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

[Angeline]

Welcome to 2025, Poets, and Happy New Year. This year your challenge is to write a poem each week of the year. Let me cover the details in a brief Q&A!

Can I write a sonnet? A villanelle? Free verse? An erotic prose poem? Etc, etc, etc.
Write anything in any style that *you* define as poetry. The only rules you must follow are the same as for every thread on this forum and the Poet's Hangout, the official forum guidelines.

What if I want to write 52 haiku or American Sentences or (heaven help you) sestinas?
Write what works for you. One of the benefits of this sort of challenge is that you end up with 52 (or more, but more on that in a bit) poems, enough for a poetry chapbook. So if, for example, you'd been considering writing a chapbook of sonnets, this challenge could provide a way to do that. And if you don't have a plan and just want to write some poetry each week well that's fine, too.

What if I miss a week or two? What if I'll be busy in March and can't write poems then? Do I have to drop out?
Just do your best. If you miss a week or more no one is going to judge you. In fact no one but you will be keeping count of when and how often you write. Obviously the more poetry you write, the better for you. But you're in charge of that and we all recognize that life gets in the way of our best laid plans at times.

Is it ok to write more than one poem per week?
Of course! Write as many poems as you want.

I have comments, questions, observations. I'd like to say I like a specific poem or make a suggestion. Can I do that in this thread?
This will be a poems only thread. Please put your comments, etc in the discussion thread here. If you forget and drop a comment in this thread it'll be moved to the discussion thread.

I have a good idea for a challenge. Can I still post it this year?
Absolutely! Everyone is always welcome to post prompts on this forum or post on any of the ongoing challenge threads. Even time-sensitive threads (like last year's challenges, for example) are open to anyone who wants to write in them. If you're inspired, write!

 

[Ash999]

Welcome to a New Year...
Will it be a Year of Joy....
Or a Year of Fear..
Will the World laugh out loud??!
Or will the World shed a Tear??!
Will there be a surplus....
Or will there be an
Arrear!?
Don't press brake or accelator:
But plz change a Gear!!!?
R U Lewis Carrol:
Or R U King Lear11?
Is her nightgown opaque??
Or is it just stark Sheer.....

 

[goddessofglee]

Here’s a conversation with they—
Parts of me, yet silent they stay.
But tonight they’ll speak, they’ll share, they’ll say…

Me: Feet, my roots, do you feel spent?
Feet: We carry your world, yet we lament.

Me: Legs, my strength, do you ache in stride?
Legs: We long for stillness, not just pride.

Me: Hips, my anchor, do you bear much pain?
Hips: We hold your weight, but cracks remain.

Me: Stomach, my core, do you feel right?
Stomach: I crave care, not just appetite.

Me: Breast, my best, is the dress to tight?
Breast: Let me rise and fall, arousals I'd ignite.

Me: Hands, my makers, do you tire?
Hands: We build your dreams but seek desire.

Me: Palms, my touch, do you still feel?
Palms: We miss soft skin, something real.

Me: Mouth, my voice, do you regret?
Mouth: Words unspoken haunt me yet.

Me: Nose, my guide, do you delight?
Nose: In fleeting scents, both wrong and right.

Me: Eyes, my windows, do you weep?
Eyes: For beauty missed when shadows creep.

Me: Brain, my boss, do you ever rest?
Brain: Silence is the peace I crave best.

 

[Tzara]

A Challenge Greeting Card,
Written Somewhat in the Manner
of an A. E. Housman Poem

In rhyme a poem's sometimes set.
Some think free verse is better yet.
But I've a fondness for them both,
And to the two I plight my troth.

But competence? Beyond my ken.
My poetry is rather thin.
As writer, I'm a plodding bore,
And poorly pour out verse galore.

Yet I keep writing, God forbid,
My chirp like one sick katydid.
This is but one of fifty-two.
Next week I'll torture you anew.

Week 1 : Poem 1 : Total 1

 

[Angeline]

I Don't Want To Spoil The Party

He called himself Loony, a spirit
summoned on the Ouija Board.
He was and wasn't John Lennon
because everything then was Beatles.

We collected cards and magazines,
papered our walls with posters
and kissed them nightly. Hell
we smoked L&Ms because Lennon

and McCartney dontcha know?
It was mad, delightful obsession
and Loony was one manifestation
of our joyous hysteria. He'd sing

I don't want to spoil the party so I'll stay.
I would hate for all the fun to go away.

Ok it was our voices, mine and Barb's,
but he was real to us and I swear
in all the times he spoke to us
we never moved the planchette.

Never.

It was such sweet happy innocence,
played against a backdrop of guitars
and drums. I lost Barb four years ago,
but maybe for Loony the party plays on.



Week 1, Poem 1, Total 1

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

Resolved.

The wind, the waves race and leap
over the gunnels in twos in threes.

A pack of frozen icy fingers seize
the rivers throat by the mouth,

Dragon pronged prows proud
ocean going sea wolves cleave

cold the ocean with their teal trailed
keels steel grey braided bearded wakes

Hogmanay resolutions freeze amid the
endless icy clink of single malt and fears.

Of my unseasonal imagination the trees sing
howling happy New Years resolutions desolving.

Wk1

 

[SpermFactory]

Hot Bicycle

My ice cream melted
the minute I saw her
lying on the grass,

instantly I thought
how she would look
in my bedroom

up against a wall or how
good it would feel to
ride her slowly but

I was twelve and my Dad
said son she isn’t built
to be a paper run bike.

Wk 1

 

[Remec]

Last Supper

I had asked for an out of the way booth,
somewhere that we could,
hopefully,
finally get in that talk that had been
waiting for seemingly forever,
or that we both had been avoiding
which was mostly the same thing;

The table they gave us wasn't a booth,
but it was amazing,
right at one of the side windows
where you could see the looming shadows
of the mountains on the horizon,
the steaming train engine with its string of
car sitting just so on the tracks;

Between the color of the decor and the
ambience hanging in the air with soft instrumental
tracks mixed with the whoosh of winds,
the crash of waves, it was no wonder we both
ordered seafood--the platter with a bit of fish,
some shrimp, and a lobster for each of us,
I remember how the cracker for the shell had felt
in my palm, cold steel tool ready to
go to work;

Only thing to complain about was how the chefs
had the kitchen door propped just enough
that we could tell exactly when something blackened
was being fixed by the scent of cajun spices
in the light smoke trickling
across to our table.

If only the rest of our anniversary was as
memorable as dinner had been.

---

Week 1 Poem 1 Total 1

 

[butters]

*week 1, poem 1*

Eye of the Storm

Here
in this small, still spot
where I can look clear up
and catch a glimpse of the blue
and straight down
see the soil and grass on which I stand

I take a breath

ignore the walls of chaos
that spin so darkly round me
brace myself
to accept those things
we cannot change
yet

 

[goddessofglee]

Faded as my denim!

I’ve seen your shadow in the pale moon’s glow,
A fleeting touch, a cruel echo.
You linger close, yet slip away,
A love that night keeps locked away.

I’ve heard your voice in the falling rain,
Soft and sweet, yet laced with pain.
Each word a dagger, each breath a plea,
But you’re never here—not truly with me.

Your scent still haunts the midnight air,
A trace of warmth that isn’t there.
I close my eyes, I feel you near,
But love like this dissolves in fear.

I taste your kiss, so cold, so slight,
A phantom touch that owns the night.
Is this real, or just a dream?
A hollow truth wrapped in moonbeam.

Tell me now, before you fade,
Was our love real, or just a shade?


*Total poems in Literotica: 77 poems*
(excluding 2025 challenge)
*2025 Challenge poems: 2*

 

[Bn2f]

TIMBER!

Oh, do I want to see your fall!
Better still, oh Lord, let me
Have a hand in the cause
Of hatcheting down
Your rooted tree of male self importance
That gnaws daily at my craw.

To set fire to the rotted lumber
Of your pride,
My imagined joy
Is getting so hard to hide
Sitting at my desk resigned
To do the work
You will take credit for.

Oh, do I want to see your end!
Better still, Dear Lord, give me more
Of these thoughts of sin
That will invariably send
Me
To Hell
To burn.

In my happy place,
In a happy time,
You would never touch
Your grubby hands
To mine
Or hug unsolicited from behind
The office intern.

Worse than your vanity
Is this evil of envy
That's found home and resides in me!
Urging vengeance to succeed,
Yet knowing testicles can only fail upwards
To the top,
But wishing still
Your fired head
Be laid out on a block.
Taking an axe to the corporate ladder matters
But it’s number three
On the pieces of wood to shatter
I desire
Swings
To chop!

Oh, to have you fall!
Collect the remains,
Limbs and all,
And have your sweet wife pining…

What...
Is in...
The box?

 

[butters]

*week 2, poem 1, total poems: 2*


lost

Once upon a fevered dream
a dragon spoke in silent words
of smoke that hung upon the air—
a wisdom doomed to disappear

for though I read them, understood
their portent clear, with cooler brain
the lizard-mage flew far away
its message swift to dissipate.

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

In fair Fólkvangr a Shield
Maiden’s wall ever falls
Woe this acrid flock of crows in
stone ship stood the ancient verse
in the dark a maiden’s passage
is passed, rune written in Oden’s
withering steel, the shield cloven
is but half Freja’s womanly wealth,
forever heroic the heraldic stars
shine upon the fair of Sessrúmnir,
heavenly hall of my slain maiden’s head.

W2 P2

 

[Angeline]

Ass-dar

Sometimes you'd watch my ass
as if it were must-see TV. I'd be unaware,
motorvatin' through my day, exercising
or moving laundry from washer
to dryer and I'd notice you entranced,

staring as I bent and stood,
stretching to pluck an errant sock
from its hiding place at the bottom
of the machine. It titillated me
and made me blush a little

till I realized you and my ass
were in secret communication:
Ass-dar, my booty in mutiny
against my logical brain
compelling you to my body

and you always overjoyed
to comply, practically having me
that once in an empty Laundromat.

I don't understand the chemistry
of our attraction, only that it worked
on many levels, some that mystify
even as the outcome was my thrill.




Week 2, Poem 1, Total 2

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

THAI CUISINE

It was a slow dance kind of Friday night,
hot and sultry, the sheen of a single lamp
gleaming sweat on the turned down backs
of my playing cards, she struck a match,
in the blue smoke haze, her appraising
gaze voluminous. I was fucked. She said,

listen kid, this advice is on the house, smoking
is bad for your health, so is shooting Pool in
your mini skirt, but playing Black Jack with a
Lady boy whore is like a cigarette in a packet,
your butt, always gets tapped out, one

two three, her cards flipped face up. Ace! King!
Jack! In exhale, if you’re going to bet the house
go big kid, her ruby mouth pursed soft, she crawled
onto and over the table, the orange tip of her cigarette
a tiger tail trailing smoke. With feral eyes, she purred,
sex exploration is a Black Amex.

wk 2 poem 2

 

[SpermFactory]

Mz

I dreamt about you
in thigh high boots with a whip
of cream on your lips

Wk 2

 

[Tzara]

Turandot

I imagine her at the opera,
eyes shining with tears
at the too beautiful music
while I inch my hand toward hers
during the climactic aria. But
I never quite touch those slender
arched fingers, for she is not mine
to love, not even here, in the lush
emotion of the ice maiden melting
in the glorious crescendo
of the final act.

Week 2 : Poem 1 : Total 2

 

[Bn2f]

Facebook Relationship Status​

Even when I’m down hurting
From the crushing weight of waiting.

See me smile.

Clouds o'erhead a bursting
Dancing solo holding pain in.

I feel fine.

Offering up these weary arms
Carrying nothing worth of value.

Heart resigned.

Veiled curtains slowly drawn
A reveal to all the less I can do.

Please be mine.

Supple lips, once gentle the kiss,
Spurning, turning towards the callous.

Left behind.

‘Single’ marked and cross checked
For current Facebook relationship status.

Such wasted time.
Such a waste of time.

 

[Remec]

Memory of Paris

School trips can be a drag,
scheduled activities
keeping a journal
forced to hang out with people
you'd avoid like lepers
back home;

But, free time comes,
finally,
and you find yourself in
an alley,
ignoring the decaying smell of
yesterday's fresh catch,
the screech of nearby traffic,
taking time to enjoy how her
lace panties feel and the way her
kisses have the taste of
cookie dough on them while
you shag each other in the
shadow of the Eiffel Tower.

---

Week 2 Poem 2 Total 2

 

[Mistress_Jaiyde]

How can I go on,
When you’re no longer with me?
My heart aches for you.

 

[Mistress_Jaiyde]

How could you go on?
You told me your love was real.
I guess I’m the fool.

 

[Mistress_Jaiyde]

I’ve learned my lesson,
Good things must come to an end.
But the hurt’s still there.

 

[Wonderer67]

My Mom

Left us when I was twelve
Maybe thirteen

Couldnta been a worse age
Ran off with another man
Left us to live with my crazy dad

It wasn't all bad
I knew she loved me

Over the years
As we got older
We understood more and then
More
Kath made good on being a part of our life

Someone asked me once
"how did you ever forgive her?"

I quickly answered back
"I never didn't forgive her... there was nothing to forgive."

Last week
I stepped out of her room
For just a few minutes

And when I came back
She was still wearing her beret
But she was gone

1/52

 

[Wonderer67]

The delicate snow
Cupped in loving outstretched arms
A chalice for wrens

https://imgur.com/a/tmD0OQz

 

[Gatliss123]

Tomb of Glass

I sit in the darkened room,
Mulling over who I once
Was. An image, long faded,
Still lingers in my mind.

Memories, once separate,
Have now conglomerated
Into a single tapestry. Surreal,
And mindlessly woven together.

Inside I feel crowded, suffocated
Beyond repair. And yet outside, I
Am wholly alone. Darkness surrounds
Me on all sides, yet inside, light blinds.

My heart is now a tomb. Cold and
Now filled with the remains of what
Was once alive. A name, long faded
Is carved deeply into the stone.

Who this was, I no longer know.
Yet still, I am haunted by their
Eyes. So green and vibrant. So
Clear amidst the fog of memory.

I slump in my chair, no longer
Willing to remember. Out of
Cowardice or pain? I simply
Do not know.

I look to the moon. My only source
Of light now. The sun no longer
Appeals to me. Only rays of silver
Provide me comfort now.