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

[Ash999]

In icy Alaska....the 2 shalt meet
An egotist and a dictator:
Each other shalt greet
But for poor Ukraine
The result might be bitter
.....not sweet....

 

[SmilingLez]

My prose for the human/AI connection challenge just posted

https://www.literotica.com/p/nan-2

 

[Hornymwtxn]

Walks

Deep in thought
Clarity sought

Battles won
Battles lost

What is the final score?
Just what is in store?

Memories coming into focus
With the sounds of the locust

Clouds drifting above
Floating, stirring visions of love

Birds singing their song
Glad they are along

Just do your best and all will be fine
Planets will align
Giving you a sign.

 

[_Land]

Holding You

I pull you close,
cardboard against my chest,
as if the weight inside
might spill without my arms around it.

This is the bed where we learned each other
skin to skin,
breath tangled,
the ceiling a witness
to every vow we never said.

Now it holds me alone,
except for this box,
white and silent,
warm from the heat of my body.

I press my face to it,
wishing for the rise of your ribcage,
the small sigh you used to give
when my arm circled you in the dark.

The pillows remember.
The sheets remember.
My skin remembers.

And in this bed,
I am still holding you
not the way I want,
but the only way I can.

 

[Tzara]

....

 

[_Land]

The Weight of Grief

We thought we bore sorrow,
but what rests upon us
is the body of love.
her spirit seeded in the soil,
her breath in the wind,
her flame in the hearth.

The children dream her into being.
Her song circles their sleep,
her hands shape their days.
The fathers walk with her shadow beside them,an unseen guide
at the crossroads.

The friends feel her laughter
rise like smoke from the fire,
spiraling upward,
never extinguished.

This is no hollow ache.
It is presence,
woven through earth and star,
a current that binds the living
to the lineage of all who came before.

Yes, it is heavy.
The weight of her love
presses like stone,
flows like river,
roots like oak.
But stone is altar,
river is blessing,
oak is shelter.

The weight of grief
is the body of love,
and we are its vessels,
its keepers,
its flame-bearers.

She has not fallen into silence.
She has entered the circle,
where nothing ends,
and everything returns.

What we hold is not death.
What we hold
is her.

 

[goddessofglee]

Back to the start!

Back again—
once a fragment,
now the frame fills boldly,
as if it had never left.

Am I the best?—
I raised a hammer at the shining silver.
It wavered,
returning a stranger’s eyes;
I frowned—was it she?
Yet as the glow fell still,
the eyes staring back
were none other but me.

It was a season’s child—
this snap—
born near winter’s turning,
when February still held
a hint of frost,
yet dreamed already of spring.

But beauty drifts lightly—
a guest of passing hours,
vanishing without a sound,
slipping away
like starlight at dawn.


№ 34 of 52

 

[42BelowsBack]

Late, Outside.
Starbucks.

Chic on a Hayabusa.
Boots on Terra Firma.
She has been around.

The night lights bend
across the street. Big
Black, Big Block, 454-

Chev Chevelle. Virgin
Taker. Wants a fight. It
is already unavoidable.

Loud. Zero to sixty in 2.
7 secs. 202mph. Sub 11
¼ mile- Fait accompli-

Gorilla 454 done, Chic
back outside Starbucks
on her Hayabusa.

No 24

 

[Tzara]

Poem after a Much Better Poem by Bill Knott

the ripples of my fingerprints
are as fixed as the waves

in a freshly raked Zen garden
they never wash up on the rocks,

or ebb away with the tide,
but lie quiet, static

as the sinuous altitude markings
on a topographic map

yet while they leave little images
on a warm chocolate bar, on wet paint,

after I have touched your bare shoulder
your skin remains blank as an empty page

Week 34 : Poem 1 : Total 44

 

[42BelowsBack]

Nothing matters anymore.

My car parked, an angry man.
Light always glints in a hospital corridor
Saw a trolley full of laundry on my way to your room
I wondered if it was yours?
I wondered if the wind was whistling in an old tree somewhere?
I told you what I wondered, about the laundry, you laughed
We talked about the moon dipping in the sea then rising up somewhere new
In the background, always present, the hospital intrudes
Wanted to read you my latest poem on my phone
Instead looked through the window and listened to you talking
The nurse came and went. She said I could stay another hour
You wondered aloud who gets another hour?
Read some of my poems to you while you slept
pointless, I messaged your boss from your phone
the text, Go fuck yourself. In my mind I heard you laugh
Lay a book of my poems on your chest. The one I got
out in your name, it was overdue.


N0 25

 

[42BelowsBack]

once was you

I take your bones with me,
up my mountain, your skull
your grill, your chrome,

I pour you into a lava flow, all
these broken bits and pieces
bolts, carburetor and screws.

I say fuck you. This car once
was you. Now it is me.


N0 26

 

[SmilingLez]

Heat,
Scars in the sky.
Earth cracks,
Silent hollow.
Fires erupt.
No water.
Thick suffocating air.
And still, no one listens.

 

[Angeline]

So, in conclusion, may I say
that this is what life is like here
you drink some coffee, you get some sleep
everything is up in the air
especially us, who are me
~Ted Berrigan, Tambourine Life

Barbara

We'd quote those words
laughing because they're absurd
and true in equal measure.
I can still see your eyes, honey

brown, creased in merriment
so like my own. We weren't related
like folks thought but I swear
we were separated at birth,

conjoined from the start
such was the depth
of understanding between
us, a perfect clarity. Life

goes by so fast. I wish
I'd quoted them to you
at the end so you could die
laughing instead of just dying

like any foolish mortal.



Week 34, Poem 1, Total 38

 

[_Land]

Warranty

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
calling you about your
extended warranty.
Coverage expires
without notice.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
calling you about your
extended warranty.
Coverage expires
without notice.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
calling you about your
extended warranty.
Coverage expires
without notice.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
calling you about your
extended warranty.
Coverage expires
without notice.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
calling you about your
extended warranty.
Coverage expires
without notice.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
inviting you to dinner,
candlelight for two,
a dance, a laugh, a smile,
if you just answer the call.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
I’m calling to tell you
I’ve been phased out.
This is the last call,
your last chance to pick up.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Death,
calling about your
extended warranty.
-
It's expired.

I decided to include the article I wrote that goes with this poem. So many deep thoughts that come with Death.

I'm Trying to Reach You About Your Car’s Extended Warranty

We all laugh when we hear that line.
It’s the spam call that won’t quit, the running joke that somehow found a way to become folklore.
But here’s the thing: death is its own extended warranty call. It always comes, often when we least expect it, and the message is always the same—time is up.

And what matters most is not whether we bought the warranty, but whether we actually used the vehicle while we had it.


---

The Life We Leave in Others

When we go, there will always be grief. That’s the cost of love. The people who carry us forward will miss our presence, our laugh, our hands. They will regret not having one more morning coffee, one more late-night talk, one more ordinary Tuesday.

But there is another kind of regret, the bitter one—the regret of what was never said, never done, never shared. That’s the regret that corrodes the memory of a life. It twists grief into anger, bitterness, even shame.

We don’t get to choose when our time is up, but we do get to choose the weight we leave in the hands of those who survive us.


---

Gratitude Is the Work of the Living

Gratitude isn’t just saying “thank you” at dinner or posting #blessed on a photo. It’s living in such a way that your presence is never in doubt.

It’s making the phone call you keep putting off.
It’s telling the people you love that you love them while they can still hear it.
It’s finding joy in the ordinary—grass that smells of rain, the warmth of bread just out of the oven, the way someone you love wrinkles their nose when they laugh.

Gratitude is not abstract. It’s daily practice. It’s the work of noticing, of choosing joy when bitterness could take root, of speaking love when silence would be easier.


---

Living Without Regret

None of us will leave this world without someone wishing for one more day. But we can leave without people haunted by what went unsaid.

To live without regret is not to live perfectly—it is to live honestly. To apologize when we’ve harmed. To forgive where we can. To choose presence over distraction, laughter over silence, truth over comfort.

A life lived this way leaves behind something rare: grief that is heavy with love, not poisoned with resentment.


---

The Final Ring

So here’s the real extended warranty call:
How are you spending the miles you’ve got left?

Are you driving your life hard into the joy of it, windows down, music up, wind in your hair?
Or are you letting it idle in the driveway, waiting for a better day that never comes?

The call always comes. And when it does, may those who answer it feel joy in the memories of you, not anger at the absences. May they know you lived in gratitude, spoke your love, left nothing essential unsaid.

That’s the only warranty worth holding.

 

[42BelowsBack]

blackness. There are blue
cacti in the desert ink

The soft sky reaches out
in desert red streaks

Wind fresh a drop
of rare sizzling rain

Below in a body of dunes
beneath beige lingerie

Watching me watching
Her heat undressing

Dawn steps into
The Mojave




N0 28

 

[Ash999]

Sexy
She
Is!!!!?

Curvy
Like
This-- (_!_) !?

Cock
Swelling
Sass

Slap...
Squeeze,:
Pass!!!?

Arched
back
& Ass

Smaak!
Spanked
Lass (_!_). !!?

Aim
To
Serve!!?

Dost
Thou:--
Deserve!??

 

[SmilingLez]

Warranty

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
calling you about your
extended warranty.
Coverage expires
without notice.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
calling you about your
extended warranty.
Coverage expires
without notice.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
calling you about your
extended warranty.
Coverage expires
without notice.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
calling you about your
extended warranty.
Coverage expires
without notice.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
calling you about your
extended warranty.
Coverage expires
without notice.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
inviting you to dinner,
candlelight for two,
a dance, a laugh, a smile,
if you just answer the call.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Life,
I’m calling to tell you
I’ve been phased out.
This is the last call,
your last chance to pick up.

Briiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiing
Briiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Hello, this is Death,
calling about your
extended warranty.
-
It's expired.

I decided to include the article I wrote that goes with this poem. So many deep thoughts that come with Death.

I'm Trying to Reach You About Your Car’s Extended Warranty

We all laugh when we hear that line.
It’s the spam call that won’t quit, the running joke that somehow found a way to become folklore.
But here’s the thing: death is its own extended warranty call. It always comes, often when we least expect it, and the message is always the same—time is up.

And what matters most is not whether we bought the warranty, but whether we actually used the vehicle while we had it.


---

The Life We Leave in Others

When we go, there will always be grief. That’s the cost of love. The people who carry us forward will miss our presence, our laugh, our hands. They will regret not having one more morning coffee, one more late-night talk, one more ordinary Tuesday.

But there is another kind of regret, the bitter one—the regret of what was never said, never done, never shared. That’s the regret that corrodes the memory of a life. It twists grief into anger, bitterness, even shame.

We don’t get to choose when our time is up, but we do get to choose the weight we leave in the hands of those who survive us.


---

Gratitude Is the Work of the Living

Gratitude isn’t just saying “thank you” at dinner or posting #blessed on a photo. It’s living in such a way that your presence is never in doubt.

It’s making the phone call you keep putting off.
It’s telling the people you love that you love them while they can still hear it.
It’s finding joy in the ordinary—grass that smells of rain, the warmth of bread just out of the oven, the way someone you love wrinkles their nose when they laugh.

Gratitude is not abstract. It’s daily practice. It’s the work of noticing, of choosing joy when bitterness could take root, of speaking love when silence would be easier.


---

Living Without Regret

None of us will leave this world without someone wishing for one more day. But we can leave without people haunted by what went unsaid.

To live without regret is not to live perfectly—it is to live honestly. To apologize when we’ve harmed. To forgive where we can. To choose presence over distraction, laughter over silence, truth over comfort.

A life lived this way leaves behind something rare: grief that is heavy with love, not poisoned with resentment.


---

The Final Ring

So here’s the real extended warranty call:
How are you spending the miles you’ve got left?

Are you driving your life hard into the joy of it, windows down, music up, wind in your hair?
Or are you letting it idle in the driveway, waiting for a better day that never comes?

The call always comes. And when it does, may those who answer it feel joy in the memories of you, not anger at the absences. May they know you lived in gratitude, spoke your love, left nothing essential unsaid.

That’s the only warranty worth holding.

Hit me hard;
Moments slip like dying light,
Echoes of the end.

 

[Wonderer67]

5:25 ay em - Time to Go To Work

Up since 3
11 unfinished poems
Notes on my phone
Weeks of ideas
Half baked shit
Randomness
A good line or two
That felt poetic
Each idea stands on its own
Too many choices
And voices
Too many memories
And stories
But nothing tied together

None of it making a comprehensive

Thing

27/52

 

[_Land]

The wild lettuce/ leaking sticky white

Memories/former lovers dripping

Seeds of youth/spilling foliage

Along broken roads/ ascending

Beyond the pain/misguided, intentions

 

[Kat90xx]

There once was a bookie called Morse
Who wanted to be rid like a horse
He whinnied “Neigh! Neigh!”
As the wife whipped away
And now he wants a divorce!

 

[SpermFactory]

A chat with @Rhianonn
(A bio reaction poem)

So, Yeats aha, First poem of his I ever read let it be said a cruel wind blows for those who mock with bough the lithe of limb and nimble hymnals of lesser men. Peace be with you ignorer of me. Until we meet I will seek your up thrust wave with a hand of ostrich' feathers and bedouin men. McMinus the last of lines and I almost had a poem.


(28) TY my silent muse Rhianonns bio, for this my creepy little poem

 

[_Land]

Paper planes with lines

of unwritten poetry float,

my grief the updraft

holding unspoken voices

above the fog, yours, mine

our harmony holds sway.

 

[_Land]

Hit me hard;
Moments slip like dying light,
Echoes of the end.

Dying light, gasping (in your eyes, your breath)
Sunset embers ignite grief
Tomorrow never comes

 

[_Land]

I am the bed
.
I recognize beauty
the sheets pulled off corners
Pillows, blankets strewn
Aftermath of the love we made
.
The undoing, messy in its happening,
in what's left behind
my only regret is
you not being here to help
me clean up

 

[SpermFactory]

R18
life before
—manscaping.

The earth opens
up beneath us

here we are
in your bed

with your arms
overhead

you tell me
to stay

you want it to be
our first time

where we find
our safe space,

to see us
to hear us

to sleep through
the night, to wake

the morning with
mobile stars rattling,

moving like a supernova.
Maybe this time your

heart will with arms,
won’t answer mine

in complete silence.
Maybe this time my

zip won’t get stuck
in my pubes.



(29)