Same Title Challenge

[butters]

what in the world are nano clams???

tiny clams - clams are the size of a grain of sand when they first meet the ocean. nano-clams are being sold as a specific clam form, like miniature clams, but are frequently immature clams that will continue to grow to their full size given the right conditions.

 

[bronzeage]

Shellfish

An unfair characterization. Tiny bivalves are known for their generosity.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

An unfair characterization. Tiny bivalves are known for their generosity.

...but then they clam up.

 

[HarryHill]

An unfair characterization. Tiny bivalves are known for their generosity.

..
As well as mollusks, Sue sure enjoyed ossification. After I ossified her, she showed me what mollusks are really good at.

 

[The_Fool]

Nano-clams and other molluscs


Hard shell
cracks, gives, separates under pressure
exposing goo
inside.
Inside me.
Scarlet horror
in manicured nails
designed to slice, dice
make me think twice.
Morning madness,
rolling out of bed,
falling to the floor,
finally awake.
Only to look back
and find my place
already taken.
Energetic smiles
and pneumatic action.
At least the fresh water
shower,
washes away the salt water
tears.
Even with a string of pearls
not one was real.

 

[Angeline]

Nano-clams and other molluscs


Hard shell
cracks, gives, separates under pressure
exposing goo
inside.
Inside me.
Scarlet horror
in manicured nails
designed to slice, dice
make me think twice.
Morning madness,
rolling out of bed,
falling to the floor,
finally awake.
Only to look back
and find my place
already taken.
Energetic smiles
and pneumatic action.
At least the fresh water
shower,
washes away the salt water
tears.
Even with a string of pearls
not one was real.

Remember that movie The Tingler? Old horror flick? This poem made me think of it, and then you took a left turn into erotica. Pneumatic action lol! And leave my pearls out of it! Good to see you back, Papi.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

An unfair characterization. Tiny bivalves are known for their generosity.

...but then they clam up.

Lol both of you

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Nano-clams and other molluscs


Hard shell
cracks, gives, separates under pressure
exposing goo
inside.
Inside me.
Scarlet horror
in manicured nails
designed to slice, dice
make me think twice.
Morning madness,
rolling out of bed,
falling to the floor,
finally awake.
Only to look back
and find my place
already taken.
Energetic smiles
and pneumatic action.
At least the fresh water
shower,
washes away the salt water
tears.
Even with a string of pearls
not one was real.

.......... and then along comes The Fool who's nobody's fool and shows us all how it's done

 

[The_Fool]

Remember that movie The Tingler? Old horror flick? This poem made me think of it, and then you took a left turn into erotica. Pneumatic action lol! And leave my pearls out of it! Good to see you back, Papi.

Pneumatic was actually a descriptor from Aldous Huxley, Brave New World.

 

[The_Fool]

.......... and then along comes The Fool who's nobody's fool and shows us all how it's done

I just show up for comic relief.

 

[Angeline]

*Bumping* so folks can see how a same title challenge works.

Note that we each wrote a poem without knowing what anyone else was writing so we did not influence each other.

 

[_Land]

For fun and to revive the challenge

Write a Poem using the Title

She Wore a Flack Jacket


Have fun with it

 

[_Land]

For fun and to revive the challenge

Write a Poem using the Title

She Wore a Flack Jacket


Have fun with it

She Wore a Flack Jacket

Her rosary hung.

Each bead
a bone of buried self
scrubbed clean
strung tight
across clavicle
barbed wire blessed by fire.

She pressed crucifix
into palm
until it imprinted resurrection
into her lifeline.

Decades coiled
restraints chosen
to hold back flood.

Sorrowful mysteries
sucked marrow from knuckles,
each prayer
a bulletproof vow
stitched into flesh
where bruises bloomed.

She counted breath,
not mercy.

She wore the chain
a halberd for her heart,
shield for her soul
and shelter for the little girl
buried beneath the battlefield
still breathing.

Ave beads rattled
with each step,
a warning
to gods
to ghosts
to grief.

The flack jacket gleamed
in candlelight
in blood.

Holy.
Heavy.
Hers.

 

[Tzara]

flack
/flak/
informal • North American
noun

a publicity agent.

She Wore a Flack Jacket

all glitz and gold
with her honeyed tongue a match,
gathering reporters like flies

caught in a web spun of hyperbole,
hipness, hypocrisy, hypnosis,
and God knows whatever else

she could conjure up to keep
attention focused on her clients'
careers, fragile as eggs

juggled by a dyskinetic clown
in some jerkwater circus.
A kilowatt smile

and a shipping container
full of cut-rate compliments
her only tools

to ward off despair or unemployment.
She switches on Affability
and polishes Charm

to a high gloss finish,
hoping hoping hoping one, at least,
of those she represents hits

something like The Big Time
so she can relax into retirement
in a Richard Neutra residence

in a gated community
sited on an exclusive golf course
somewhere in the semi-wilds of Palm Springs.
​

flak
/flak/
noun
1.

strong criticism.​

2.

antiaircraft fire.

She Wore a Flak Jacket

to shield herself from the shrapnel
of ex-boyfriends' sneers
and the catty asides

other women might spit
in her general direction
when she'd waltz off the dance floor

with that cute guy from Love Island
in his third year of med school
whose parents owned

twenty percent of glytz.com
(pre IPO). Could it possibly be her fault
that her genes were perfect

and her jeans fit her hips
like shrinkwrap? Personality, girls.
Personality. And some black Fleur du Mal

knickers to grab his attention
if he ever gets that far.
Don't be jealous, dahlings,

just spend more quality time in the gym.​

 

[_Land]

She Wore a Flack Jacket

They started filing complaints
the moment she was born.
Too loud.
Too black.
Too bold with her eyes.
She hadn’t even spoken
and the world was already
sharpening its pens.

She learned early
you don’t need bombs
when you’ve got
side-eyes,
snide remarks,
and meetings that forget your name
on purpose.

Her flack jacket
ain’t Army-issued.
It’s HR-proof.
Steel-woven in code-switch and cadence,
black thread quilted
from grandmothers who smiled
while bleeding between floors
they weren’t allowed to own.

It holds every performance review
where aggressive meant
she didn’t bow.
Where not a team player
meant she didn’t laugh
at their jokes
that punched her in the gut
with silk gloves.

The jacket holds
the breath she swallowed
instead of saying
Excuse me?
Did you just call me articulate
like I was a dog who fetched?

Every zipper tooth
a clenched jaw.
Every pocket
a sealed scream.

She files the emails.
Oh, she files those damn emails.
“Just circling back…”
“Per my last…”
She prints them,
annotates with red pen,
and tucks them in the lining
like sacred scrolls.

She files
Token
next to
You’re so intimidating
next to
We just didn’t think of you
for that opportunity.

The jacket weighs thirty years.
Eleven jobs.
Four betrayals from women
who called her sis
and cc’d her downfall.

The collar is stiff
from pressing her voice
into something palatable.
The hem soaked
in holy oil from Sunday service
where they preached grace
but didn’t offer it
to mouths that wear history
like pigment.

She walks in
carrying the boardroom on her shoulders
but all they see
is attitude.

They don’t see
the bullet points
lodged in her chest
from every time she got skipped over,
talked down to,
paid less,
worked more,
told she should be grateful
for the seat
she built herself.

They don’t see
that her jacket
has birth certificates in it.
Her grandmother’s hands
gripping lunch counters.
Her mother’s silence
after being passed over
for a promotion
she trained the man to do.

They don’t see
that when she smiles,
she’s biting the blood
in her mouth
to keep from spilling
truth.

She wore that jacket,
evidence and armor.
Proof.

Every thread
a receipt
of a payment made to the ferryman,
a river of Styx and stones
and broken bones.

 

[_Land]

flack
/flak/
informal • North American
noun

a publicity agent.

She Wore a Flack Jacket

all glitz and gold
with her honeyed tongue a match,
gathering reporters like flies

caught in a web spun of hyperbole,
hipness, hypocrisy, hypnosis,
and God knows whatever else

she could conjure up to keep
attention focused on her clients'
careers, fragile as eggs

juggled by a dyskinetic clown
in some jerkwater circus.
A kilowatt smile

and a shipping container
full of cut-rate compliments
her only tools

to ward off despair or unemployment.
She switches on Affability
and polishes Charm

to a high gloss finish,
hoping hoping hoping one, at least,
of those she represents hits

something like The Big Time
so she can relax into retirement
in a Richard Neutra residence

in a gated community
sited on an exclusive golf course
somewhere in the semi-wilds of Palm Springs.
​

flak
/flak/
noun
1.

strong criticism.​

2.

antiaircraft fire.

She Wore a Flak Jacket

to shield herself from the shrapnel
of ex-boyfriends' sneers
and the catty asides

other women might spit
in her general direction
when she'd waltz off the dance floor

with that cute guy from Love Island
in his third year of med school
whose parents owned

twenty percent of glytz.com
(pre IPO). Could it possibly be her fault
that her genes were perfect

and her jeans fit her hips
like shrinkwrap? Personality, girls.
Personality. And some black Fleur du Mal

knickers to grab his attention
if he ever gets that far.
Don't be jealous, dahlings,

just spend more quality time in the gym.​

Damn and double Damn @Tzara really like both takes

 

[42BelowsBack]

She wore a flak jacket

In tableau, a coupled needle
shiny skinned black spinning
out of jacket the racket deux
de rigueur, dance floor. 1954.

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

She Wore A Flak Jacket

She was a first time swinger
her eyes in open panorama

On a low apparatus
lay a woman
surrounded by many men,
withering and writhing,
bodily writing,
jacketing her in their ink

On the boiling mattressed
buttressed floor, still more
woman and men roiling,

she saw a woman still jacked
in fur, hips jacking jacket less
in transitive verb

& saw her husband hung out
bullet loaded in a non liquid
conducting jacket.

In her fresh envelope she
was emotionally ready for
her flak jacket to be a wet
space for temperature
controlled liquids to
circulate,

 

[_Land]

@Tzara if you would suggest a new title in the next few days, that would be fabulous.

Then select someone else to pick a title...


Would love to see this thread take off. There are some great poems being created from this

 

[Angeline]

@Tzara if you would suggest a new title in the next few days, that would be fabulous.

Then select someone else to pick a title...


Would love to see this thread take off. There are some great poems being created from this

Can I request that if you do more of these start a separate thread for each? We did it that way in the past if you recall so that poems don't get lost. Not everyone keeps careful track of where their poems are and it's easier if they can find them by thread title.

 

[_Land]

Can I request that if you do more of these start a separate thread for each? We did it that way in the past if you recall so that poems don't get lost. Not everyone keeps careful track of where their poems are and it's easier if they can find them by thread title.

You can do more the request my dearest moderator..... You can crack the whip of demand . I think that's a brilliant idea..... I have poems still lost somewhere in this forum

 

[Angeline]

You can do more the request my dearest moderator..... You can crack the whip of demand . I think that's a brilliant idea..... I have poems still lost somewhere in this forum

I'm not the demanding type. I just think it works better that way. And I've lost poems too which is one reason I suggested it.

 

[_Land]

I'm not the demanding type. I just think it works better that way. And I've lost poems too which is one reason I suggested it.

I know, but my nature finds reasons to laugh ! It's also a great suggestion

 

[42BelowsBack]

Same Name Poem Challenge

Breathless a sneaky bitch

Uriah Heep, sage, life coaxed in a dumpster fire,
in poorer thoughts taking scrapes off poems not
their own, Writes a ‘Poor Me Poet.’ Feeds in ego
beats oft in obsequious maleficent retreat, Bows
back
—pedaling a cheap spring to an Oasis,


Use sneaky bitch in the title of a poem.

 

[Remec]

She wore a flak jacket

Finely crafted from a life of mansplaining and female cattiness.