Posts for June 8, 2025 (page 12)

Category
Poem

Squid Ink

The salinity of my tears

Determines the duration at which 
They linger on my lashes, 
Apples, filtrum, jawline.
 
Sometimes they race down my neck
and pool in my clavicles 
 
Like when the tide goes out and
You can roll up your pant legs,
Wade into the pools that are left
Filled with alien delights and a sense of urgency —
Anticipation of the sea’s inevitable return.
 
Their viscosity lately has been dense.
High protein, low sodium, nonvolatile,
They fill the pools in my collar bones with a brackish cocktail of fear and dread 
A gentle reminder that the sea never left. 

Registration photo of Bill Brymer for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Garden Variety Concerns

I forgot to feed the middle tomato 
the runt in the row of three, my mind
not what it used to be, the terrible
disease my mother has, we of a kind,

can’t deny the dire possibility.
The best I can do is try to move with ease
into a future without memories,
through these days that time will tease

were my good days, before I went downhill
staring through blank eyes at my wife and daughter
strangers, though even stranger still will 
be wondering who I am — how laughter

and joy every minute of every day
while more and more of me slips away?


Registration photo of Chelsie Kreitzman for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Tulips

My little son plucks 
eight of them – seven baby
pink, one purple as a bruise –
he plucks with good
intentions, plucks with love 
for his mama, plucks 
them from the neighbor’s 
front lawn, leaves 
them in a bouquet 
on our doorstep, hopes
this gift will pluck the corners 
of my lips into a smile, 
but it only plucks at my heart
strings, because his face falls 
when I have to break it
to him gently that not every
beautiful thing he sees
is his for the plucking.


Registration photo of Toni Menk for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

My Longevity Plan

I buy journals,
lots of empty journals, 
knowing that I can’t die
until I fill them all up.


Registration photo of David Madill for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Moment #5

Tongues stuck out to paint
The mirror a blank canvas
Two gigglers erupt


Registration photo of Tabitha Dial for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Into the Garden State

I have nothing to offer but

memories about 
all the cicada affairs,
and the fireflies 
have also grown foreign.
 
Once back in Kentucky, I cooked 
two soups in my sleep.
Did I know then where the
leftovers were going?
 
Shifting. Out here, 
we’re always shifting.
Serving up food for
our Jersey broods.
 
We can’t take out
what’s gone in, but we can
always add more salt.  

Registration photo of D. Dietz for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Getting buzzed

alarm blares
bleary-eyed, up and at ’em
Saturday be damned
I’ll feed and walk the dog
while you sleep off last night’s whiskey
so that you can enjoy your day off 
and I can go to work
yet again

it wears on me
like fingernails on a chalkboard
like the droning of nature’s car alarm
you know, the one that only goes off every 17 years
but apparently lasts for 6 weeks without end
and the only buzz I have this morning 
is from the dying flying red-eyed tree-rats


Registration photo of N. D for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Swell

Behind your eyes I see a storm brewing

Turning dark with need, an endless ocean swelling with thunderous waves

Threatening to pull me under

 

And when the mercury ultimately plummets

I brace for the impact

of your body,

crashing into mine


Registration photo of Mike Wilson for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Our Age

Walking, holding hands,
on the shore of dementia.
Not there yet, but we’ve
started releasing balloons.   

People think letting go
of the world is tragedy
but the sweeter rose blooms
as the sun goes down  


Registration photo of Gaby Bedetti for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Neighborhood Walk

I know where the full moon drops,
where swallows chirp in the brush,
in whose yard the first snowdrops grow,
on which roof robins warm their toes,
where they bathe in spring,
where crows bury their scraps.