Posts for June 17, 2025 (page 7)

Registration photo of Philip 'Cimex' Corley for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Bugs in the Daylight

1.
Creepy crawlers
known for infestation 
generally like to keep
to the darkness they spawn in
but will occasionally leave
if driven by desperate hunger
or a disturbed hiding place

or a nest
             too populous
                                                 for another.
 
 
That’s when you know
you’ve really got a problem.

2.
A world that seems to move faster by the day
versus a youth that grows at the same slow rate
creates shadows for new conflicts to swarm in.

Little minds like new homes constructed
with handheld windows to infinities of things;
knowledge and philosophies not meant for
                                                         or aimed at
                                                                               preteens.

Doesn’t take much for wrongness to get inside–
a Tate or a Rogan to stake out their claim,
heralding a spiral that breathes life
                                                           in the privacy of headphones.

3.
Every new idea is another egg hatched.
Dark humors look for fresh lines to cross.
Insatiable algorithms beg
                                                   for more time to consume.

Then suddenly, that which fills a young man’s mind
becomes the words that he puts out into the world.
You’ll hear it in the home
and you’ll hear it in the schools
and read it on Reddit
and if nothing pulls him back
you’ll feel it in his votes.

4.
Is it his fault? No
though it will one day be his responsibility.
But when exactly does that day arrive
and who is to call the exterminator before then?

And if–hopefully when–he reaches that point
where his reality needs to change,
will you allow him the safe space to grow new in?
Can you keep a strong stomach
when straggling toxicities scurry about?
Can you show him safety
in a different way of being?

Because it’s unfortunately very easy
to send men like this into retreat.

Because one who’s lived in infestation
            has learned
how to be comfortable with the bugs.


Registration photo of Leah Tenney for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

a good sign

Fatigue undresses our cheeks,
our boots thhh-lucking through mud like molasses.
You’ve sweat already through your shirt this morning
and there is no ice for the tea.  

The normal pacing of time has been lost
to the shaking of an unbalanced spin cycle.
All the flags are upside down
and I grow pale in the heat-  
     -a bad sign  

The rows of this field seem endless,
didn’t we pull the same weeds yesterday?
Waiting on the seeds of better angels to sprout,
to give them what chance we can.  

Maybe barefoot is better than boots, I offer.
Perhaps we should bow down instead of trample,
sing soft to the seeds that will feed us,
ask forgiveness of the holy soil.  

Rest awhile in the shade,
I will mend you a fresh, clean shirt, make ice for the tea.
Rest, and remember how to pray.
I watch a bird, wide-winged, ascending-  
     -a good sign


Registration photo of A.R. Koehler for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

My mistake, I’ll make a new egg

Dinner is served

I eat, disgusted
at my lack of appetite 
I’m starving
For the hope that’s comes 
On tomorrow’s sun
Waiting impatiently 
I chew my water
Watching my egg solidify
Another sunny side I let get cold  

Registration photo of Diana Worthington for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

The Sound of Fire

In a dream

I saw the Pueblo burning

from a cliff looking

dead ahead

the smoke blanketed the sky

blocking the sun

The Pueblo that stood for a thousand years

now bathed in amber flame

The hills all around, charcoal black

glistening with glowing embers

the main fire filled the air

full of sound and heat

the roar assaulted every sense

Every inch of my body

The “American Eden” is ablaze

and somewhere in all this

I knew what lit the match

I woke up angry

Title inspired by: “The Sound of Fire”, Montana State University library: Acoustic Atlas Blog posts. https://www.lib.montana.edu/acoustic-atlas/acoustic-atlas-blog/posts/the-sound-of-fire.html#:~:text=%E2%80%9CIt%20sounds%20kind%20of%20like,It’s%20just%20a%20roaring%20sound.%E2%80%9D

Rick Romancito, “Remembering Taos Pueblo’s Encebado Fire”, Taos News, Mar 15 2013. https://www.taosnews.com/tempo/remembering-taos-pueblos-encebado-fire/article_0bd08144-9e1f-59e0-a386-6cba7eaabacc.html


Category
Poem

Parting

can i sit with you one last time
before i go, before i go
we’ll never have this chance again
my time is coming to an end
please know i love you so
can i sit with you now before i go

can i hold your hand one last time
before i go, before i go
we’ll never have this chance again
my time is coming to an end
please know i love you so
can i hold your hand now before i go

will you sing to me one last time
before i go, before i go
we’ll never have this chance again
my time is coming to an end
please know i love you so
will you sing to me now before i go

please know i love you so
now it’s time for me to go . . .


Registration photo of Marianne Peel for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

The Sunshine Flower Shop on Tates Creek

He’s got three legs.
I named him Lieutenant Dan,
the owner of the flower shoppe tells me.
And I want to salute
this golden retriever,
to thank him for his service,
to tell him how moved I am
that he didn’t give up.
He nudges his muzzle into my hand,
exposes his soft animal belly,
wiggles his spine
among fallen begonias and impatiens
and I rub his belly
until he smiles.  

                       -Marianne Peel 


Registration photo of Danielle Valenilla ∞ for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

I’m Not Angry Anymore

it softens into remembrance puddles
reflections where the rain gathered
and i know it has helped the flowers grow
and the worms dance

i teach my heart how to stretch
how to love beyond proximity without closure
and how to keep pumping blood
when it wants to rest from the ache

we are pancakes, messy puddles crisping,
bubbles popping with the urgency to flip us
onto our soft side and sear a new memory
a memory that honors and gives permission to let go

and i’m not angry anymore
i just need some more time and more butter


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

Mourning Dove

the morning dove was not surprised by me
she quipped a bit, fluttered her wings but went straight back to work…..
picking through my debris pile of late………. ““`no not this one- maybe this?”””””
no she threw it away too. 
hot it was in the sun so I moved into the shade
her only feet away, she cooed and again went to her fate
picking sticks for a nest
I spoke to her, as always, acknowledged I saw her dance throughout last eve with her mate and trusted her to find the right one to start her family


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

White squirrel

Last year there was a white squirrel
That lived in the tall sycamore trees on the little bank across the stream
He was a big belligerent fellow
I saw him for months, chasing and wrestling with his rivals on the ground and spiraling up and down the trees

I would watch him through my binoculars
And several times got a very good close up look
He was leucystic, not albino
White on top, brown legs and tail
Which is apparently more common
Some have red or blue eyes but I couldn’t see a squirrel eye at 250 yards, even with magnification

I spent a long time reading about white squirrels on the internet, as I would watch him
They’re not particularly rare, although I’d never seen one before
Some places have lots of white squirrels due to the genetics
I even reported him to the official white squirrel website (not joking)
I had some trepidation outing him, although I doubted anyone would sneak into the forested creekside back corner of my sister-in-law’s property, just to harass a squirrel

I’ve not seen him this year
And had to research how long a squirrel’s lifespan is in the wild
Many die early on, but if they live past 2 years, can live up to 8 years or so
I truly understood how the rare and precious sometimes don’t make it as long, as I marveled last year at how much his whiteness stood out against the drab yellow and brown of autumn
Wondering how a hawk or other sharp-eyed predator didn’t find him, when I could see him with my less acute human eyes, from all the way up the hill
So I suspect he didn’t make it
I have a vision in my head of him angrily barking at whatever got him, belligerent to the end
Because I like the thought of that end better, than illness, or cold, or falling

I saw a squirrel fall once
You’d think, with their athletic acrobatics, that it doesn’t happen
But this one misjudged the distance between the branches spanning the stone-fenced road
And I actually saw the look of surprise, the flailing feet before he crashed to the pavement, and unable to slow, I ran over him
It was almost like watching Wile E. Coyote run off a cliff – and I laughed and cussed at the same time

This morning I swear I saw a brief flash of white, twice, on the ground under the tall sycamore trees on the little bank across the stream
So maybe, just maybe, he survived the hard winter
Able to stand out against the autumn drabness for another season
Or maybe it was just wishful thinking
Only existing as a notation on a website about white squirrels


Registration photo of Haley Biddle for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

are you sitting down?

you fell asleep with sadness on your face
the tip of your brows furled to greet the corners of your lips in an unfortunate hello
it was never a call we were inclined to receive
and isn’t that the ultimate wish of not

death is deceiving
everything stays still, yet nothing is the same
your family, our family, broken

we were supposed to be celebrating
now a celebration of life is all that is left

may he rest in peace

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