Posts for June 2, 2026 (page 4)

Category
Poem

safety in shambles

summer afternoons 
tend to feel like mornings 
as spring classes wind down 
and there’s a breath before fall 

the dogs clobber around upstairs 
making their voices known 
the cats meow and beg
even after a big meal

the dollar store blanket
shields the sunlight
from peaking through

not yet ready to face the day
still tired from late night chatting
but cars rev up their engines
leaving for day jobs, errands,
only they know

and we just sit here talking
as the yellowed walls watch us
spots telling their own story

the floor has its own city
cluttered in trinkets
which we swear
we’ll clean this weekend

and here i sit
all cozy in my favorite blanket
ignoring holes that make my legs cold

on our thrifted couch
thrown out by the neighbor
guess that’s why trash can be treasure

we just talk for hours
forgetting about the world
and all its responsibilities

about the rent due in 3 days
the electricity due in 4
the apartment
that’s just falling apart

but who cares?
when this kind of safety
means everything to me
a kind of safety that I’ve never known.


Registration photo of Sonya Pavona for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

bitter/sweet

her bittersweet sickness
curls in my chest

lingering.

she twists my mind
into a pile of inarticulate
gibberish.

i hate her.

her poison has no
physicality

it rests in fear
in dark places
my mind refuses to
linger.

i cannot rid myself of her

instead i bask in bitterness,
cling to sweetness
in fleeting spots of sunshine.


Registration photo of Kathy Rueve for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Old Houses

Once you were filled with living

The sounds of celebrations and laughter

Snores in the night, arguments and tears

Your walls holding those snuggling within

 

Adorned with pictures, children’s paintings

Mirrors reflecting passings from room to room

Kitchens let loose smells rising from wood stoves

Replaced by gas and electric ones as years rolled by

 

Stairs worn by many footfalls, some fast, some slow

Were sanded down, broken steps replaced, later carpeted

Now your roof is sagging, porches fallen, windows broken

Those who lived here as fractured and faded as their memories

 

You fall into lonely disrepair, no one left to care for you

As time slips into another era where everything is new and fast

And flashy that will ebb and disappear, receding into a distant past of

Lost manifestations to be forgotten when they are no longer of consequence

 

 

 

 


Registration photo of Pat Owen for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Autistic Kid at the Gym

Father and son working with a trainer
but the father does all the talking,
the kid sitting on the next machine
twisting his hands into strange gyrations,
a generalhy ignored gnat on the edge of a bowl.

Father and trainer move across the gym,
kid follows, hands behind his back,
like a prisoner in tow.  You may remember
a time you felt this way, lagging four steps
behind, wanting to be part of things.


Registration photo of Mary Knight for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Haiku #1

Awake in my dreams,

I’ve been narrating my life.

Do I even sleep?


Registration photo of Jerielle for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Monostitch Latch #2

Strange how much grit it takes
to hold your tongue.


Category
Poem

Para

dise, lyzed
foil, sol

tonic, trooper,
shot, doxer

guay, sang
close, veins

magnet, genetic,
dropped, phrase

taxis, graphed,
bola, sitic

noia, gium,
mo, oral

clinical, idol,
normally, language

vertebral, synth,
morphine, olympics

sympathomimetics, bel,
n, d

cho, kou
vai, cas,

xon, matta
morph, legal.

f


Registration photo of Winter Dawn Burns for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Daybreak and the Golden Ratio:

Daybreak and the Golden Ratio:

 
A congregation 
of Cumulus clouds hangs in
azure ecstasy 
A zephyred light flinders through
trees clothed in gold and green hues
 
©️Winter Dawn Burns

Registration photo of Goldie for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

There can only be one

When I say identity 

smacks of mass
psychosis, I 
 
don’t mean one
should simply      be
 
some spectral succession of sun-
sick yoga poses sounding out
flowery rounds of old
MacDonald, the
farmer and governor squared
in an apprehensive astigmatism un-
bent twixt half-baked quaker wedding and
taciturn maritime square dance skirmish. I
 
think of the Asco kids,
bent screaming but
what I want to
be will be and
not what is will be, 
will be, forever, by 
god, ad nauseam, doddering
long past cows come home to the monolith
 
salt flat,
whilom wired with wild 
and virulent thistles. I think 
of the folk lore epistles unpinned
and the grin of a grandly disparaging
                                                 narrative 
nettled back into what merits
an hourglass merit, what
ferreting looseness lending its
noble purpose to be 
but over-
turned,              to be
 
in perpetual dream-dense movement milling us
homeward, headlong, evermore
into the salt-packed,
weed-wracked 
cracks cut—crackling
film stock stuffed in the armour-
brand meat tin peeper, perfecting,
as bones heal any which way they’ve long been braced
(like an elbow bent back black in echoing crab legs), 
what some mean by perpetual personage, reeling but
wiry wrists and legs in place
in a serifing heritage, chutes
and ladders lining the pie-
crimped dynasty’s dry-
ly stylized, blood-
ruffled ermine, pared
to a stridulent zip tie—why,
how i heard a young
 
poet go on and on about how a horse was born
a horse, born walking or trotting or
cantering even; though humans, 
you see, are a touch more
malleable maybe, less 
hoof-honed glue than finicky  
giftwrap tissue,
                   muscles
                percussing a
       mold,                    perchance. You’ll see.
 
At a glance, it seems so easy. I
‘m bent down-
 ward-dogging each 
 rebar dream and memory
 into a stitch of
 inf-
 in-
 it-
 y. E
     I
     E
     I—oh, again, going on only say
          nothing as plump 
                       as a muttering hunch, or
                       how many more bribed lives swung 
                       over the smoldering shoulders in-
         censed with a crick or the hiccupping quickening,
         clenching—


Registration photo of Sylvia Ahrens for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Dear Woman Next Door

                                 Inspired by today’s poems on perspectives and potions  

We knew you were a witch
But we was young
And sure of everything

We saw you in the shops
Hair disguised as a taut bun
Churchlike green-patterned dress
You didn’t fool us
A dark cape and wildness
Waited at home for your return  

You kept a dog named Merlin 
A cranky brown blob of fluff
That sniffed and waddled the yard
But we had heard about
A black cat’s power  

When you swept your porch
We recognized the old straw broom
Had seen you riding it
Shadowed against the moon  

We heard you crooning over plants
An herb garden my mother called it
But we understood the spells
Of mugwort and sage  

My thoughts bumped into you tonight
As I sat at the table with my tea
Brushing hair grey as ashes
The moon singing outside my window