Posts for June 30, 2025

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

My Energy is Not to Be Wasted

I’ve tried for so long

to recognize when 

expressing my opinion 

is a fight or a win

I developed a sense

whether right or wrong

of staying out of places

where I don’t belong

But still it’s so hard

to give logic a pass

cause a friend may suffer

if I look like an ass

and say what I’m thinking 

when nobody’s asked

though it looks like the story

is clearly a mask


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

A Healing Scar

Time won’t ask if you’re ready to mend,
It just moves forward, friend by friend.
Some wounds don’t close, they just grow kind—
A softer scar, a stronger mind.


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

what matters most

what matters most
is having a good soul 
don’t let them shatter hope 
truth’s like a dagger in your throat
what matters most 
is the passion in your soul 
making someone else feel less alone 
we’re all messes yes i know 
what’s all that stressin for
that’s all we ever known 
your truest self did you let it grow
or did you just let it go 
for some car or some home 
for some silver or some gold 
the best things in life 
can’t be bought or sold 
the best things in life 
aren’t things at all 
cut the strings let it fall
this puppet show 
entertain us for follows 
make us more vain and hollow 
don’t go against the grain 
best do what you’re told 
if you want some fame 
if you want out of that hole 
you’ve dug your ditch 
you love to bitch 
about the actions of others 
but how are you taking care 
of your sisters and brothers
of this world 
you can’t make it fair 
but we can make it more 
than it is 


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

Missing Person

Where were you

that day…..
 
The day 
the devil put his
heavy hand on my 
quivering chest…..
 
The day he put his 
honeyed lips 
to my eager mouth
……and seduced my breath
from my lungs.
 
Where were you
When I mistook
His murderous gaze
…….for flirtation…
 
I forgave myself
for my youth..
my vulnerability..
my naivety..
 
But where were you….
 
 
…..the day I almost died. 
 
 
 
 
 

Category
Poem

Hunting Hydras

The thing no one tells you
about fulfilling dreams 
is not that it is like 
hunting mythic creatures;
no, the fact they leave out
is which creature you hunt
and why its difficulties doom you.
Oh, what you would give
to attract another unicorn
in a deep crystal clearing,
yet you find unicorns on the daily
even as the world crushes your own horns
for potions that prick every curiosity.
The dream instead merges and morphs
and flits and flutters
as readily as the morning sun and the clouds,
but the only truth that keeps your dream alive
is not knowing the truth 
or not knowing your dream–
or not knowing if you cannot achieve it.


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

The 1970s Animal Farm

Our farm was only four acres; but it was cross-fenced,
and we had this big, old barn and a fruit orchard,
which fed us and the livestock, too. Sounds idyllic;
but whether it was or wasn’t, we were just surviving.  
  
Every week, without fail, the kids and I went to the
livestock
sale barn. We’d pack a lunch and be all
excited just thinking about what we might bring
 home.
Livestock that we’d would
love on and treat with respect,
even though none were thought of as pets.  
 
The meat we received from these animals would be preserved,
either salted, canned,
dried, or frozen so we’d have it
come
winter. Perhaps some today don’t think about
the origin of food before it gets to the stores, but we knew,
since we raised most of it ourselves out of necessity.

 
Some animals were resold to create a positive cash flow,
and that was a win-win situation in my book. Our nanny goats
provided us
with the cutest little baby goats, plus fresh milk.
And the
rabbits gave us lots and lots of baby rabbits,
but since I could neither kill nor eat them, they were sold.
 
Poco, our woeful Basset Hound had the most beautiful howl,
and it kept away predators and salesmen. The barn cats
caught mice, keeping the feed barrels clean and mouse-free.
We got to eat lamb, veal, duck, beef, pork, and even barbequed
goat, which was delicious.
We had a vegetable garden, too.
 
Since we didn’t own a truck or a trailer, we hauled our animals
in the trunk of the car, but put a tarp on the floor, in case
“somebody” got messy. Hauling animals this way was weird
but also a necessity, so we dubbed our little car, Noah’s Ark.
Though our Ark didn’t save any animals, it surely did save us.
 
We had a special routine for baby goats, lambs and calves, since they were
tall
and had to travel while lying down. We would ease the trunk shut ‘til
it clicked, then bee-line for home, where it was all-hands-on-deck,
getting each animal safely housed, caged, or corralled, not leaving
any
alone in the trunk, where they would, for sure, stand up and go pee. 
 
Most of our critters came home this way, including a box of newborn piglets
whose mama had died; scores of bummer calves, with long tongues
searching for a teat (though it seemed any elbow or sleeve would do);
orphaned lambs, with their baaing, and showing off pale pink tongues;
so many mouths to feed, but such fun to watch them romp and play.  

And there were the squealing
weaner pigs, which made my children
want to cover their ears with both hands, and cute baby goats who
loved tasting shirttails and collars; and liked racing across the
yard
with the children when they played tag, and loved most of all

to follow my daughter, probably because of her flying pigtails.  

We brought chickens and ducks home inside boxes, too, with covers
on them so none could fly out, though all our birds, including geese
and guineas, had been bought through the local call-in radio show.
And
now, I am thrilled to say we finally bought a truck, but I don’t think
I’d ever like to see another livestock auction unless I keep both hands
in my pockets or else take my grandkids along.


Registration photo of Courtney Music-Johnson for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Who knows?!

Test and re-test 
Everything’s within normal range 
Let’s test some more 
Tough it out there is nothing 
We can do but wait 
Test and re-test 
Everything looks fine 
Nothing to worry about 
Test and re-test 

So many PhD’s and everyone knows more than me
But tells me a whole lot about myself and NOTHING 
All at the same time. 

Maybe they will figure it out at my autopsy?


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

You

there will 
never 
be enough words 
to measure 
what you mean to me


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

The Quiet Becoming

I leaned gently into the shape

of the woman I thought I should be—

Steady.

Loyal.

Kind.

Hardworking.

And quiet.

 

I gave all of myself

to the roles I was handed—

woman,

mother,

worker,

caretaker of everyone’s peace but my own.

 

I stayed

when I should have run.

Loved

when I was left empty.

Offered grace

when I was met with silence.

I believed that mercy would be enough

to earn gentleness in return.

 

And somewhere along the way,

I began to disappear—

a soft unraveling,

thread by thread.

 

Still, I hoped.

That someone might love me

the way I’ve always loved others—

with tenderness, with depth,

with no fear of the messy parts.

 

I long to be seen

not just for what I give,

but for all that I am—

the flawed, the beautiful,

the tired and the still-dreaming.

 

I want a life beyond the list.

Beyond the tasks and the timing.

I want joy that lingers,

and love that chooses me

without conditions.

 

I want to be told

that it’s okay to follow what stirs my soul,

even if it leads me away

from the well-worn path.

That choosing happiness

is not failure,

but faith.

 

I want the safety I’ve given freely,

the honesty I’ve spoken into silence,

to return to me

in soft echoes.

 

To be held without fixing.

To be chosen without question.

To grow beside someone

who sees me as I am—

not too much,

never too little.

 

I’ve glimpsed this life—

the one where I belong

to no one’s expectations

but my own.

 

And I am learning

that I do not have to break myself

to be worthy of peace.


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

Cowgirl’s secret

The jagged feel of whiskey
Brings peace
After the long ride home.