Tritania for Titania -June Decastich Ten Lline Poem Challenge

[Piscator]

With the end of May, the calendar turns to June and this month's challenge is for ten line poems. As before, any topic and number of poems and forms within the requisite number of lines or multiple verses of that number of lines are acceptable. For the form fixated, I second Angeline's recommendation of The Poet's Garret for an inventory of 10 line forms.

We also lay to rest the Nonette collaboration. However in celebration of Midsommer, I suggest banana accolades for those penning an Tritania to Titania between June 19 and June 24.

 

[Tzara]

Ghazal for a Mature Woman

At our age love can be dismaying in the mood.
We still desire, though we are graying, in the mood.

At least my eyes are young and fit. They still delight
To see you naked, aroused—playing in the mood.

Sometimes you force me to control you, silly flirt.
A lovely game, your disobeying in the mood.

Your skin is like a field of long, soft grass wherein
My hands roam your body, surveying in the mood.

It's as much your raspy whisper, "Come, Tristan" as
Your opened thighs, that keep me staying in the mood.

 

[Angeline]

Decuain

Grandfather Mountain

We stood on the swinging bridge, mountain high.
The air flowed fine and moved easy through me.
I just breathed that day with no thought to try;
listened to the wind, felt its breeze blow free,
gazed at the flowers, noticed a stray bee.

The bridge swayed and creaked, a small child screamed,
but truly there was no fear in my day
I held your hand, watched the Sun pour and beamed.
We were still years then from our forced goodbye.
The day was awash in colors and sky.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Ten rhymes went downtown

The first one was told they had no chance as it was The Non-Rhyming Year.
The second one heard yards were to be used, not meter anywhere near.
People came and shout misspelled profanities at the third, loud and clear.
Next one became lost inside an ear whose owner said, "Please stay, my dear."
Another one was washed deep down thirsty throats by whiskey, wine and beer.
Most stupid talking with a man any blind could see, "He cannot hear."
Such six sweeties gone made the seventh so sad it dissolved in a tear.
Any kind of aid for the eighth, twisted and torn, came to late, I fear.
One out of two must be a bad ass to cite in a dark alley's rear.
At last, someone found out seventeen is not yet legal around here.

 

[Tzara]

Third Burroughs

It was on the way back
when the already thin trail
led over a snowbank

pasted onto a seventy degree slope.
Fifty yards worth
of a single, centered footprint

or, ominously, one's agonizing slide
to destruction. As I ran
over that tightrope of safety,

I realized goats know nothing of death.

 

[HarryHill]

..
Ancillary Duties

The rain came, called a moggy boy,
ragged, sunburned, no longer dry,
soaked seven old and four brand new
covid rows, all vegetating.

Muddy hero, brave the storms,
feed the earth sphagnum cake,
pull the weeds, plant the last,
cringe before the lightnings blast,
transplant those lucky volunteers
deemed worthy.

 

[butters]

June's arrived, that moody, sultry whore;
she have your eyeballs sweating, then for fun
she'll coldly piss on you and that's before
she'll smile in perfect blue—she's just begun

to toy with your reactions: perspiration
accepted as her due, your energy
sapped, that act redacted as frustration
drives you to seek shelter from her glee.

You wake to gentled dawn, this clovered yard—
her innocence a ruse, a worn canard!

 

[HarryHill]

..
Ta Moko

She's busy at the beach,
busy as
a Ku potting broccoli starts,
back turned as I walk by.
Hello row seven.

Mend a leaning poblano ,
water, weed, mulch w/hay,
turn when her voice begins,
describing this morning at the beach,
face tattooed by soil sweat and sun.

 

[EllenMore]

Parking Valet at Sant'olina

He told me he'd once
been a bouncer
in a waterfront bar

and I wondered if his cock
was as thick
as his biceps
falling out of those cutoff sleeves.

But I was then dating a guy with money,
so I resisted the urge.
He called me "ma'am" as he took my keys.

 

[Angeline]

My girls are treasures
whose value is measured
in joy and gratitude.

My youngest was planned
so hopefully, an answered prayer,
my assertive, creative Chavala.

Her sister came to me fully grown,
saying I am your daughter. Will you
still love me? Oh darling Asherah,

brave and kind, love is a circle.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Magdalene im Mohn

In einem Garten auf dem Land
steht erhaben ihre Figur
Gestalt geformt von Meisterhand
ein Ebenbild ihrer Statur
eingehüllt in kaum ein Gewand.

Umrankt von verblühter Natur
vergessen nun im Zeitenband
einsam tickende Sonnenuhr
beschattet eine Handvoll Sand
einstmals des Meisters Signatur.

 

[Piscator]

Thighs five

Chicken in yogurt tandoori
marinade for our BBQ with
Vij’s cauliflower rice pilaf
and grilled fresh
asperagus
two for you, two for me
and for the last
we can share
thighs in the
middle.​

 

[Piscator]

Moved to Commentary

 

[Angeline]

Chain Lightening*

It's a stone blues groove
with enough funk to percolate
your middle, rev your engines

which may be cold but still know
how to turn over, heat up, purr
piston hips, shake those tail feathers

so when that horn section drifts in
and out the jazz slipstream to wail
against a clean pop of back beat beat beat,

some sparks gonna branch and jump in you.



*(apologies for any ads that precede the music )

 

[Lyricalli]

Keep choking down the impulse
to apologize for the inconvenience
of my pain
the way I've done before
out of concern for yours
second-guessing almost everything
I say
until it bubbles up and breaks
through my restraint
exposing my wounds

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Dizko

sneakers, mini-skirt, glitter top
resonating in waiting lane's
thundering beats no one can stop
rushing through their pulse-thirsty veins
like some overnight high speed trains
legs and hips on autopilot
non-stop ride through arms, backs and sweat
prodding the bucking social beast
alive in ultraviolet
bridled by the Satyrnight's priest

 

[Angeline]

Groovin

It's not just nostalgia or how the song
calls to my East Coast doo wop roots,
conjuring the city as a magical stage

filled with music, with Italian boys
in open-necked shirts, shaking tambourines,
moving graceful as cats that own the streets.

No, it's you saying "Life would be ecstasy,
you and me and Leslie, grooving."
I remember your teasing blue eyes

and a little piece of us floats back to me.

 

[Tzara]

Good Lovin'

I hardly ever heard the lyrics,
just the beat. But, God, I heard and felt
Good Lovin' because

Arlene sat right next to me
as we read Romeo and Juliet and
while I wasn't going to die for her,

I really, really, really wanted something
that I couldn't then articulate.
The song helped me feel it but didn't help

me do it. Later, though, Barbara fixed that.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

The Blues left Georgia

(a more horrible one)

A girl called George in digo grandpa/nts
unheardly sang of fading Blues
on Forgot Street of deaf folk's town
none of any or one aroun'
when men on four-by-four steeled hooves
spoke out to her through talking hands:

"A clear defeat," declared the dripping sword.
A skinny la(i)d his last seed in the dirt.
"Time has come," and "Georgia" some final word.
The last one coughed, "Why don't you wear a skirt?"

 

[Piscator]

Deca and other Phobias

Decaphobia – fear of number 10, perhaps because the Roman numeral X is 10
Xinoaxphobia – fear of the letter X not to be confused with xenophobia
Xenophobia - fear of strangers or foreigners often confounded with
Xenonosocomiophobia – fear of foreign pickpockets sometimes correlated with
Xanthophobia – fear of yellow, word or colour, but distinct from word phobias
Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia - the fear of long words especially
Gerascophobia - the fear of getting old often associated with
Athazagoraphobia – a fear of something or other, I’ve forgotten what leading to
Pantophobia - which is basically a widespread fear of everything, but remember
Apocalypse anxiety is a real thing, but it’s not the end of the world.

 

[Angeline]

The Fever

There's something in that sound,
the way the Hammond B-3 swirls
around that raucous sax and licks

into my secret spots where music
makes me swell and ache recalling
backseats, moonlit blacktops, racing

down Route 9, radio playing. Kisses
and stifled moans, caresses, the sighs
of my desolate angel manchild

moving on me in the July heat.

 

[Piscator]

moved to commentary

 

[butters]

the hotter it gets, the more he writ(h)es
the greater his urge to flex in sexuality
muscles, rampant flesh and mind

his libido a bristling wildflower
a purple field-thistle
invasive weed to my more molten state

morning dew bemocks this sweating skin
craving different blow jobs from above
everything about me wilted, limp

our only trysts beneath the fans, set high

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Wadi

Beyond the stream dividing nations
resides a figure
I've put inside my lone equations.

A message sent across the river
brought by heartwood
found in Cupid's quiver.

Just in theory
could you imagine
falling in love with me?

The fact I missed, your nation knows rivers just in theory.

 

[Angeline]

Ted

Maybe I love you because I'm like you:
working-class, an imposter sometimes.
We've known the same gray cities, same

bad habits. You make me laugh but then
your honesty washes over me like ice,
stopping me cold, scraping me raw. Maybe

you take me back to green New Brunswick,
1975 reading sonnets by the Passion Puddle.
Your words opened me, poetry embraced me,

penetrated my interior world. You live there still.