2023 Poem-A-Week Challenge (Poems Only Thread)

[Wonderer67]

Another Long Day

A walk in the woods
On our farm at dusk
Helps me unclutter my mind
Long and tough day at work
My day job…the one that pays the bills
But now I am here in my woods
I have to tell myself that
To force the discipline of mindfulness

October has arrived in force
44 this morning at wakeup and still only 54 now
I love the weather
The crispness in the air
But the shorter days
Fuck with my head

I am a wonderer
A wanderer
My mind wanders
As I walk the trails
I’d love to quit my day job…
And focus on farming 24/7
But the money is shit
And the benefits package is even worse
Stacy focused, Tim…be in the moment.

This time of year, I walk extra carefully
As quietly as possible
I try not to scare the deer
Or the birds
As I walk up the main trail into the woodS
I look up and marvel

I love these woods
I know almost every tree
The throngs of black walnuts
The tulip poplars standing ram-rod straight at attention
Red maples and their invasive cousins, the Norway maple
Regal oaks
Dead ash trees – their skeletons scratching at the dark blue skyThey will be firewood soon enough
Swamp maples, dogwoods and sycamores
Cooling their root-toes in the swamp

I resume my march
Tactical now, trying not to crunch leaves or snap sticks
No deer today
Which is good: I do not love them

The only thing I hear are the
Birds conversing
Talking amongst themselves
And the cascade of acorns
Hitting branch after branch;
Natures pinball machine

I hear the thud of
Heavier black walnuts falling
In the light wind

It’s time to turn for home
To make dinner
Nearly dark out now
Miss Conduct will be hungry
And hopefully horny too

48/52

 

[Ashesh9]

Her unclothed Bum: clad in scanty G string....
To the heart of Bottom lovers Bliss/Joy doth bring
In a hot parched desert like a gushing deep spring
: to tone Gluteal muscles she cycles..Kring Kring ...
View attachment 2281097

 

[butters]

poem # 48

the art of the tortured souls

it's said the greatest art
is forged from the crucibles
of the most tormented souls

it hangs heavy on a wall
haunts the hollow hallways
infects the very air with misery

beware your choices:
you can close a book
turn off the music
change channels on t.v
but you give a picture time
an ubiquitous presence in your life
reaching for your shoulder
or staring you right in the face

the greatest art
can suck light from its source
eclipse joy
press us down into
cold, sinuous shadow
as siren-songs of madness
seek company for misery
in long-extended visits

i can't give them house-room
they shrink me too much
burn my mind even as i know
i can't ease an artist's essence—
that distillation of themselves
steeped into canvas skins
too heavy a burden to lighten

 

[Tzara]

Geoff and Tom Discuss Spring:
A Kind of Mash-Up Glosa

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
Of which vertú engendred is the flour
—Geoffrey Chaucer: From the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales

Can it really be the cruellest month
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote
Wets the desiccated earth
Like an IV in the arm of a etherised patient?

It should be more of a miracle, as
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
That lilacs or lillies, even luscious weeds
At last rise up and live again.

Surely Dionysus would caress these plants
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
That a drunken riot of colors—the green
Of life, blue of remembrance, the red swell

That is desire. Such vigor!
Of which vertú engendred is the flour,
The bloom, bursting, stirring the lust
Of long dulled roots to thrust skyward again.

Week 42: Poem 1: Total 57


Thanks to Angeline, il miglior fabbro.

 

[Angeline]

Restless Longing At The Tabard Inn*
(Italicized text excerpted from The Prologue to the Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer)

Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
And even here in the modern city street
Warm breaths of breeze blow soft and sweet

The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne
Although April has just half its days
Life buds, unfurls to the beckoning rays

And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
Wrens, doves, robins chirp and sing,
Awaken in the night to dream of Spring

So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages,
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages
All Nature seethes: bud, bird, bee, toad
Even human hearts long for the road.

*A half-assed Glosa from an uninspired woman who would love to go on a pilgrimage (but more like to Liverpool tbh)


Week 42, Poem 1, Total 51

 

[Ambient4190]

the lemon pepper leader
herded
his thyme followers
implored
yellow mustard politicians
and
red pepper flakes journalists
beyond
the paprika comedians
to
the basil lawyers
bay leaves doctors
and
sea salt baths

.......nonsensical have a great day!

 

[Tzara]

Putting the Garden to Bed

The last rose of the year
is ironically named
Opening Night.

Blood red petals,
glossy green foliage,
blooms that refuse to die.

That we have to severely cut
its canes to leave three
or four strong stems

is basic husbandry—
an odd word, as my wife
does most of the pruning,

because my own hands
cannot even hold
a pencil right,

as if my fingers
were limp and dying stems
that should rightly be snipped

off my still living trunk.

Week 43: Poem 1: Total 58

 

[Tzara]

Poem Composed after a Few Martinis,
Inspired by a Dorothy Parker Quote
and Written in Rather Clumsy Anapests

I like to have a Martini,
Two at the very most.
After three I’m under the table,
After four I’m under my host.
—Dorothy Parker (Attributed)

If I offer you another drink,
It's not that I want you to think
That I want you in bed,
Although it must be said
That I'd love you to try my new kink.

You needn't take off any clothes,
Though I'd rather you did, I suppose.
Just please stand very still
While your glass I refill
And then we'll both see where that goes.

I see that you're down on the floor,
But thank god haven't started to snore.
With perhaps one more sip
Your resistance will slip
And I'll join you in joyous rapport.

Now you've finally parted your thighs
But my plans have gone strangely awry—
After all of this gin
That I've guzzled within,
My erection's become rather shy.

The moral, I guess, is that booze
Might heighten one's talent to schmooze
But its other effects
Seem to deaden one's sex
And one's dignity ends up quite bruised.

Week 43: Poem 2: Total 59

 

[Angeline]

The world's furious song flows through my costume.
~from Red Shift by Ted Berrigan

Spooky Memory

Only one photo remains
wherein I'm a small skeleton
in cheap painted nylon, plastic mask
slightly askew, an all-important bag
proclaiming "Trick Or Treat"
clutched tight
in my hopeful grasp.

No doubt I am dreaming
of negotiations that will follow
the main event, masks off,
eyeballing our piles of candy:

I'll trade you five Tootsie Rolls
and all my Bit-O-Honey
for a Milky Way or Three Musketeers.

My sister, a devil that year, obliges.
She's always kind to me. I'd give all
my best chocolate for one more
Halloween with her.

I never wanted to be a skeleton
anyway. My dream costume
was a beatnik, like a female
Maynard G Krebs or maybe
Audrey Hepburn as Greenwich Village
bookstore denizen in Funny Face,
which is ironic because I grew up
to be a beatnik and still am,
sort of. It's not a costume,
anymore, just me.


Week 43, Poem 1, Total 52

 

[Ambient4190]

how to respond
when the world
dishes out hurt

fight or flight
is what they say
on a normal day

laughable to
believe all fit
in a box

when the trigger
is red demanding
relief from pain

numbness craved
cutting or worse
let it rain

 

[Ashesh9]

Heartfelt Condolences: Maine.....
Horror...tears.....sympathy down doth rain
Down with NRA:
Everything wrong with Gun toting DNA
Trump Putin Xi
Versus
Biden- Zelenski-Modi!!!!
Russia China Iran.....
Perennial Troublestan.....
Gaza Lebanon Yemen.....
Perennial Tension!?

 

[Ambient4190]

9 (a) th' missus heard he liked to be sucked

9 (a) she opened wide to take him in but

6 (b) scared he was of her teeth

6 (b) darlin' get thee beneath

9 (a) for only you my heart i still fuck

attempt #1

 

[Wonderer67]

Onomatopoeia’s Birthday

November 1st
Day of the Dead
dia de los Muertos
Samhain
Halfway to the winter solstice
The Solemnity of Saints
Autumn dziady
Her day of celebration

Her name is Pia
Taken to Pia Leah Maria
But we settled
On Onomatopoeia

This is a tough one for her
Fifty
I hope she will ramble
The roads of backwoods Oregon
Finding the beauty of the trees
Taking in the colors
Collecting leaves
Giving those beautiful punkins
A happy look
The pride of a farmer
Especially the super worty one
It was my seed
My gift to her

Thru this poem
I remind her that she is
Still technically
In her fourth decade

I know she’ll crack a beautiful smile
For me
On All Hallows Eve
Onomatopoeia’s birthday

49/52

 

[goddessofglee]

№44

"A poem from a wellwisher!"
is no longer here
replaced the poem with my own...

"On we go...!"

Join as a kindred companion,
this isn't the final farewell...
the strife still persists
as we wander in solitude...
towards novel undertakings, aspiring to deliver...
with utmost excellence.
May God bless us all...
as we put our best foot forth...
Amen

 

[goddessofglee]

№45
Let's go on to write...

A walk on my own,
towards abstinence...
away with traces
of their presence...

In the realm of serenity,
where peace should reside,
There dwell the troublers,
with mischief on their side.
They roam the streets and corridors with unruly hearts,
Disrupting the harmony
with their unsettling arts.

Like ripples in a pond,
their chaos spreads wide,
Disturbing the tranquillity
that others seek to abide by.
Their tongues wield the sword
of constant discord,
Provoking unrest,
with words so absurd.

They come in different guises, these agitators of peace,
Some blend in the crowd,
while others never cease.
With their fiery tempers
and destructive dedemeanour
They shatter the calm,
leaving disorder as their redeemer.

Like a storm brewing in
the depths of the night,
They cast aside unity,
embracing friction with delight.
Their motives veiled,
their intentions unclear,
Constantly stoking
the embers of fear.

They penetrate the sanctuaries
of our solace,
Leaving behind a trail
of chaos and malice.
In homes, communities,
and lands far and near,
They disrupt the tranquillity
we hold dear.

But in their wickedness,
the seeds of defeat they sow,
For peace grows stronger
when faced with a blow.
Through unity and love,
we shall withstand,
Their ceaseless noise,
and they shall be unmanned.

Let us raise our voices,
in harmony and accord,
Extending a helping hand,
where there's discord.
Together we shall triumph,
with peace our guide,
In the face of disruption,
love shall abide.

 

[Wonderer67]

Headed Towards Divorce

I fought for this country
But I do not think I love her anymore
I used to…
Now it’s the inevitable death spiral
Towards divorce

She’s the wife I do not know anymore
I still wear my star spangled wedding ring
But I wonder if I ever really knew her
The real her

We wake up next to each other
Go to bed together
Say ‘I love you’
But it’s barely heartfelt
I feel more loyal to 1/68 Armor or 2/12 Cav
My old lovers

We go out to dinner
The couple that is there
But not present at all
Both of us on our phones
Nothing to say to one another
She, with her nose in all things commercial:
Greed, commercialism, reality TV and
Some dream she claims she has
Me, against everything she is, says or does now
I stay because it’s easier than moving out
A marriage of convenience
I suppose

America, we’ve grown out of love over time
Stuck in just another
Broken, loveless and sexless marriage

50/52

 

[Tzara]

In a House on the Coast,
Looking towards Victoria, BC

There must be fish
in the cove, given
the seagulls, cormorants,
even a seal, massing
just below the point.

I put Schumann
on the stereo,
settle into the armchair
before the fire. But

what can I read
that would be better
than the life
outside the window?

So, finger in book,
I watch and watch,
Schumann's melodies
as soundtrack,

and everything I see
is like a gift—
the water, the birds,
the sun on the waves,

and I, an atheist,
finally understand
the need for prayer.

Week 44: Poem 1: Total 60

 

[Angeline]

Fall Fetish

What is it
about the perfect boot
that quickens my pulse,
makes me want to rush out
and buy those long, knee-high
leather charmers, brown, with chunky
wood heels and those cunning little
straps at the top to help them on
and, of course, off revealing calves
in warm heather-colored socks,
forest green or cornflower blue,
anything nature inspired to complement
the last brilliant colors of autumn
before they leach away to winter.

I could wear them with a skirt,
but best is over faded jeans,
hair in a long dark plait,
and a fisherman sweater
with a silk camisole underneath
to surprise you, girlish pastel
under all that tomboy.

Those boots make me walk
a little different, a bolder
hip-slinging kind of gait
especially if I know
you're watching me
crunch by, kicking up
a few mottled leaves.


Week 44, Poem 1, Total 53

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Your poem, it's like a child.
You've been there, you must,
in that first moment
when an idea became

more​

and​

more​

as you tried to shape
add meaning and purpose
until it was about time for tears
to show in the bubble wrap
you kept it save from
the world
that houses
bullies
critics
floors
and bruised knees;
but for that one heart
it melted
as easily as the summer sun
works on ice scream
it was all worth it.

 

[Ambient4190]

9 (a) ms mayfair got herself a loofah

9 (a) she scrubbed puffy lips of her cooter

6 (b) in raptures she sang hymns

6 (b) broke the door did big jim

9 (a) bested by shower flower du jour

attempt #2

 

[butters]

poem #49

Bridge of Immortals

if you find yourself
standing there
in awe of the view
smooth rock walls either side
that climb way up to heaven
and descend beyond sight
remind yourself you're human
as were those
who toiled
to construct it
in all its beauty
an impossible feat
worthy only
of immortals



https://th.bing.com/th/id/R.90dba34...EHb6AzIsSsRTGRCgRBs3FIw=&risl=&pid=ImgRaw&r=0

 

[Ashesh9]

My companions : one by one...
Have departed the Earth....
Memories surround me...
As i sit and remember them in my cozy hearth!
Am I an old fossil....?
An obsolete has been????
Answer me sweet reader:
My King or My Queen......

 

[Ashesh9]

Elsie Sutton: Prisoner on Gor!!!?? gasp...
Cross my Heart & Hope 2Die
Never wud hv imagined: Oooh My..My!?
Elsie Sutton on Planet Gor----
"kneelin'N presenting"--Breakin' Newz more!?
HerArse2Da' Sky: Head on floor!!!?
High Priestess o' FemDomme: Role-Reversor!!
Warrior John Norman or Author if Thou please:
Hath Captured Ms. Sutton...her Clit He doth tease.
Haughty FemmeDommy now reduced2tears....
Confronts Her Secret Deep Dark Fetish Fears!!!!??

 

[goddessofglee]

№46

Now I'm here...
He said...
"show me what you've got"

I replied...
it's a gradual process,
Not something to rush into...

taken aback
by your words...
so held my thoughts at bay
we have to blend into them,
to live the thoughts within
like clothes we wear
like food, we eat
like the feelings we live with
& maybe one day
will die in me.
Unable to reach
zenith and back...

In gradual steps,
life unfolds its plan,
Not something to rush,
nor yet to chance;

It takes time,
patience, to understand
The worth of moments lived
and lessons gained.
My mind, taken aback,
hesitated to hear,
Your words but true,
like rays of morning dew,
Clearing the fog of doubt
and uncertainty;
I must surrender now and trustfully stay,
Blending into life,
as garments do fit tight,
Living through poetry,
as sustenance does feed,
Thoughts entwined within me, growing strong and deep,
Perhaps one day they'll fade away as memories in deep sleep.

 

[butters]

poem #50 (an edited version of a writing live piece)

scissors are not a simple machine

nor do they revolve around
the greased axle of you
spinning like an ever-turning mind

i cannot pull on them
to raise myself in your sight
i can't employ them
as a lever to your heart
nor are they fit for purpose
to embed myself in you
—a screw in your psyche

they perform poorly as a wedge
to hold open your doors
and function not at all
as an inclined plane to your soul

i suppose i could snip
....parts
..............of me
..........................away

to better fit the shapes of you
but those are prone to changes
i can't keep up with

i know i shouldn't run
with them in hand
because accidents happen
and at a push they'd work
to aerate your flesh—
scientifically-speaking
of course