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Posts for June 6, 2026 (page 14)

Registration photo of Karen George for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Karen George
Category
Poem
8
6/6/26

I can hardly believe

                             the

                         way
     
                     I
         unraveled and                                         knitted
again                              to                                             
                                                     envy—
                          to

           speak to
    her

              face to face.
                                                               It             was

           unmistakable.

                                                                                She
wanted me to feel                           the
                      push and shove, the               toehold.

Yes, I said.

~ An erasure of page 13 in Margaret Atwood’s novel The Handmaid’s Tale

Registration photo of N. D for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
N. D
Category
Poem
4
6/6/26

Venus in Aries

you will find no gentle mistress here
no pillow-soft amore on which to rest your tender head

affection forged in white-hot flame
her love sharp-clawed, razor fanged,
cold metal studs on imitation leather

Registration photo of Louise for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Louise
Category
Poem
4
6/6/26

The Good Dog, Grail

Bananas have lost
Their flavor diminished
By the absence of her

Carrots have lost
Their crunch diminished
By the absence of her

Greenbeans have lost
Their snap diminished
By the absence of her

My world has lost
Its color diminished By the absence of her

Black and white and love all over  

Registration photo of Savanah Weakly for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Savanah Weakly
Category
Poem
1
6/6/26

Anti-Venom

Whatever connection we shared
is now broken;
damaged beyond repair.
That realization
should fill me with dread,
tearing apart
everything inside me.

But instead,
this realization brings relief.
Like seeing the snake
for what it was.

For so long,
I mistook its coil
for comfort.
Mistook possession
for protection.
Mistook venom
for love.

Your words
slipped beneath my skin,
slow and subtle,
poisoning me
one drop at a time.
I carried it everywhere.
Around my throat
like a collar.
Beneath my ribs
like a second heartbeat.

In every doubt,
every apology,
every piece of myself
I made smaller.

The bite was never what hurt most.
It was the sickness that followed.
The way your poison
convinced me
I needed it to survive.

But venom cannot nourish.
It spreads.

So I broke free.
Like antivenom
moving through blood,
undoing the damage.
Like sunlight
reaching places
kept dark for too long.

Whatever connection we shared
is broken now.
And I am grateful.

The snake is gone.
And at last,
I am becoming
my own cure.

Registration photo of Kevin Nance for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Kevin Nance
Category
Poem
45
6/6/26

This Too

We won’t always be this way,
trudging through days of rain
with the world we thought we knew
turned upside down in the puddles at our feet,
draining into the gutters. 

One day the rain will let up 
& just like the little girl said,
the sun’ll come out
& we’ll remember what a clear day looks like
& can look like again. 

We’ll remember to look up from the sidewalk 
& greet our neighbors as we pass,
say hello, say how are you,
& listen for the answer,
whatever it is. 

Laura Foley
Category
Poem
6
6/6/26

Common

zoom out–
way out–
and look 
at people,
as a species:

age doesn’t matter
education doesn’t matter
experience doesn’t matter
language doesn’t matter
race doesn’t matter
sex doesn’t matter
social status doesn’t matter; rather,
we all hold these things in common–
all of us–

we cry
we laugh
we smile
we live
we die

Registration photo of Gaby Bedetti for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Gaby Bedetti
Category
Poem
16
6/6/26

Fishing at Jacobson Park Lake

graceful stillness
coiled laser strike
a blurred catch

Registration photo of H.A. for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
H.A.
Category
Poem
34
6/6/26

Somewhere, Everywhere

leaving this home will be a dream that holds itself,
a place where blurred memories’ edges permeate imagined futures.
 
 
recently, a child on the subway said,
“there’s no such thing as the middle of nowhere anymore.”
 
his observation hurt (at first)
a pinprick of the heart: each beat forces lost truths to fill an unsuspecting ribcage
whose own resolve will break, 
because each drop dives deep into the shadowy abyss
the darkness between the bones curses its middle, nowhere,
for not being designed to hold them
 
as the train’s rusty wheels click-clacked below our tired feet I thought:
my idea of nowhere is somewhere, where
the road narrows and the deep pine forest thickens
the loon calls skip the surface of a silent lake at the end of a muddy trail
the lobster boats bob & bump weathered docks’ edges
the blueberries fill fields that have not forgotten
they were once in the middle of, or perhaps tiptoeing on the cusp of nowhere
 
because now everything is everywhere
whether it wants to be or not
but somewhere there is a place
a tiny woods-between-worlds where dreams set themselves free
and rest their heads between pages found in the cemetery of forgotten books
that is somewhere, in the middle of nowhere
the somewhere I will call home
Registration photo of Rebecca Richards for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Rebecca Richards
Category
Poem
2
6/6/26

Morning is Broken

I woke today and thought that I 
might find a bit of sunshine
Instead the sky’s soft pale gray clouds
Brought only woe to my mind

Registration photo of Linda Bryant-Davis for the LexPoMo 2026 Writing Challenge.
Linda Bryant-Davis
Category
Poem
15
6/6/26

Music City Fox

Not far from the car-parts warehouse 
near the highway underpass down the street 
from United Record Pressing, the world’s largest 
vinyl record plant a mile from Nashville honky-tonks
where colossal cowboy boots blink in neon, 
walking by Boone’s Creek right by 
Mrs. Grissom’s Salads where they package salsa
& pimento cheese. Who knows what shit flows
as it bubbles & foams? In this this city core,
where diesel fumes mix with smoke, I catch 
a red fox’s yellow flare. As the streetlight flickers 
 
on the fractured sidewalk next to the underpass, 
I turn at the intersection of Cathey & Hanford 
near tangled undergrowth. To protect her kits
as they romp around an abandoned shed
& devour picked-over drumsticks
from a KFC bucket, the vixen barks 
when I get too close. In the wild, foxes
can live nine years–but even by
when there’s plenty to forage, 
they rarely make it two
before they’re mowed down by traffic.

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