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

[_Land]

Codependency in Lingerie

She doesn’t speak at dinner.
Vacancy wears her name.
He forgets to pour her water
though she sets the table
with her whole body.

The lights flicker.
He notices the bulb.
Never her.

Her voice lives
in the closet,
hanging off wire,
strapped in secrets
and satin.
He only hears her
when she zippers herself
into hunger.

By night,
she wears red
a flare for the lost,
hoping to be found
in the wilderness of his gaze.

He says 'god, you look good like that".
She wonders which part
he’s worshipping.
The lace?
The curve?
The silence?
Never the ache.

She dissolves
with the daylight
a robe on a hook,
a breath that doesn’t echo.
Breakfast arrives.
He eats.
She watches his mouth
move around everything
she’s given.

As he leaves for work,
she hums tunes
in the tone of anxiety,
plotting her next moment
in the light of his gaze,
her moment of spotlight
in lingerie.

 

[_Land]

I Am Just a Wallet

She doesn’t ask if I’m happy.
Only if the cable’s paid.
If the flight’s booked.
If her skincare auto-shipped on time.

I hand her my card
like a love letter
signed in silence.
Every swipe
a hope she’ll come home
for more than the package.

She kisses me
when the refund clears.
Calls me “babe”
when her car needs tires.
Touches my neck
like a lucky charm
not a man.

But I smile
because the math adds up.
Her needs
give me purpose.
If I stop providing,
what am I for?

I scroll through watches
I’ll never buy.
Shoes I won’t own.
Trips I can’t take.

But her face lights up
when the cart says “confirmed.”
And I want to keep
that light.

At dinner,
she talks about my slip-ups
the missed oil change,
the credit score,

the way I still haven’t
handled that thing
she asked about last week.

She doesn’t raise her voice.
She raises expectations.
And I try harder.

Not because I fear her leaving
but because I fear
disappearing
when I stop being useful.

 

[Angeline]

Blue Ridge Terzanelle

The mountains seem to blur into the sky
As morning weaves together grays and blues
But Sun awakes the greening by and by

Till daytime's bright kaleidoscope of hues
Will pour on me like honey for my tea
As morning weaves together grays and blues

A quiet sweetness that will nourish me
In warmth and flowers on this breaking day
That pours on me like honey for my tea

And Mac the cat may visit though not stay
He'll watch for prey then vanish through the grass
In warmth and flowers on this breaking day

I scratch his ears and rock then let him pass
Across the porch then lightly past the lawn
He'll watch for prey then vanish in the grass

One moment here another and he's gone
Across the porch then lightly past the lawn
The mountains seem to blur into the sky
The mountains seem to blur into the sky



Week 31, Poem 4, Total 34

 

[goddessofglee]

Week 31...

Japanese Symbol Haiku

New Beginning
ココ (koko) – "Here" we are
禁 (kin) – "Prohibited / Forbidden" paths call,
夢 (yume) – "Dream / Vision" still move forward.

Market Breeze
割 (wari) – "Discount / Divide" winds blow
得 (toku) – "Bargains / Gain" bloom in bright markets,
愛 (ai) – "Love / Affection" buys what we need.

Space & Silence
空 (kū) – "Empty / Vacant" seats await
指 (yubi) – "Reserved / Pointed" places for the few,
合 (gō) – "Success / Fit" seals the deal.

Secrets & Joy
祝 (shuku) – "Celebrate / Congratulations" today
秘 (hi) – "Secrets / Confidential" whispered keep us warm,
龍 (ryū) – "Dragons / Mythic power" guard our hearts.

Flow of Time
月 (tsuki) – "Moon" guides "monthly" steps
有 (yū) – "Having / Existing" what we have, life goes on,
申 (mōshi) – "Applications / Requests" made.

Spirit & Open Doors
営 (ei) – "Open for business / Manage"
無 (mu) – "Free spirit / Nothingness," unbound and true,
心 (kokoro) – "Heart / Mind" welcomes it all.

Peaceful Ending
幸 (sachi) – "Happiness / Good fortune" flows
和 (wa) – "Harmony / Peace" binds every soul,
安 (an) – "Peace / Safety" gently remains.


*Note: Some symbols have multiple meanings depending on context; both are included where poetic.*
*Disclaimer: This poem is for fun and creative expression, not an educational or linguistic guide.*


№31 of 52.

 

[Remec]

Summer Rain

Rain falls. drip drip Warm rain. Sumer rain. Falls soft. Falls hard.
Soaks clothes. White t-shirt. Extra clingy. Buds grow. Straining material.
Glasses fog. Rain falls. drip drip Puddles form. Boots appear. Jumping boots.
Laughing jumpers. splish splish Sweltering heat. Hot rain. Warm rain.
Summer rain. drip drip

Week: 31 Poem: 1 Total: 6

 

[42BelowsBack]

Innocence lost

My ice cream fell, well
it floated down stream
cream slipping away,
day flattened in smooth
satin silk evanescence.


NO 20

 

[Angeline]

Reader's Dilemma

She loves a fictional man. He's close as the page, remote as the stars.



Week 32, Poem 1, Total 35

 

[_Land]

Peace

ain’t quiet.

It’s the absence

of bullshit.

It’s walking into a room

and knowing

you don’t owe anyone

a softer version of your truth.

It’s eating alone

without swallowing your worth.

It’s saying,

“No,”

and not following it

with a damn explanation.

 

[DeMont]

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!

"This year your challenge is to write a poem each week of the year." **Sob** I failed you mistress Angeline, this one took me three weeks to get to the point where I am 97% happy with it... try as I might I couldn't hit that 100...

Her first time

The neon lights of uptown towers,
Those red, blue, green, white fires,
Darted between the half shut blinds
Splash tiger stripes across the room
Skin hot, quivering with desires.

A rivulet of sweat ran between
Breasts tanned golden-brown,
While fingers dragged satin slip down
Fingernails scraped swollen nipples
Her thoughts threatened to drown.

Down her trembling long, lean legs
Her lover’s hands laid her bare,
While with touch both sure and deft
Slid slowly back up, gentle to where
Hot breath moved in down there.

Forcing her nipples to her own lips
Tongue dancing around and across,
How could her body invoke such fires?
A fleeting touch of lover’s tongue
Made her head her ebony locks toss.

Arms now outflung against the wall
Hands becoming each a palm inward claw,
Hips pushing forward, eager, begging
Seeking, hunting the pleasure wet
Tongue diving into her sex, she crying “more!”

Her hips began to grind, arms overhead
Head back, her back arched to the wall,
Tongue slithered and stabbed between thighs
And thrust deep inside, she writhing hard,
“Oh God I’m coming..!” Was this her downfall?

Her lover slithered up her slick body
Their hot wet lips and tongues clashed.
She tasted the sweet flavor of herself
From where that mouth had drank
While fingers slithered, thrust and thrashed.

Hands gently pushing, stroking and coaxing
The heat of their kisses going to her head.
She lets her lover guide them across
In a swirling dance of touch and pure lust
And lay her down upon the large bed.

On her back she lay, hands braced overhead
Hips rolled to one side, one leg raised upright.
Gently last ripples and quivers post-orgasm
Shuddered through her tall beautiful form
Her lover straddles her lower leg holding the other tight.

Upon an elbow she reaches out for bare flesh
In her mind there is no more reason nor rhyme.
Clutching at her lover’s thigh she tips her head back
“YES.. YES.. Fuck me, fuck me as you will..!”
Now there is no turning back, this will be her first time.

Their bodies slide together, hard and complete now
Hips grinding, hands, fingers, drumming a sensual beat.
She looks wide eyed at her blond blue eyed girl
Mounds driving together, gasps at clits electric touch
From within her very core rises an unbearable heat.

She braces herself at the headboard, pushing back hard
The trembles becoming a tidal wave shuddering rhyme.
Her leggy blond lover, frantic hips grinding explodes
She knows this is but the first of so many ways to come
And she knows she will never forget, her first time.

 

[Lily1011]

You wanted a mirror, I wanted a man!

You said I miss you
like it meant something.
But where were you
when I was crying alone,
bent over with stomach pain,
trying to convince myself
I deserved better
than what you gave me?

I asked for love
in daylight.
With eyes open,
feet on solid ground,
a name spoken
not in whispers
but with honor.

You wanted simple communication—
what does that even mean?
Less emotion?
No demands?
Just my body,
not my soul?

You came
with empty hands
and a clock set to midnight —
as if real love
arrives
in the dark.
Do you think I’m stupid?
Or just convenient?

I opened the door
five fucking times
and each time
you walked in with your shoes on,
muddy,
entitled,
like I should be grateful
you even showed up.

You
ignored me,
while I sat there —
silent, burning,
desperate for a look
that said: You matter.

You never looked.

You said:
Let’s talk simply.
But my heart
is not a quiet room.
It speaks in storms.
It remembers
what it took to survive
the silence.

And when I called it out,
you said I was silly.
That my pain was incorrect.
Incorrect!
As if my body
could be wrong
about being unloved.

I told you:
Come see me.
You said:
Later
I said:
Goodbye.

I begged for safety.
You offered delay.
I asked for honesty.
You gave riddles and pouty faces.

And still,
I tried to see the man in you
when all you gave me
was the shadow of a boy
who plays with fire
and runs when it burns.

You told me I was stubborn.
You’re damn right I am.
Stubborn enough to finally say:
Fuck this.
Stubborn enough to mean it
when I said goodbye.

I blocked you
to save what’s left of my soul.
I don’t care if you’re confused.
I’m not.

Now,
my stomach still aches
from all the words I swallowed,
but somewhere beneath the pain,
a flame stays lit.

I wasn’t too much.
You were too little.
You don’t get to call this love.
You don’t get to rewrite the story.
You don’t get to haunt me
with half-promises
and late-night maybes.

I wanted a man.
You wanted a mirror.
But I am not a projection —
I am who I am,

A poem
unfolding
without your touch.

_________________________________________

If you’ve ever doubted your worth because someone made you feel small —
this is your reminder:
you are not hard to love.
You were just asking to be loved right.

Let this be the last time you confuse attention with care,
crumbs with a feast,
silence with peace.

May you never again shrink to fit inside someone else’s fear.
May your boundaries be firm,
your heart unashamed,
and your exit —
a beginning, not an end.

Because healing isn’t passive.
It’s a revolt.
And you, my love,
have started a revolution.

 

[Wonderer67]

The War Canoe

Finally got a new home
Living in our barn for years
Our old neighbor, Raymond
Moved and couldn’t take it with him
And after he died (RIP)
His daughter placed an ad on Facebook

War Canoe 4 Sail
1920s era, 26’ war canoe, re-
canvassed and repainted in 1985.
It is very heavy. Barn kept for 20 years.

It wasn’t more than two days later
That she found a buyer

Ironically, Lenape indians
Who came by with an old F150

Six men pouring out of the cab
To lift that war canoe to its new destination
It was a heavy sumbitch
Easily 300 lbs
And we grunted and groaned
To get it on the truck rack

It was 26 feet of floating chaos
You could easily sit 12 or 15 people in it
A hundred years old if not more

The Lenape chief or shaman
Did a short ceremony
Blessing it for the future
And exonerating any wrongdoing from the past
He burned some sage in an old conch shell

Later on
Once they got it loaded and secured
My wife asked him if he could bless our barn
And maybe help us with the problematic groundhog

No problem He said. I speak groundhog
And he told us a long story of how groundhogs
Woke up the bears from the winter slumber in ancient times

He blessed our barn
After asking many questions
He burned more sage
In the conch shell
And said a little prayer

And then drove off with that war canoe
Secured tightly
On that old pickup

It was good to see it just get a good home

26/52

https://imgur.com/a/VRpQhht

 

[Angeline]

In Which the Poet Writes a Poorly Constructed Sonnet
in Defense of Deviance

Can form poetry be quite deviant?
Can a ten-footed iamb be kinky,
A sestina a sultry miscreant,
Who refuses all rules, downright slinky?
Is personification offensive
If a triolet sports glitter in drag?
Does my worshipping feet make you pensive?
Shall my villanelle be shushed with a gag?
Oh let's bring on the ruffles and leather
And lube up my ghazal in scented goo:
I take poems with a large side of pleasure
And joyfully recommend this to you.
Poems are great when they're a straightforward ride,
But more fun slutting on the wild side.



Week 32, Poem 2, Total 36

 

[_Land]

Seasonal Narratives
by Bear Sage
-
I have worn a thousand truths
some cotton-soft,
some starched with someone else’s shame.
-
The first story I ever put on
was hand-me-down denim,
knees blown out
by someone else's crawl toward approval.
It held,
but never fit.
-
I’ve buttoned up beliefs
like collared shirts for church,
tight at the throat,
meant to impress the god
who lived in my father’s silence.
-
I wore rebellion like leather,
cracked and glorious,
until the lining gave out
and I learned that armor
can chafe
when worn too long.
-
Some narratives
came from clearance bins,
cheap and promising
"love means sacrifice,"
"you’re only worthy if."
I wore them until they tore
on the jagged edge of waking up.
-
Other truths
were sundresses:
light, easy,
made for joy.
I danced in them
until the wind changed
and the seams dissolved in the rain.
-
There are stories
I tried on in fitting rooms,
labels still swinging
from the collar of someone else's voice.
The tag itched.
I put them back.
-
But some,
fit like they were sewn
from my own skin.
The hoodie I reach for
when the world is unkind.
The T-shirt I sleep in
because it breathes
the rhythm of who I’ve become.
-
These are the truths
that grow with me,
that stretch in the shoulders
and fray at the sleeves
but never fall apart.
-
I’ve learned not every thread
is meant to last.
Not every belief is built
for all weather.
-
But when something fits,
truly fits
you don’t care if it’s out of style.
You just wear it,
season after season,
until it holds
not just your shape,
but your story.

 

[SmilingLez]

The umbrella doesn't matter.
Rain gets through.
You're exposed.
Soon, it ends.

 

[Tzara]

Idle Thoughts on Writing in Poetic Form

Some forms are prickly as a cactus
and others simply pretty, dumb
as doorknobs that are out of practice
at opening for anyone.
The trick is in the rules to follow;
they must be clear and fair, not hollow—
not arbitrary, anyway,
for games must be delights to play.
They're quite like sex, in fact, for skillful
deployment of one's practiced moves
are focused on enjoyment—smooth,
seductive, sensuous, yet willful.
And so I wrap these words around
your limbs with iambs, tightly bound.

Week 32 : Poem 1 : Total 42

 

[goddessofglee]

A Draft in Stillness

I’m still in search. The pulse is faint—
Ideas come knocking, none remain.
Each seed half-planted in my mind
Evades a shape, a thread, a spine.

One sleeps between the scattered lines,
A cryptic chord, a veiled sign.
Structure teases, depth delays,
Its echoes lost in temporal haze.

How strange that sense demands more time,
Than foolish rhymes or pantomime.
To speak what’s yours, and blend with mine—
Not just child's play in borrowed rhyme.

Let’s shed the bluff of tidy ends,
Let silence stretch and truth defend.
What stirs beneath unpolished draft,
May bloom once freed from echo’s raft.

So let me try—no perfect frame—
To hurry form, yet not betray.
The fire, the ache, the quiet art,
That finds its voice from falling apart.


№32 of 52

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

Silence

You wrote, the Vandals were lovers of romance. Silence.
In sandals, I abhorred your hairy toed slam dance. Silence.
You knew, in love’s inroads we could build our own Rome.
A relationship in frescos painted over happenstance. Silence.
In the city of light, we climbed the Eiffel Tower. My hand in your hand.
Your roads always led back to Rome, even after the South of France. Silence.
One day I woke broken in cubits cut. Our mosaics lay separated,
You said, love is a colosseum, a bedroom, a ritual trance. Silence.
In the aftermath, in the silence of your making, I embraced your lions.
With wetted tongue I divorced your form in advanced silence.


32/52

 

[42BelowsBack]

Man Management.

Traffic lights, indecision Traffic lights, indecision,
red green goes orange red greenOrangeRed
Green separated from the rev counter in my
mind, loss of traction, bumper to bumper,
the red light burning in my head.


No 21 of IDK

 

[42BelowsBack]

SWAN LAKE
The stage play
A cheated paradelle, a most
ugly poem. Uglier than a
paradelle.

SCENE ONE: The Set Up

On the occasion of a prince’s birthday
love’s hunting bolt arrived in a crossbow
—On a lake a swan wears love’s crown
when love’s bolt arrived hunting her
on the occasion of the prince’s birthday


SCENE TWO: The Lovers

In disguise, in tears, the swan pirouettes
seeking the princes attention, alone—
Dusk falls, a princess lies at his feet.
She is Naked. His attention pirouettes,
she sees he is splendidly seeking
her in his manly ballet tights.

SCENE THREE: Ugly Is This Poem Doomed

Doomed his mother demands his love he choose.
An evil sorcerer, conceals his daughter Odiel,
She looks like the princess Odette (the wah wah swan).
By this evil spell, Odette's true love the prince
is deceived, (he should have turned the lights on).
Odile is revealed. No refund on the diamonds.
Odette's true love the prince is deceived.

SCENE FOUR: Epilogue

Fait Accompli, the paradell is
intentionally weird, long, and boring,
it’s just ugly like this parody play
of an ugly poem
I previously wrote
as a paradelle.




No 22, a most ugly poem.

 

[Ash999]

Oval Test , 2025!!!
=================
Womb to Tomb........Dust to Dust......if Prasidh doesn't bag U.........Siraj Must!!!?

 

[SpermFactory]

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

 

[Angeline]

Curse You, Ray Stebbing!

Oh
okay,
syllable
counting again.
Now finally time for an image...um
The Moon shone down,
yellowish...
Wait. What?
Damn!

Week 32 (Nope, too silly to count.)

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

Succubus

Man’s maleficence ignored.
Their eyes eat up her skirt,
She the lyre with their wives-

takes to devour the morning
wood, hollowed man’s flaccid
ashen bat in despair detracts,

remade a spare cock at a hen
house party. The hairy darkness,
the feathering nests scissoring

their storm is feminine, dilated
wet eye to eye, they will jerk
their hips and wipe all men out.



33/52 a @SmilingLez inspired poem.

 

[MrMrsMrsMr]

A Druid Isles Haiku

Woods,
Autumn,
Sun peers through
Oaks in acorns
ritual summer leaves on the ground.


34/52

 

[Hornymwtxn]

Never posted here before, heck I have only recently tried writing poems and have only done a handful
Without further ado
-----------------------------------
Chance meeting
Spellbound

Feelings mutual
Exposed and explored

Fancy tickled
Emotions nurtured
Eyes hearts minds opened

Converse so easy and free
Judgments without

Boundless energy
Soaring skyward
Limitless

A simple gesture
A kind word
Encouragements offered

Perspectives changed
Lives improved