Lexington Poetry Month Writing Challenge (#LexPoMo)

Goldie

Category

Poem

6/9/24

That condensed milk wisdom that gods rubbed the label from

It’s cliche to say, hey,

every breath might suddenly be your last—

how can you possibly live like that,

the juggernaut Death or Teth or Time

contusing your neck with a sharpened scythe

and butting your undulous head, now a mess

of mere echoes confessing to anything really,

to nuzzle a snuffling nose amongst fragrant jonquils, and

chortling, mind the bees now!

Although, it’s kind of like that anyway, isn’t it?

Just be wryly quiet for even a second

and feel that chilling crick, that

dulcet pulse that ushers you everywhere,

Teth no more than a clown with a wishbone

dowser’s wand that follows your beetling tears

to the chilling Pacific,

disrupted in nacreous flame,

a choir of misty-eyed jellyfish

jammed in the bonewan sand and

treacly reflecting the sunset.

Sean L Corbin

Category

Poem

6/9/24

A handshake of carbon monoxide

A headstand of caribou muscle
A heart attack of cartons of milk
A heat-seeking missile of carburetors
A helioscope of cartoon tigers
A healthy adoration of cow patties
A hideaway of cold sweats
A health screening of cataracts
A hop skip and a jump of cowboy breakfasts
A hole punch of coffee grounds
A heterogeneity of Canadian geese
A hot pocket of cocaine Coca Cola
A headspace of cosmic crows

Category

Poem

6/9/24

St. Agnes

Author’s note: St. Agnes was an early Christian martyr, killed at age 13 for her refusal to marry. She is the patron saint of young girls, chastity and rape survivors.

Tucked behind the couch, age 10,

I would take down the gilded book and

spend an hour gazing upon your sweet eyes,

the curve of your cheek, brushed

by coils of lamb’s wool. A pull inexplicable,

yet I swore I would take your name one day.

I didn’t. When the time came to approach

the bishop and accept the oils, I couldn’t

defend it. I had already lost my voice.

When I first remembered the tale

of those pages, I could only manage a bitter

laugh. Resolute in your purity, you held firm

despite unwanted advances. You died,

went safe into the arms of a God who loved

you. I know, because He blinded the dozens

who sought to stain you. Most days, I envied

you His favor. More, I envied your certainty

that you could go home. Even now, my skin

itches. God, I am so tired of waiting…

Only later did I learn that some legends,

ones they would not give to a child,

say they held you down. God watched.

You endured.

It is this image of you I came for. I am late.

I can see your spires, but I cannot go inside.

Still, you are the only one who could call me

home. I am almost certain you wavered too.

With lives like yours and mine, faith in

one that watches cannot help but itch.

I want to peel off my skin, like lamb’s wool.

Instead, with your blessing, I will go in.
Relearn my voice. And sing.

Tabitha Dial

Category

Poem

6/9/24

Blessmas 2024

I accept steel

I accept gargoyle

I accept pearly gates

I accept shark

I accept Santa Claus

I accept cumulonimbus

I accept wishing well

I accept skyscraper

I accept polished stone dragon

I accept warm glow wax seal

I accept hot sauce off the deep end

I accept blue suede shoe brain teasers

I accept Golden Gate campfire

I accept hot lava grapefruit

The Universe is Saint Nick: big enough

to bless us everyone on our small, small

trembleworld. I accept, I accept.

The problems come when we show weakness:

corrupt, doubt, expect. Over the rainbow

is a friend, an answer, the next best step,

an olive, meat, and cheese platter:

I accept. I accept. Do you accept?

Inspired by “Navigating Grief: A Guided Journal” and Paint Chip Poetry

Nancy Gourde

Category

Poem

6/9/24

Den Haikus

A bent antenna
waves hello from the TV
and welcomes us in.

Grandmother’s doily,
too tired to move, rests on
the arm of the couch.

The lampshade’s askew.
Last night someone’s drinking cap,
it looks hungover.

The carpet’s dark stains
come from spilt chocolate milk
and coffee splashes.

The paneled room holds
many teenage memories
I rarely visit.

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N. D

Category

Poem

6/9/24

Morning Doughnuts

soft dough,
pillowy and beige,
sitting resplendent amongst its neighbours at the bottom of the crinkled paper bag.

sweet custard,
bright and creamy,
perfectly at home surrounded by a delicious round exterior.

granulated sugar,
sticky and crystalline,
clinging to fingers and teeth serves as a reminder of just how good the simple things can be

Leah Tenney

Category

Poem

6/9/24

raincheck

I asked you to be honest with me.

You said tomorow would be better.

I wasn’t surprised

and that’s what made me cry.

Linda Angelo

Category

Poem

6/9/24

Santa Cruz Spring

red climbing roses fall
through mist
to kiss the throats
of cream-colored calla lilies

wendyjett

Category

Poem

6/9/24

All This Digging Has Left My Nails Quite Dirty

The years
have layered
sediment in my
soul. Debris
and dust piled
in smooth,
straight lines.

Carrie Carlson

Category

Poem

6/9/24

Along for the Ride

The engine purrs

I smell the exhaust

I straddle the seat

And make the Sign of the Cross

I never imagined

I’d be a rider

So, I hold on tight

And trust the driver

Speeding down a straight-a-way

My borrowed jacket, puffing up with air

Hair flapping behind my helmet

Oh, how the weather is fair!

The sky is baby blue

With billowy clouds of white

The sunshine warms my body

While the speed feels like flight

I breathe in honeysuckle

It floats on the breeze

A bug meets its demise

On one of my denim-clad knees

I spot bare ground beneath a tree

Evidence of livestock’s happy repose

Then we turn a corner,

And the smell of a carcass meets my nose

Onward to horses and hay bales

And to a gentle river ahead

We pause to watch a ferry

Gotta get back home – so children are fed

I’m a little more confident
On our return
But my back begins to hurt
And my knees begin to burn

I also recall responsibilities

But then, let out a sigh

Sometimes it’s nice

To just be along for the ride

I lean into corners

I study pastures, trees, and creeks

I wave to other drivers

And enjoy gesture trumping speech

As the sun begins to set

We return to our three beauties

I take off my helmet, shake out my hair

And return to domestic duties

Help us keep on giving.

Content Warning