Posts for June 3, 2024 (page 7)

Category
Poem

the elevator

the rat race.
the cuckoo bird calls.
we answer.
pick a number.
wait to be called.
endlessly waiting for permission
to feast.
to satiate.

the clock ticks.
the body begs for rest.
the man looms.
the race cannot end here.

the cuckoo flies,
feeds,
rests,
then returns
to usher us home.
the sweet relief
of unfulfilled needs, waiting,
waiting.

in the elevator,
the white rat —
they allow her a pink sundress
(it gives her a sense of autonomy) —
and still she cries,
“we are modern day slaves!”

perhaps too extreme a sentiment,
but the fact remains,
this knowledge is not
power.
for the rats can no longer live
without the call of the cuckoo,
the shadow of the man.


Category
Poem

An Old Woman’s Blason

An Old Woman’s Blason    

Exposed to the full length mirror they stand,
half-assed erect, not round, firm or full,
nor voluptuous or succulent, they sag.
Both beg— lift us with cupped palms, sop moisture
beneath folds of soft skin, ease gravity’s
pull on pectorals, be the support we need.  

Simultaneously gnarled fingers pinch
two tips, feel hardness in response to tweaks.
Manual manipulation raises
their southbound projection, fights the grave’s pull.
Headlights momentarily realigned
I’m blinded by a beauty no one sees.


Registration photo of Hat for the LexPoMo 2024 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Crisis averted

Just keep trying
till you find the pill
that makes it better

They aren’t useless 
without them I see
a layer of TV static
over my eyes

It just feels like
burning your hand so
many times you can
flip food without recoiling

No pot no booze
prescribe me some numb please


Category
Poem

Shimmer

These corvid lessons prove themselves needed.

The wherewithal to admire for a shine and a glimmer,
Value granted in the act of appreciation,
As an act of prayer.
Pecking out silver linings 
Amongst stormclouds and razer wire;
To build a season of lilac and iron.

Registration photo of Michele LeNoir for the LexPoMo 2024 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

powell’s wheezy snooper nudge

glow of glass speaks from long necks of history,
wheezy snooper nudge, on her pedestal
against a tall glass menagerie–radiant light
filtered through, brilliance of oranges, blues,
teals, clear glass. murrini patterns of sky– she radiates
a sunrise? a voice– stephen rolfe powell’s? urges–
let color flow over you. and so i do– then
take a quarter turn. she burns deeper, now a sunset?
do i dare another turn? yes, now from sky-soar
to deep-sea swim, creatures glow, turn round,
melt into ocean-worlds. what will happen
at next turn? will the heavens open up in hues
of golden blues? my heart races—
this thorough-bred glass, organic once
in artists’ hands lives on her own. i step back.
my eyes follow her neck. into sand? into clouds?
search for life on other planets? or search souls?
i stop, still myself, sink in, colors flowing, now–
within.


Registration photo of Samar Jade for the LexPoMo 2024 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Do you get your period during a genocide?

Does the body take a pause? 

Does it realize there may be no point 
In running through that cycle 
When you cannot remember your last meal?

Or that the ringing in your ears
Is actually a perpetual scream

That the night is not the terror
Or that a maxi pad has become an indecent luxury
When your body’s driving force is to survive?

Does it tuck away its dreams for the living away with the ever rising number of the dead?  

Content Warning

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Registration photo of carolyn Pennington for the LexPoMo 2024 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Connection

Geyer 
at Yellowstone
breathed 
Out its breath
Caressing all
Of me
In a cotton like bath
Leaving a 
Lingering perfume
In my nostrils…
Like unto my
Grandma’s sulfer
well water. 


Registration photo of Sunny for the LexPoMo 2024 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Save-A-Lot Soda

Tired, Alone, Resigned,
Something so biologically wrong that one can never believe it happened
Shaking hands, but a strong grip
The small blue and red capsules were so appealing, but oh, so, wrong
A temptation I do not have the will to resist
One goes down with a quick swig of cheap cola
The one bought in Save-A-Lot that is all high fructose corn syrup and caffenation,
The sickly sweet caramel that does nothing to help my roaring nervesIt is familiar and a welcome respite as 170 calories that will amount to nothing to a carcass
In quick succession, a handful, then two are swallowed,
NO, NO, NO
A tingle runs up my throat, and retching shortly follows, it does not deter
Yes
Another hand full, another chug of lukewarm soda down my unwilling throat,
Tears fall, music becomes static, paper is prepared, yet for the first time, words fail,
Sleep overcomes, I succumb
Dreamless sleep and aching muscles
Eventually, my eyes drift open, still caught in the sleep’s haze, yet not another moment is spared before the contents of my stomach artfully paint my damp pillows,
Dreary-eyed, I keep quiet, my secret, and only mine

Did you know that stomach acid is yellow?
A dark, putrid color, one perfectly attuned to my feelings
No pills come up, not like last time, I think
Maybe it will end
I sit watching, waiting, vomiting every few minutes,
Quick, that’s what they said
lies
A voice rages,
TELL, TELL, TELL
A blur,
It is 3 am,
My mother knows, and she is upset,
Not because of my rapidly approaching demise,
But that she will be up all night,
She complains, she vents, she yowls her annoyance,
My life is nothing but an inconvenience,
Bright stars twinkle overhead,
With any luck I will join them soon,
A young nurse is outside the ER, lingering as if waiting for me, but I know she is not
My mother groans from the car,“…Tylenol Overdose..”
Yes, an overdose, one that has worked,
She grabs my hand and whispers reassurances,
It is too late for soft words to save me now,
My liver is failing, the beeping slows
That clean antiseptic smell wafts through the air, and with it a stark realization hits
I am dying
 I… am dying       
  I….AM…..DYING.              
My veins burn hot until a needle pierces my clammy flesh,
Cool medicine flushes out the burn and brings with it a silenced calm,
My brain is too fuzzy, too foggy for much to come through,
Only broken words and blinding smiles,
I still feel like I’m dying,
Yet I cannot speak, my mouth is stuffed with cotton,
A prisoner of soul, trapped in a cage of bones and a tarp of flesh,
The world did not stop, I am still here,
I may wish for that cathartic release,
I may long for it,
But I am not selfish, I will save others when I cannot do the same for myself
I will resist and fight tooth and nail for, not me, but another I will guard their hearts, even if it means I will wake up tomorrow
I will give each a piece of my mind, and with them, I will share my Save-A-lot Soda

Content Warning

The poet decided this submission may have content that's not for everyone. If you'd like to see it anyway, please click the eyeball icon.


Registration photo of Christina Joy for the LexPoMo 2024 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Desire, received:

If you hunger for 

me, let yourself feel that some 
before the tasting.
 
Like celestial 
orbs, there’s no devouring me 
in just one mouthful. 
 
I am best savoured 
with a slow drink; on soft tongue 
a languid banquet. 


Registration photo of N. D for the LexPoMo 2024 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

untitled

 I don’t need to mend my shattered heart.
 There is beauty in the broken, purpose for the pain.
 And as grief fades softly into the present day
 I am stuck by the realisation

 I have never felt more alive