Where are you and what are you doing?

[GuiltyPleasure]

Write a poem describing what is keeping you away from these hallowed halls. any form, any length, no time constraints. Just have fun, tell the truth or fictionalize, it's up to you. Let's rock this place again.

 

[Lyricalli]

Sitting alone
listening to birdsong
they tell me it's morning
but still feels like night
and sleep is a dream
for another evening

It's all tangles of thoughts
unruly threads
I can't seem to pull
together to knit
a verse or a rhyme
to find my place in time

I'm left with questions
which have answers
I want
don't want
need
fear

open my mouth to ask
choose instead to hide

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Right there in the frame of the door
between shoes and a kiss
asking her, " How many more
moments did I miss?"
The kids don't look like
the peaceful sleepers
from that other night
I read a wee verse
and then left for work.
Now look at them, grown
in width of their smirk,
in length of each single bone
and still so much left
of the rest of their life
while ours has gone, by theft
of too many "Tomorrow"s, my dear wife.

 

[Tzara]

Cake; or The Problem with Philosophy
I freely confess: it was the objection of David Hume which first,
many years ago, interrupted my dogmatic slumber.
--Immanuel Kant

The reading of philosophy
sometimes is simply sophistry,
a kind of nerdy atavism
that borders on pure solipsism.

But when I read GP's fine rhymes--
erotic, squirmy, vivid, blunt--
arousing as they are sublime,
I think (for shame!) of women's bundts;

so moist, so tasty, and so sweet
so necessary that my mete
and proper punishment's to eat
ecstatically and, yet discreet-

ly, run my tongue along the icing
spilling from her central hole,
between her furrows, so enticing
my lust quite nearly uncontrolled.

So if my wits have been left dulled
by Aristotle, Hume, and Locke,
dear GP's poems I have mulled
have now awaked my crowing cock.

 

[Lyricalli]

Cake; or The Problem with Philosophy
I freely confess: it was the objection of David Hume which first,
many years ago, interrupted my dogmatic slumber.
--Immanuel Kant

This was an absolute delight.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Cake; or The Problem with Philosophy
I freely confess: it was the objection of David Hume which first,
many years ago, interrupted my dogmatic slumber.
--Immanuel Kant

The reading of philosophy
sometimes is simply sophistry,
a kind of nerdy atavism
that borders on pure solipsism.

But when I read GP's fine rhymes--
erotic, squirmy, vivid, blunt--
arousing as they are sublime,
I think (for shame!) of women's bundts;

so moist, so tasty, and so sweet
so necessary that my mete
and proper punishment's to eat
ecstatically and, yet discreet-

ly, run my tongue along the icing
spilling from her central hole,
between her furrows, so enticing
my lust quite nearly uncontrolled.

So if my wits have been left dulled
by Aristotle, Hume, and Locke,
dear GP's poems I have mulled
have now awaked my crowing cock.

Thank you.

 

[Lyricalli]

I've been sitting over there
in a corner
wondering what my words
are worth to anyone
even me
and there's no meaningful answer
just an echo of a question

what does it matter?

It's just time
like everything
spent in pursuit
of something other than nothing

Sounds more melancholy
than it is


One of these days
I'm going to pop open this box
and it won't sound like I'm brooding

Promise

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Where and What

I've been at my keyboard,
single-fingering new ideas
which might be formed into
poetry that does not make
me cringe.

If I were pen-and-papering
this prose, the floor would be
decorated with balled-up rejects,
but, in this time of miraculous
technology, errors can be
flicked off the screen as
if they never occurred.

I appreciate that, as I delete
smugly while yet more rain falls
outside my window.
Summer never showed this year.
We wait, jaded by so many
broken metrological promises,
for just one sunny day.

 

[drobert44]

At my PC, in my cave, chatting with friends..........

 

[Grant55]

I sit in my chair looking at a screen waiting for my friends to chat,
I wrote them yesterday, but they did not message back,
The loneliness now invades my room,
The darkness overcoming,
The evil lurking,
Waiting to destroy me,
But then I hear singing,
Oh those wonderful tones beckoning me to follow,
They lead me to and through my back door,
I behold Nature,
It is She who has been singing to me, calling me to return to her,
The wind blowing through the trees,
Messing up the leaves,
Creating perfect imperfection,
Reminding of other days and another porch when I would sketch and draw her beauty,
The trees, the bushes, the flowers,
All drawn or painted, inspired by her passion,
And as I am lost in the wonderment of her beauty,
I once again think of my friends,
But before I begin to sink into despair,
She whispers to me in her breathy voice,
"It's okay, they'll write another day, till then, spend time with me."

 

[Grant55]

Cake; or The Problem with Philosophy
I freely confess: it was the objection of David Hume which first,
many years ago, interrupted my dogmatic slumber.
--Immanuel Kant

The reading of philosophy
sometimes is simply sophistry,
a kind of nerdy atavism
that borders on pure solipsism.

But when I read GP's fine rhymes--
erotic, squirmy, vivid, blunt--
arousing as they are sublime,
I think (for shame!) of women's bundts;

so moist, so tasty, and so sweet
so necessary that my mete
and proper punishment's to eat
ecstatically and, yet discreet-

ly, run my tongue along the icing
spilling from her central hole,
between her furrows, so enticing
my lust quite nearly uncontrolled.

So if my wits have been left dulled
by Aristotle, Hume, and Locke,
dear GP's poems I have mulled
have now awaked my crowing cock.

I stand (or sit) in the midst of greatness.

 

[Lyricalli]

Went out tonight
local gig
guy I've seen
a couple times before
man can handle a guitar
damn

He nodded recognition
as I sat with my cider
smiled a few times
because I sing along

Took the chair beside me
during the break in his set
and we chatted about traffic
a mutual friend
random bullshit

For a little while
it was nice to forget
annoying little things
like insanity and loss

It's small, but I felt useful
seen
appreciated
just for being there
for showing up
being the familiar face
in a room of strangers

Not a bad deal
for the price
of a drink
and the daily special

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Finally in our bed
I haven't felt for days
you complained
in your texts
I was too far away
trying to hide
from your virus
unwanted in yours
no, in ours
we finally met
trying to satisfy Pythagoras
a hypotenuse of six feet
from breath to breath
after all that distance
"That felt really good"
still ringing in my mind
swimming in a different heat
tasteless, scentless little monsters
crave for
nothing but
a touch too much.

 

[butters]

poetry sits limp in fingers swollen with heat
humidity hard to escape
body in a battle between fluid retention and
the sweat that pours relentlessly

early morning forays
gather fruits of our labour
that want to soften, split, rot too fast
but the chickens are eating well
as are the insects

mattress too hot
we fidget beneath the fan
to even think of sex
is to flirt with heat exhaustion
closeness maintained by the brief touch of fingers
thighs spread only for the ceiling's tepid breath

 

[Lyricalli]

Absolutely love this butters, not your suffering in the heat and humidity, because fuck that. It's a wonderful, evocative snapshot of days when there's no escape from summer, chores to tend, gardens to harvest and maintain. Much of my father's family lives this way, also in Tennessee. Reminds me of visiting in my youth (except for the sex part hehe).

 

[butters]

Absolutely love this butters, not your suffering in the heat and humidity, because fuck that. It's a wonderful, evocative snapshot of days when there's no escape from summer, chores to tend, gardens to harvest and maintain. Much of my father's family lives this way, also in Tennessee. Reminds me of visiting in my youth (except for the sex part hehe).

thanks i'm definitely made for colder climes.

gotta tinker with it, if i get around to it.

to even think of sex
is to flirt with heat exhaustion?

*too hot to really care right now though, lol

 

[HornyMarriedMale]

In bed. Wifey asleep next to me

 

[Lyricalli]

In bed. Wifey asleep next to me

Minimalist poetry?

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

thanks i'm definitely made for colder climes.

We Brits just wilt!

I feel so lucky to have a heat pump that also cools, if it wasn't for that I'd melt. It's 32 degrees C here in the "frozen North" and possibly even more toasty tomorrow. Drink lots of water and.....well, you know the drill.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Still sweltering. The heat pump is struggling to please but we're cooler than most. At least today there's a slight (I might say pathetic) breeze. Later it will heat up to feel like being breathed on by a large dog,
doggie breath included. Tomorrow will be cooler and we can get nostalgic.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Caught in the thought
that I might have a crush
with that 'love' emoji
a little too much
but damn
I do like that
specific climate change
so many poems do
melt my titanic
heart-shaped iceberg

 

[Lyricalli]

'Twould be nice
if one could express
a little bit of love
with more nuance
than a pair
of giant heart eyes
can offer.

Of all the emojis
which lack poetry
that may be the one
most deficient.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Roughly a few hundred tabs
sitting there, open
and hopin'
for the night sky shaking
a million stars to rake in
maybe a sponge head
wringing a few words
on well aged rhymes
no matter how
dulcet or jejune
I, ever-thirsty, am
on the sauce
carouse
merely a few hundred tabs

 

[Winter_Fare]

A knot in my throat
In the bundle of threads
I swallowed
Choked up
Chemically rinsed
Out
A grey day

 

[4degrees]

The nearby engines
Rumble through and blow
As they clack like
Monster castanets
The news mumbles in the background
(Waiting to hear breaking news,
Either suicide or indictment)
The dogs fuss
Their nails tapping on the
Plastic planked floor
I want to take you
Through the woods to
The creek you love
I want to show you the world
Even though you seem
So content on this couch with me