Posts for June 30, 2025 (page 4)

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

Closing Time

They say that all good things must
come to an end. It may be two minutes
from now or perhaps it’ll be twenty
years from now. The only difference is
the time it will take to transition to the
next moment. Each moment will build
on to the story that creates your life and
even if those stories must come to an end,
wasn’t so beautiful to be able to enjoy
those moments and hold them in your
arms. These moments will end and that’s
the way of the world, yet without endings
we may be stuck in situations that we
don’t know how to leave without a push
or a leap of faith or something beyond
ourselves. It may be closing time, but
remember the promise that each moment
will end and we will still remain and we
will keep going forward every moment.


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

cheers, Lexington

it felt great to try
some new things and also make
my silly haikus


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

Voodoo Doll

Who holds the doll,
Needle in hand 

That sends the sharp
Twinges into the skin and muscle
Of my chest
Without warning. 

Surprising, sometimes scaring me.
Almost two months
After the surgeon’s power saw
Separated my sternum in two.
And severed a zillion nerves
Across my chest. 

Is it a former student
Or employee
Who resented my evaluation of their work.
Or a neighbor who found my yardwork inadequate?
Or a stranger I cut off in traffic
Without even knowing it?
A friend or acquaintance I did not acknowledge –
Lost in my own world? 

Or is this normal?
An expected side effect after the surgery?
Or perhaps it just IS. 
No reason needed.
For the pain we feel.


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

The Legend of Twinkle the Hunter

A cat, rotund, in stark monochrome
lounged near a case stacked with tomes.
His eyes, how they fluttered, all while he lazed
beneath the fireflies’ unending glow.
At fourteen years senior, we thought, rightly so,
that his mouse-catching days were a dream
he dreamt while he fell asleep upon the plush-padded floor.

But, lo, a rustle in the neighboring room piques
our brave knight’s attention from slumber.
In seconds he rises and makes for the door
I swear lightning could not have moved faster.
We damsels curled upon our chaise in a quite fearful daze
as we heard thunder clap from the battleground yonder.
The sounds of a struggle, could it possibly be that our hero
had been beaten fair?

Yet, behold, here he comes with a prize ‘tween his teeth
I must squint to be sure it is there.
Yes, a mouse, I can see it, the gray corpse is pierced
by two golden sabers acute.
The warrior drops his own prize at our feet
as we stand up and shout to the sky,
“Huzzah!  The fierce Twinkle has done it again, 
he has slain his most infamous foe!”

So ends the great tale of Twinkle the hunter,
whose might knows nothing of age,
and may we recall his loyalty true
so long as Arcturus shines bright up above.


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

Big Mulch

Big Mulch advises 3 inches of coverage is optimal for the health of your soil. 

 
Big Mulch promises to serve you and beautify you with bark, wood, straw, and rubber varieties.
 
Big Mulch wants to prevent weeds and grasses for you. 
 
–Big Mulch’s studies show that weeds and grasses are not ideal. 
 
Big Mulch ptomises it is your best bet to keep your soil moist so you can use less water.
 
Big Mulch wants to help your roots stay cool so you can, too. 
 
Big Mulch comes direct to your door in a variety of colors.
 
But Big Mulch doesn’t want you to know that you can call your local tree company and get one of their excess piles of wood chips dumped at the end of your driveway at no cost. 

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

And So, Good Night

The bed has beckoned me
ever since I left it.  Why?
It is only a shelf for when 
my body is not being used.
But the clarion call, so deep,
so sincere.  I fought it
so hard as a child,
never knowing whether
the next day would come at all.
How along the way do we
learn how to trust, to fall
asleep steadfast in the belief
that a new day beckons
just on the other side of the bed?


Category
Poem

Untitled

I press my hand
Against the dirty window 
The cold glass reminding me
That it’s not yet spring 

The frosty white rim
Of an empty bird’s nest 
Shimmers in the early rays
Of the rising sun

The outside becomes lighter
But the view from the window
Feels like an old photograph
Grainy and fading 


Registration photo of Rosemarie Wurth-Grice for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Of Things Lost

I found a line of a poem
lying beneath a pin oak
a kernel smaller than an acorn
larger than a hummingbird’s eye 
Something so small and so large
I could stretch it over the moon’s face                                                   
let it shine for a little while before
falling
       from clumsy fingers
             falling
                   between leaves of grass 
                              falling
deep beneath hairy white roots
where earthworms feast 
tickling the bones of my long-lost pup 
buried the year after I lost you
lost like my grandmother’s wedding band
 I wore planting roses
lost like a thought upon rising 
lost for words of a song you always hummed 
 
                                                           
 

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

Rooted: from Misery to Ministry

I’ve spilled my soul these thirty days—
lines where shadows bleed
into flickers of belief.

Poetry became the outlet
my songs wouldn’t offered,
melodies must 
soar in the light,
though the brightest of moments
come from confessing the dark.

In music, I’m the voice
of hope,
a role model of joy,
an architect of rising suns.

These poems called for
a deeper truth.
I’ve exposed
the torment underneath:
the silent wars,
the clawing doubts,
the tears that fall unseen.

I’ve written of nights
where faith felt paper-thin,
of how despair
can be a prophet,
pointing me
to eternal roots.

For even trees
and trembling flowers
weather the greatest 
of storms,
only because
their roots dig deep.

The same is true
for my soul—
as I’ve found;
it can’t stand
against the storms I face
unless I’m wholly
rooted in Christ—
fed by living water,
anchored firm in
unstable ground.

From this misery,
sprouts ministry.
From confession,
comes connection.
From wounds,
flows wisdom.

I stand,
rooted in Him—
as I’ve always been,
though often struggle to
play the part.
Branches stretching
toward hearts full of pain.
Leaves wave in acceptance,
Offering rest to the weary soul.

I have seen
how darkness shapes
a faith that cannot
be shaken.
I have watched the lowest rise,
only because they chose to trust.

A ministry has bloomed
not in spite of misery—
but because I’ve
walked through it.
At the deepest roots,
ever faithful—
is where I find Him.


Registration photo of C. A. Grady for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Poem 31

I thought the rules were thirty flat—
one each day, and that was that.
But somewhere in the server’s hum,
a glitchy little muse did come.

She whispered: “If not for loops,
then let one poem skip the queue.”
I blinked, and somehow, on my screen,
a bonus poem slipped between.

Perhaps it’s wrong. Perhaps it’s right.
Perhaps a bug snuck in last night.
And so I typed, against all odds,
a cheeky verse—poem thirty-one.

Dear LexPoMo, your code runs tight—
but I slipped past with stealth and byte.
So if this entry shouldn’t be,
just blame it on the poetic spree. 

Or, say:
if month == June & poem_count > 30:
    print(“You brilliant beast, you did it early!”)