Line by Line Challenge - December 4 line poems

[Piscator]

This is the continuation of the twelve month challenge, which started in November when you were asked to submit your 3 line poem(s). It's now December and line length increases to 4 line verses with up to 4 verses per poem. Any topic and number of poems and forms within the requisite number of lines are acceptable.

If November's good response continues, the line count will increase by one each month with line count increasing each month, ending with fourteen line poems in October.

 

[Piscator]

Songs too if they fit.

White Line Fever

Merle Haggard & The Strangers

White line fever, a sickness born
Down deep within my soul
White line fever, the years keep flyin' by
Like the highline poles

The wrinkles in my forehead
Show the miles I've put behind me
They continue to remind how fast I'm growin' old
Guess I'll die with this fever in my soul

I wonder just what makes a man keep pushing on
What makes me keep on hummin' this old highway song
I've been from coast to coast a hundred times before
I ain't found one single place where I ain't been before

White line fever, a sickness born
Down deep within my soul
White line fever, the years keep flyin' by
Like the highline poles

 

[butters]

yesterday, the world was raw
grey, wet, and a ruin of thin sleet
that filled the sub-light hours
but lacked the will to settle

i filled the belly of the burner
southern-boy got his 'leckie blanket
and the dark hours ceded their frozen grip
to a sunlit, snow-dust morning

even if the chilly artist
with winter-blued eyes
views this sparkling frosting
more as scattered trash

as just another obstacle
to keep his plans at bay
and cannot wait for summer's heat
to burn his bones again










first time this year i've been able to put on a warm jumper, and the difference between yesterday's grim rawness and today's bright cheer is huge. not seen snow for ages and even if this isn't much, just a thin crusting, it sparkles in the sunlight under a blue sky and makes me smile.

 

[HarryHill]

..
Covid Lines
...

 

[butters]

6.10 p.m 12.01.20

butter-moon on the rise
its globe lifting free
of bared, tangled trees
to spill light over steeply banked hills

casts its yellow stare over rooftops
heralded by coyote ululations
wild eyes reflecting its shade
even as mercury plummets

and i wonder where he is now
which lines he writes
if poetry leaves him frozen still
latticed ice in his eyes



...............................................


remembering our friend, 1201, and wondering what he's up to nowadays

 

[UnderYourSpell]

The Michaelmas Daisies smothered with butterflies
are now gone, as are the roses once tended by my
Father's workworn hands. Bygones of a distant time
when Grandmas carried mints and smelled of Violets.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

I heard we are deafer now
Radio Gordon is off the air tonight
with a big bang Arecibo went silent
no more listening to what's maybe spoken.

 

[butters]

shake that money tree

when an ill wind blows
copper pennies are the last to fall
as for the greens, they're held in tight grip
by bloodless fingers close to wooden chests

 

[Tzara]

Monotetra

A poem's such a fragile thing—
Emotional, with words that sting
Or swoon with love/lust's frantic cling.
And yet it sings. And yet it sings.

It sings for him who's feeling blue
(A color of the saddest hue)
Because his lover's got no clue
She's loved so true. She's loved so true.

His poet's pencil's just a stub
Worn down with rhymes. He's such a schlub!
Dreams of her breasts, those rosy nubs
He longs to rub. He longs to rub!

But poesy is all he's got.
Those fantasies of which he's thought,
Ill-chosen images for naught—
And he's left fraught. And he's left fraught.

 

[butters]

technically so well composed, T, and poetically? a joy to read

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Monotetra

A poem's such a fragile thing—
Emotional, with words that sting
Or swoon with love/lust's frantic cling.
And yet it sings. And yet it sings.

It sings for him who's feeling blue
(A color of the saddest hue)
Because his lover's got no clue
She's loved so true. She's loved so true.

His poet's pencil's just a stub
Worn down with rhymes. He's such a schlub!
Dreams of her breasts, those rosy nubs
He longs to rub. He longs to rub!

But poesy is all he's got.
Those fantasies of which he's thought,
Ill-chosen images for naught—
And he's left fraught. And he's left fraught.

Love it, just love it! .......... and damn jealous.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

shake that money tree

when an ill wind blows
copper pennies are the last to fall
as for the greens, they're held in tight grip
by bloodless fingers close to wooden chests

Sooooo clever in it's simplicity , another one I'm jealous of!

 

[Tzara]

"Erotic" Poem
In the form of a monotetra
with an unsatisfying ending

At twenty-three, she's much too young
To kneel before me, blouse undone,
Her lips besmirched by my hot cum.
Aren't blowjobs fun? Aren't blowjobs fun?

But afterward, she further strips.
Invigorated by her hips
And her erect but demure nips,
I dream of whips. I dream of whips!

Instead she's turned now, ass around,
Her wrists with sisal rope are bound.
Her loveliness, exposed, profound--
Sweet Venus' mound! Sweet Venus' mound!

My blood is eager, and with haste
I start to enter her apace.
But here, in deference to taste
This endeth chaste. (This endeth chaste.)

 

[Tzara]

technically so well composed, T, and poetically? a joy to read

Well, thanks, but I think it's more something that 1201 would have (accurately) labeled doggerel.

Woof.

 

[butters]

Well, thanks, but I think it's more something that 1201 would have (accurately) labeled doggerel.

Woof.

well, you elevate even doggerel to something way beyond

 

[butters]

Sooooo clever in its simplicity , another one I'm jealous of!

jealousy quite wasted

H was driving me home yesterday just after noontime, and there are a lot of trees all around on hillsides and lining the road. the sun was highlighting the only deciduous trees still holding onto leaves--bright copper of (i think) beeches or maples. lots of bare trees all intermixed with stands of green cedar/pine/fir, with needles not going anywhere. hmmn, maybe there was a missed opportunity with the whole needles thing going on there and vaccines. ah well. the whole thing just kicked off the copper aspect (so pennies) and led from there because of this standoff america's seeing between democrats & republicans about getting a second relief package through. moscow mitch is the main one with 'bloodless fingers' clutching tight to the money close to his wooden chest.

 

[Piscator]

"Erotic" Poem
In the form of a monotetra
with an unsatisfying ending

:caning::caning::caning::caning:

 

[butters]

line by line, the poets wreak
their havoc, clear, in words less meek;
assorted rears with saucy cheek
lit poets seek. lit poets, seek!

like tambourines tap out the time
our inner ears line up each rhyme
and if we fail to reach sublime
our critics chime... our critics chime.

december is a time for cheer
if we can move beyond the fear
of covid, snow and dark things near.
protect your dear! protect your dear!

when all is said and all is done
send ignorance, quick, on the run;
for hes and shes, each lord and bum,
the vaccines come! the vaccines come!!!

 

[butters]

december's like a limerick:
a christmas tree that drops too quick
and sheds its needles that will stick—
our feet they'll prick. our feet they'll prick.

december's like a tasteless joke
with blazing lights and tawdry cloak;
all glitz and pomp an eye to poke;
commercial-choke. commercial-choke.

december's time to wrap up well
in ugly sweaters made in hell
and shoppers hastening, pell-mell—
hot market's bell. hot market's bell.

december's time to meet the grinch
who'd steal the joys, small pleasures pinch!
so just shut out the 'happy' lynch—
we'll never flinch, we'll never flinch!

 

[Tzara]

More silliness

Class Struggle

Without revolutionary theory there can be no revolutionary movement.
—V. I. Lenin

Her bra's been draped across the door,
Her panties dropped upon the floor,
The bedroom lamps discreetly dimmed.
This promises désir. Amour.

She lies there, long and lovely limbed,
Her pubic hair quite neatly trimmed.
Her breasts delightfully inflame—
Their skin sweet cream that's freshly skimmed.

Her body now I must reclaim,
Her feigned resistance shall be tamed,
So in our passion, twirl, and twist
I'll overcome her sense of shame.

She makes love like a Bolshevist—
Rebellious, radical our tryst
That leaves me drained and wanting more.
Whole states thus wither, 'neath her kiss.

 

[Piscator]

4 X 4

When highway driving starts to bore
I head out in my four by four
forsaken roads from days of yore
much to explore, much to explore.

In lonely glade, I spied a Jeep
and switched to hybrid, so to creep
to window for to take a peep
on maid asleep, on maid asleep.

To find Jill jilling her sweet quim
with fingers and vibrating shim
my hand went straight to hard fifth limb
slow stroking him, fast stroking him.

Her eyes opened wide as peak grew near
she spied my cock with gleeful leer
spread her legs wide, the meaning clear
now enter here, now enter here.

 

[Remec]

Class Struggle
Without revolutionary theory there can be no revolutionary movement.
—V. I. Lenin

Reminds me of one segment of our school's production of Marat/Sade where the Marquis ends one of his long speeches with the statement: "And what's the point of a revolution, without general copulation?" thus kicking off a short round of the "chorus" of his followers singing a refrain of the same while miming sexual antics of various sorts with each other.

 

[HarryHill]

I felt that old twinge touch my heart,
a deep breath and thought unbidden, take me, I'm ready
then felt shame for the selfish wanting
to take the easy way out of a life sentence.

 

[butters]

'countdown to christmas' list

cut wood; unblocked pipe;
reseat dislodged fascia;
worm dog; charge truck;
defrost turkey—self-baster;

set bricks—mortar
(weather still permitting);
choose gifts; brine bird;
tactfulness is fitting;

make time, check jars
stacked on shelves downstairs;
cut cloth; find books;
clean house, be prepared;

find tree; cut tree;
unpack decorations;
cook food; buy wine;
embrace this isolation!

 

[Vitriolhack]

The COVID strikes

The COVID strikes
Stealing the air out of our lungs
Forcing us inside for our protection
To avoid his infection

The COVID strikes
Inside we must gather
With only each other for our tirades
And the Few words to our charade

The COVID strikes
Stealing our connections
My friends are left behind
Our only link is the electronic cloud

The COVID strikes
Stronger than the first time
With nothing to occupy the daytime
Spending the hours decrepitating