that was tattooed on her wrist.

I'm just looking at it...like what? then she says to scan it with my phone... because the two of us should like get together.

I swear...no idea this was a thing now... but I pulled out my phone and soon as it saw her code...it immediately opened up a page with all of her social media sites and her contact info.

guess I better write a Tanka about that soon...

 

[WCSGarland]

Oh, do kiss and tell,
Okay, so it might be crass,
To ask it of you,
But some of us... names unnamed,
Live vicariously so.

 

[EllenMore]

a nightingale sings
I am alone in the dark
hoping he will come
as it grows late, I wonder
if he is with Akiko

 

[NivKay]

a nightingale sings
I am alone in the dark
hoping he will come
as it grows late, I wonder
if he is with Akiko

Damn Akiko...how dare she???

 

[NivKay]

How's everyone doing...? Sorry...I've been very absent...