It's the 2025 Poem-A-Week Challenge! (This is a *poems only* thread.)

[DeMont]

Britain’s answer to
The American sentence
Mehehe

A
form by
Ray Stebbing
consists of lines
twenty syllables, the fifth must have ten
back down to one
if you wish
to be
a tetractys



(26) Snigga snigga

@SpermFactory,
So my dear colleague, Mr. Stebbing wants lines – check x 5
Twenty syllables – Check, total 20
The fifth must have ten (syllables I presume?) – Check 10 syllables, 5th line.
Back down to one – Nope, run out. Unless that’s a spare free syllable we get?
“If you wish” – careful what you wish for, safer to wish for nothing.
“to be” – or not, that is the question.
I want to be a tetrahedron, please.

Did I read that right? Do I win a big stuffed teddy bear or something? Anyway, the answer to your query is;

The
end of
this webbing
is a parasite
that lowers you to sheets of satin now.

Respectfully, of course,
D.

 

[Ash999]

A Tariff Saga!!?
============
From Oval-ian ZenithTo Trump-ian Doom
From joyous Euphoria
To darkest Gloom
In just 2 days Fortune changed...
But our Leadership will Boom!!!
Bharat Mata Upwards shall Zoom....
Trump may thunder and plunder...
But We refuse to surrender !!!
We shall Overcome
Viksit Bharat: to Thee...
A Grand Welcome!!!

[Description: A nonerotic poem on 50% Tariffs on India ]

Non-Erotic Poetry

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

Triskele

Spell
Druids
Sun, Earth, Sky,
lite spiraling
Autumnal ritual leaves.


35/52 1,2,3,4,7 syllables.

 

[SmilingLez]

Greed Eats First


Claw your throat.
Rip your breath.

Steal your skin.
Sell your bones.

Feed on pain.
Swallow your tears.

Crush your hope.
Burn your fight.

Use your weakness.
Discard your body.

They get fat.
Snap your neck.

 

[_Land]

The last time I held her

Elizabeth (Beth's Virtue) 10/4/74 to 8/7/25

Today as you fell
into my arms
one more time,
I Still caught you

You said you were
feeling clumsy,
But your heart
just wore out

I dialed 911 hoping
a miracle
of another dance
would exist tomorrow

It's not every day that
we get miracles though
today was not one of those days

Yet I can count everyday
of the last 23 years
As a miracle

Since you found me
on these pages here
Some idiot with bad poetry
And a heart that wanted to hold you

A heart that will always hold you

-Land

 

[_Land]

My Love

How do I wake up
in a world without you
Of all the questions,
you left me with,

This one hurts the worst
Not just for me
But for our kids

Laughter,
Smiles,
And that gentle acceptance
of everything we were

your ever present grace
our umbrella
from storms,
doubts


Can I just cancel tomorrow
Remove it from my calendar
So that we can have one more day with you


_Land

 

[42BelowsBack]

This isn’t a
Syllable
alphabet
tetractys


A
Belief
Chemical
Deprivation
Enthusiastically
Facilitates
Genuine
Human
ill.


This is a gobble gargle
(Ménage à trois poem)

No 23 Yay! 52 No Way!

 

[_Land]

Sand Castles on Your Shore
(for Elizabeth)

We built you in the high summer,
when the light lingered past bedtime,
and laughter spilled
like buckets brimming with ocean.

Grain by grain,
you rose in quiet majesty,
walls carved with open hands,
arches shaped to welcome anyone
who wandered from the long stretch of beach.

Our children ran in and out of your gates,
barefoot and certain
that your towers could never fall.
Other children came too,
the ones we never birthed
but claimed all the same
resting in your shade,
pressing their small palms to your cool walls,
feeling the safety you carried.

You stood through every tide of our years
mornings when waves kissed your foundation,
nights when stars crowned your tallest spire.
And then, the ocean called.

It wasn’t sudden
the tide had been gathering,
pulling farther out,
then returning with more insistence,
until one morning,
we stood ankle-deep in its reach,
watching it carry you home.

The children cried,
their voices rising against the wind,
as if they could hold you together
with the sound of their grief.
I wanted to join them,
to scoop the sand back into your form,
but the sea is an older keeper than we are.

Now the shore is flat and endless,
but if you walk it barefoot,
you’ll feel you still there
in the cool press of damp earth,
in the shapes the tide leaves behind,
in the memory of a castle
that taught us all what it meant
to belong.

 

[_Land]

All Hail the Traveler

Elizabeth,
we stand at the edge of your shoreline,
the tide pulling your footprints
into the place where water meets forever.

We send you
with hands still warm from holding yours,
with voices heavy and bright,
speaking your name into the wind
so it carries you unlost.

Go with the love you planted here.
Go with the blessings we scatter
like petals along your path.

All hail the Traveler.
You walk into the circle of your own blood,
to the hearth where your grandmother’s laughter
still leans against the doorframe,
to the long table where your friends and loved ones wait
with stories you know by heart.

They rise for you now,
opening the way,
lifting you into the seat kept ready,
their welcome a garment
woven from every prayer you ever spoke
for those who left before you.

We release you,
not to the dark,
but to the company of your people.
We hold our grief in one hand,
and in the other,
the joy that you are home.

All hail the Traveler.

 

[_Land]

Her Name Was Mom

Before the first light,
she stood in the quiet
and dreamed of warmth
that could outlast winter.

On June 11th, 1989,
she cupped her hands
around a single ember
and breathed until it caught.
Ion — Gemini,
the twin-hearted spark,
two streams of thought braided into one star.
She gave him the pulse of courage,
fed his orbit with her laughter,
taught him that the dark
was only a place waiting
to be filled.

She turned again to the void,
and on April 3rd, 1991,
split her flame into two equal halves
Gunnar and Kyle,
Aries twins,
born from one heartbeat with horns lowered,
their fire leaping across the heavens.
She pressed the same compass
into both of their palms,
yet whispered different roads
into their ears.
They spun in tandem,
each carrying a half of her oldest song.

The years ripened her,
and on July 18th, 2000,
she poured her gentlest light
into a globe of gold.
Aloura — Cancer,
the moonlit guardian,
her glow an ocean tide
that could lift or cradle.
She gave her the power
to build a home in any darkness,
a lantern for the places
Mom could not be.

August 1st, 2005,
she reached deeper into her fire,
pulling forth a steady flame
that would never flicker in the wind.
Cody — Leo,
the lion star,
born to hold their ground
and guide the wandering.
She set them at the edge of her horizon
to keep watch over the others,
to call them home when the night
felt too endless.

Then came January 4th, 2010,
and with it a dawn
that split into two meteors.
Bubba and Rambler,
Capricorn twins,
ancient in their knowing,
born under the mountain’s star.
She gave them the freedom of comets,
the permission to blaze
without asking the night’s approval.

She died twice bringing these twin stars into the sky,
twice stepped beyond the veil,
yet turned back
refusing to let her stars
spin without her guidance.
She stayed until each orbit was sure,
until the threads between them
could hold when her gravity was gone.

She named them all in the language of stars
and stitched them into a constellation
only she knew how to read.
Gemini to Aries, Cancer to Leo,
ending in Capricorn
a sky-map of her love.
Astronomers will never chart it,
yet the heavens call it
Matrem Luminis — Mother of Light.

Her name was Mom.
She was the gravity that kept them tethered,
the fire in their cores,
the pulse in their light.

Even now,
when the sky is quiet,
you can feel her love
burning through their beams
forever carrying the warmth
of the hands that made them.

 

[goddessofglee]

"Not Yet, But Closer"

I watched you take that task—
the kind most would have brushed aside
with a laugh or a frown.
You didn’t hesitate.
You didn’t ask if it mattered.
You simply stepped in,
as if my wish were reason enough.

You shaped it carefully—
not merely finished,
but polished as though the smallest thing
deserved the weight of your devotion.
Better than most.
Better than I expected.
And yet… you have further to climb.

One hill is not the mountain.
One light is not the dawn.

Don’t call this the end.
Call it a beginning you haven’t earned yet.
I will call again—
and I will see how far you’ll go.
Stay near.
There is still more of you to prove.

He carried her words like a secret fire.
Not yet the best—
but closer.
Closer was enough to make his heart race,
enough to make him ache for the day
she would say there was no one better.

Every task she gave became holy work.
A request was a command,
a command was a gift.
He did not measure cost;
what she wanted was the only weight worth lifting.

Her smallest glance was a blessing.
Her faintest nod, an answered prayer.

Others might have sought her favor once and rested.
He would not.
He would work until every other name faded from her mind
but his.

When she turned away,
he felt the emptiness sharpen him.
When she looked back,
he burned brighter.

He had no other want,
no other hunger—
only this:
to be hers in deed and in proof,
until even she could not deny
he had climbed the mountain she set before him.

There is still more of you to prove.
Stay near.

Until even she could not deny.
You have further to climb.


№32 of 52

 

[Hornymwtxn]

Unknown

Paths taken
Tried and true
Predictable
Nothing out of the blue
Regrets from trying nothing new

Seeking meanings where none should exist
Feelings lost
Persist

Fate predetermined
What have I missed

 

[Tzara]

Tropical

The kind of day that batters one with heat.

It's stifling even in the shade.​

Tonight it will be difficult to sleep,

And much too hot to tease or play.​

But though your unclothed body's slick with sweat,

I will not feign you to deceive​

How my soul's scorched by your reserved affect—

You are that all I long to read.​

Week 33 : Poem 1 : Total 43

 

[goddessofglee]

№33...The naked truth is me...

My Naked Face, Oh My!

My profile pic has gone astray,
It wasn’t nude in any way!
Just my face, no hint of sin—
Yet poof! It vanished from within.

Is beige now banned as scandalous hue?
Has skin tone turned to something “lewd”?
Amazing grace, what a world anew,
Where even cheeks can get the boot!

Oh, glitchy gremlins, hear my plea—
Return my photo back to me!


№33 of 52

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

Hot Joe

Suddenly,
the coffee
in my cup
tastes of
crows

Your eyes
are ants,
they race
over my tits
the crows
in my coffee
fly.


36/52

 

[PapaLovesMambo]

When the stars
Blink out
One by one
Leaving the night sky
A pitch blanket
Above
I will whisper
Your name
One last time
To heaven
Before the end

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

Brunch at Sessrúmnir after the battle at Singasteinn.

Freyja frying in a pan. Skull cracked brain yoke speared. Loki is an egg.


37/52

 

[SpermFactory]

IN YOUR FACE

Fuck you forehead worry lines laughing crows feet dancing into a smile.

(27)

 

[SmilingLez]

Democratic.
Promises.
Broken.

Republican.
Tradition.
Broken.

Both.
Power.
Self-interest.

People.
Ignored.
Divided.

System.
No true voice.
Broken.

Neither.
For the people.
Just games

 

[_Land]

Holding Your Wild Heart

a poem of love from baby daddy #4


You were born
with a song in your chest
that skipped notes,
that no doctor could smooth into a lullaby.

That wild rhythm
lived in you,
lived in the children you carried,
a chorus stitched from the same
untamed cloth.

Your path crossed many hands,
some that held for a season,
some that only brushed against you in passing.

When you placed that wild heart in mine,
I understood the weight of the gift
how it carried every pulse
of the lives that beat alongside yours.

I learned its language.
The pauses.
The storms.
The way it swelled when the children laughed.
The way it stilled when grief
brushed past your shoulder.

I held you,
to let the wind in your veins
keep running.

And in return,
you let me stand among your constellations,
all those small, fierce hearts orbiting yours,
as if I had been there
from the very first beat.

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

The rib obey

A girl is her mouth,
to be colluded, a
waiting reality.

Her body perfectly
contorted, curated,
perfumed, parted,

a set of heels, tits
with hair, waiting
at the door, a wife

to answer him, on
her knees, she will
answer him to

hear him say
“Honey, I’m
home.”

She will learn
new tricks with
lipstick,

-balance climax
with dinner, on the
table.

She His. Stay home
-executive. The mop
it mom in his bucket

-list. Hers is: His
domestic bliss. Stay
out of his social life.

Her’s is a feminine
right. Have babies
stand by him-Obey

-welcome him home
-Obey him -welcome
him home -Obey him.


37/52

 

[Ash999]

Ukraine
Gaza:.....
Alaska!!?
......
Smacks
Of
Yalta!!?

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

That Smoke that
keeps me high

Now a cloud
out of time
your kisses
float far
away
from my lips

If I could
turn back
my hands
to last night
when you
were mine

You were
the impossible
gossamer
I could not control
the twinkle in my
eye and I, can I,

baby can I get
some attention
from you-
my dress
down around
my hips

my breath stuck
on you,
so excited
I can’t hold
onto you
I can’t explain

I blame that
cherry low ride
cleaving you
to the bad
in me
Ooo


38/52

 

[Angeline]

Iowa City, 1998

The land is flat unrelieved
yellow cornfields that stretch
past the city with its castellated
stone empire of higher learning.

I am ensconced at the Holiday Inn,
by the indoor pool and elevators,
late night voices, chlorine dreams.
I didn't expect to find myself here,

didn't expect anything after years
of your displeasure, lost in piles
of dirty laundry, frozen by routine,
by disapproval and icy silences

until I'm so small,
infinitesimal almost
not anything.

Yet here I am at Martini's
sharing Chardonnay with Jason
who is tall and young, angel wings
tattooed on his back and no, no

I didn't but oh I wanted to, could have.
Instead we talked books and music,
shared pizza and later in my room,
I wrote a poem. Alone. I wrote a poem.

Week 33, Poem 1, Total 37

 

[_Land]

Broken Road

They hand me your box
like it’s light,
but I know every ounce of you.
I’ve carried your weight in breath
held too long,
in words that lodged deep,
in the heat of your hand
closing over mine.

I set you in the passenger seat,
your seat
seatbelt crossing the cardboard
like a hand I can’t unclench.

We ease onto the back roads,
gravel popping under the tires,
the smell of rain still trapped
in the ditch grass.
The ridges rise up on both sides,
green shoulders leaning in,
to listen, to our love story

A hawk lifts from the power line,
and I point it out
like I always do,
waiting for your inevitable
"She's watching over us"
that never comes.
So I say it for you.

The kids have been quiet.
No voices clashing,
no kitchen clatter.
Even laughter rings thin,
hollow in the house without you.

The wind smells like honeysuckle.
I grip the wheel harder.
Wish you’d worn a sundress,
wish I could see your bare feet
walking the path to the spring,
mountain light catching your curve

The road climbs,
switchbacks folding us upward,
home breathing closer.
I keep talking to you,
voice steady over the hum of the engine,
as if we’re just driving home
like we always do,
two bodies in the cab,
one beating heart between us.