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Posts for 2025 (page 10)

Ann Haney
Category
Poem
2
6/29/25

I Do Not Suffer from a Lack of Solitude

I do not suffer from a lack of solitude.

I find the consciousness of solitude

when assuming the role of observer.
It frees me.

to stand apart

to linger in a slice of shadow
to move slowly to a standstill
to sway along with a crowd unnoticed
To go where I can loose myself

away from petty concerns

a reach too far from home improvements
safely distanced from news bullets shooting my way
nicely disconnected from never ending lists

Solitude may be as close as a step into my garden.

Although small, it can become the entire universe on occasion.

There is one plant out there with flowers that open aloft tall stalks

with colors like the yellow silks of Sari’s blowing in the wind
the perfect petals catch me off guard when they bloom
their appearance always makes me feel some language has begun
between us, as though they are speaking directly to me after
all their petals have spoken.
I am not sure if they communicate at some shrill level that humans
cannot actually hear, but the effect of their astonishing embodiment
of delights would be deafening if we could.

And then there are the succulents that sit plumply with confidence
as though they came from outer space. They almost burst into song with
their floral magenta geometry speckling over their green pudgy-leafed
waterfall of growth tumbling over their planter defying gravity.

Whether I go to my small garden or to the Grand Canyon

I think my solitude comes from connecting with the drama of nature
as it reveals itself without having to give or gain trust.
It is a perfect world that lets us into its solitude.
Registration photo of Allen Blair for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Allen Blair
Category
Poem
6/29/25

once wanted To Be an astronomer

unconscious thought
provokes a power
within my spirit
calling out across
light years of time
Antares rises red
over the ocean, and
I stretch out my hand
to ride the waves

Registration photo of Amanda Jatta for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Amanda Jatta
Category
Poem
2
6/29/25

untitled

In my dream, 

I’m dancing barefoot 
in the clover,
playing Amelie
on the accordion, 
with the smell of honeysuckle 
in the air
and the sun 
kissing my shoulder blades. 
Registration photo of Amy Figgs for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Amy Figgs
Category
Poem
6/29/25

Dare me.

The lack of trepidation
and
complete detachment
I possess
is grossly underestimated,
even by me….
 
at times.
 
 
I will burn it all down at a moment’s notice.
I’m not scared of the flame,
fire,
or soot.
 
I’ll take selfies in the glow. 
 
I know the work of rebuilding,
the discomfort of creation.
 
Being baptized by flame 
is my favorite past time. 
 
 
 
victoria cruz-falk
Category
Poem
6/29/25

Worthy & Deserving of Love

You’re not in trouble.
You’re just a clown on a chair
With no makeup on.

Registration photo of Samuel Collins Hicks for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Samuel Collins Hicks
Category
Poem
6/29/25

A Sith…Lord?

There is no emotion, there is peace.
Not for nothing, but you look pretty emotional to me. Do you need to excuse yourself? To compose yourself? To draft an apology? Let’s loop in Imperial HR to discuss the ways we can support you during this period of distress. 

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
You actually expect me to believe there is no ignorance? You think me that naive? Ignorance is the driving force (no pun intended) of this putrid planet,
where knowledge is vilified to the point that only villains are smart (mwah ha ha).

There is no passion, there is serenity.
Do you hear yourself? “Sorry babe, Master Yoda says I gotta stay serene,” as you reach for the XBox controller and another Diet Dr. Pepper. Small wonder your girlfriend keeps waking up in my Mustafaran mansion.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.
You listen too closely to perceive the complete movement. Only those with ears to hear can overcome the lilting din of the galactic chorus to appreciate my background bedlam orchestrations. If your feeble mind can make out my melody, it is because I allow it. 

There is no death, there is the Force.
On this we can agree. A bit. While I grow greater in the darkness, joining the Force will only be the beginning, not of your ascension, but of your humiliation. Your statue will be raised by pity, your memorial a cautionary tale. 

Your allies scatter. Your power is fading.
I am the power. I am the dreamer, and the dream.
Your nightmare, my freedom.

Registration photo of K. Nicole Wilson for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
K. Nicole Wilson
Category
Poem
6/29/25

Wordle Poetry in Motion

T R A I N
S P O K E
L O C U M
O D D L Y

Registration photo of Sophie Watson for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Sophie Watson
Category
Poem
6/29/25

If Guilt Was a Good Trip I’d Be High All the Time

For days I lived in locked rooms without clocks,
for months I’ve been treading this endlessness.

Someone told me I sleep with eyes slivered open.
Someone else told me my hands were a corpse’s.

Cope. I drown in magnesium, knock myself out
cold dead on the bedroom floor. Good riddance.

Everyone is mad I now live lawlessly, apathetic.
We both get to change the rules on each other.

Why would I pay for an education or get a real job
when I could talk to old men with death fetishes?

Let me walk around this house when it’s silent,
empty. I need to think. I have a lifetime to unbury.

I have a skeleton to marvel at. Sorry, your watercolor
butterfly inspirational quote murals make me gag.

 

 

Registration photo of mtpoet for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
mtpoet
Category
Poem
6/29/25

Sometimes

        Sometimes

        I go to the shallows
        of Old Seventy creek
        when the sun    
        shines like a flashlight
        through the shadows
        trees,
        bent over the banks,
        make.

        I go to the shallows
        of Old Seventy Creek
        with the purpose
        of turning over rocks
        to see what hides
        beneath.
            
        Many times
        a crawldad,
        swimming backward,
        escapes,
        or a salamander,
        its dots
        easier to follow
        than the crawldad’s
        frantic exit.

        Sometimes,
        I find what I seek,
        a snail darter,
        the endangered
        minnow
        some called ugly,
        with stripes across
        its back
        and down like
        a poem moves.

hbelam
Category
Poem
1
6/29/25

bad seeds

bushy overgrowth, verdant images
of my father’s recollection of the four of them,
shirtless, hot,
hungry,
hunkered in the field, on a mission
to not get caught.
the stealing only lasts a second
in his retelling,
and then absconsion to the creekside, 
sharp rock, split in two,
a watermelon so red, and ripe,
warm from the summer sun.
shared, ejecting black seeds
covered in spit onto the bladed carpet,
waiting to take root

tell me, though,
towards what sun did those vines grow?

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