view poets register log in
Sponsors:

Posts for June 7, 2023 (page 5)

AnEnbyWriter
Category
Poem
1
6/7/23

Joy

There must be joy

There must be happy stories, lustrous beginnings,
And giggling through juvenile nights, oodles of acceptance
Poured out even before we begin.
May we live to be around to weave them.
 
There must be euphoria, to fall out of prescriptions, and onto the street
To dazzle and bring the traffic to a halt. Brief moments of quiet through
The endless summer, without yearning without wanting anything, but now.
 
How silly would it be to wish away my queerness?
What do you mean tragic?
What do you mean grave?
 
This is the fantasy you haven’t had the chance to dream yet.
We don’t dream of petty escapes,
We addle in the lap of belonging.
Our stories won’t sit quivering in the corner.
Erase us?
We’ve challenged god
Simply by being here,
We can take care of his little pawns.
Picture me-
The lustrous devil, in a corset, dancing over fire, adding Pluto back to the solar system.
 
There must be stories where we take up space.
In your boardroom
In your artsy films
And your not so artsy films.
 
We will not pitifully cling
To your morsels of kindness.
Why would I center my story on coming out
When it’s you who pushed me in there?
I will center my gorgeous lover
Who’s eyes shine like stars.
I will center the ecstasy of having my boobs hidden enough
And of becoming who I am.
Franny Francine
Category
Poem
6/7/23

Untitled.

Practice builds practice.
Practice builds practice.
Practice builds practice.
Practice builds practice.

Registration photo of A.J. for the LexPoMo 2023 Writing Challenge.
A.J.
Category
Poem
2
6/7/23

Love’s Purpose

A bereaved seeker asked the Goddess of Love, “What is love for?”
To which she replied, “Pleasure, of course.”
And thus the seeker moved on.

A bereaved seeker asked the God of Desire, “What is love for?”
To which he replied, “Satisfaction, of course.”
And thus the seeker moved on.

A bereaved seeker asked the Goddess of Harvest, “What is love for?”
To which she replied, “Procreation, of course.”
And thus the seeker moved on.

A bereaved seeker asked the Goddess of Wisdom, “What is love for?”
To which she replied, “Weakness, of course.”
And thus the seeker moved on.

A bereaved seeker asked the God of Death, “What is love for?”
To which he replied, “Why do you ask?”
And thus the seeker replied, “Cause I do not have it anymore.”

The God of Death asked the bereaved seeker, “Do you regret once having it?”
To which they replied, “No, not for anything in this world.”
And thus the God of Death smiled, “Then you have the answer you have been looking for.”

M. Wells
Category
Poem
6/7/23

New things

He didn’t like soccer

I said that’s ok
You should try new things when you’re young
So I said to myself
You should try new things when you’re young
Learn to bake a new loaf of bread
Learn how to say thank you friend in a new language
Tapath leat a charaid
Learn to look at yourself in the mirror without blinking
Learn to sing a song loudly in your car
Learn to carve a block for printing
Learn to plant a rose bush
Learn to give hugs to people who need them
If youre comfortable, that is
Do learn to be comfortable
And to say no when you’re not
Learn to be, honestly
That’s the lesson- learn to be

dustincecil
Category
Poem
1
6/7/23

in moderate amounts

eat mean sticks
ease up on cutting down

eat enough your body is
harder to fail

Natalie P.
Category
Poem
5
6/7/23

Funeral Procession

an old man stops his tractor in the field
leaves his plow work unfinished
to pause and
consecrate the line of cars

resting his hat against his chest
he silently blesses the mourners

the busy road becomes sacred ground

Registration photo of Les the Mess for the LexPoMo 2023 Writing Challenge.
Les the Mess
Category
Poem
2
6/7/23

Lost

Upside down, I am.
Inside out is like a shout;
Nowhere land of sand. 

Registration photo of Ariana Alvarado for the LexPoMo 2023 Writing Challenge.
Ariana Alvarado
Category
Poem
1
6/7/23

Ode

I carry all your fear with me,

although my mother says it isn’t much.
 
I don’t even know your name,
just that you were blamed
 
for dying too young, for becoming a folk tale
to scare little children like me.
 
How can I write this story I don’t know?
 
Except I do: my mother’s fear
is that I will become you.
 
Unnamed. Dead. Someone’s sister,
cousin twice removed,
 
waiting on a grace that never came. 
You are the ghost of my becoming,
 
nameless blood, a tale of warning. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Registration photo of Samuel Collins for the LexPoMo 2023 Writing Challenge.
Samuel Collins
Category
Poem
6/7/23

You Are Not Just a Password

You are not just a password
Quickly chosen and hastily typed

You are not just a password
My love, my pet, my secret song

You are not just a password
Now you’re a tattoo, too.

t.m. thomson
Category
Poem
14
6/7/23

If I live to be eighty

I want to be like Muriel.  

She comes to the animal shelter
to love on cats.  Some of them
are crooked, listing to one side,
slow in getting up, lying down,
but purring in the sun bathing
them through wide windows.  

Muriel lists, too, all ninety pounds
of her.  One shoulder sits lower
than the other, bones burst sharp
through skin embroidered with
wrinkles & dappled with age
spots, hair grey as oysters, pearled
with slivers of silver, a shaggy
moon in the making.  

The shelter cats have faith
that food will come every morning,
every evening, that love will be
doled out by a variety of palms
& fingers & crooning voices,
that night & day will take turns.  

Muriel has faith, too, that she will
amble in every Friday evening,
bend her tired body into sitting
on the floor, curl it around brown
tabbies & calicoes, sometimes nap
on cat beds, breath rising & falling
to the vibrato of felines vibrating
with contentedness.  

If I live to be eighty, I want to wind
my way through the happy cats I’ve
held for hours, mosey out the shelter
door, & stroll to my car under the night
sky, imbibing the stars whose light
comes to us again & again.  

Newer Posts
Older Posts