Category
Poem

Wooden Basket Woven

handcrafted wooden basket woven with
    smooth pieces
curved wooden handles bite into
    my hand
when I
    grip it too tightly

peaceful serene when
    I look
consummate craftwork
    of basket

woven strips flow
             with grace of
crane in
    flight

my finger traces
           weaving’s regular undulations
up and down, up and down, up and down
            like chart of heart
functionality

basket smells
    faintly        delicate,
aged wood,      while
    tasting like
popsicle sticks

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

a letter to my stalker: what my LinkedIn won’t tell you

is how I spent my morning packing meals

for children in Eswatini
how I was grateful to serve at the site 
I learned compassion 
how my soul itches in the convictions
that taught shame
how I can’t breathe in this cradle of a city 
so
 
what my LinkedIn won’t tell you
is how desperately I’m scraping and clawing 
to Kentucky as home,
gone tooth and nail for somewhere unsung
and, for me, unsingable
since everything is traceable unless I trip
the trap
 
so be it.
 
if that insidious blue bastard tells you
I’m interested,
know it was the block button I was after.
I’m gunning for
a new ceiling and, goddamn it
you don’t get a window.
I finally believe I deserve a life
without you in it.
Registration photo of Madison Miller for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

I Drive Past Your House

Dry leaves have gathered

around your chair on the porch.

I imagine you are inside baking

your German chocolate cake.

An extra batch of icing

cools on your counter.

Your plants are pushing out new leaves.

Nothing goes untended.

 

I know if I checked the back door

it would still be unlocked.

The stray cats paw

at the kitchen window waiting.

The birdfeeder has run empty

but the squirrels decide to stay.

Your rose bush is overgrown.

I don’t dare prune it.

 

If I squint hard enough

I still see you at the end of the driveway.

Shuffling in your nightgown and slippers.

Your arm raised waving.

Each time we hugged goodbye

you held a second more…

Almost as if to say

I wish you’d stay a little longer.

Registration photo of Philip 'Cimex' Corley for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Touchin’ Balls (A Bro-Date Poem)

When invitations to go to the fair resulted
in only two guys hanging out for the night

they decided that the fair was kinda lame;
let’s drink beer and shoot pool instead.

So with far more quarters than any billiard skill
they got on with a night full of laughs and swapped stories.

See how these two balls are touching? one of them pointed out.
If I tap the one, the other will go off in that angle

and a Solid fell in the side. The other responded with a shot
hit so hard that his Stripe, quote, Beybladed into the corner.

After a couple hours of this, it wasn’t so much the quarters
that ran out but the ability to shoot anything straight,

a cue to set the sticks down and take a seat
where real conversation could begin.

All the topics were on the table: life, work opportunities,
relationships–they talked a lot about relationships.

One guy, a few months into dating a girl
had only good things to say about her and his well-being,

admitting to just one challenge–different attachment styles–
but he recognized positive value in growing within that.

The other shared lamentations for his status
often going years between girlfriends.

It’s lonely at times, but he does enjoy spontaneous freedoms
such as going to a bar with a friend on a whim,

how this is not the first bro-date he’s been on, the other guys 
facing challenges like breakups or divorce,

invitations to turn singlehood into meaningfulness
helping another man keep himself together

but it’s nice to be checked in on every once in a while.
He’s not without days and nights of crushing sadness.

Not tonight, though. Tonight he feels full and content
which in turn uplifts the first guy. They’re doing good, here.

And even if it ends up being weeks
before they hang out again, they’ve achieved

a touching new level of comfort in knowing
a safety net is just a text or phone call away.

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

Bri’s Home

I follow the bees that follow the breeze
into the unknown, the honeycombs.
I roam alone, in the rim of skies,
blowing into Breezehome in Bri’s home.

This home is a haven, a heaven—
a flowerbed of rooms and blossoms,
with room to bloom, rosy and cozy.

If bees could talk, they’d blush with love
when they greet their drippy honey hive.

A delightful sunny day to love bees’ home.

Category
Poem

broken wing

in my heart
a tiny pink bird 
shattered

wrote a poem 
called “shattered” then
a broken winged 
                              bird

Category
Poem

Sometimes, A Dull Woman

is a car stuck in traffic
a spark-sputtering machine
running low on gospel
June bug violating the windshield

Registration photo of Winter Dawn Burns for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Pinnacle

Pinnacle:

 
The still dampness wafts 
along grass, meadow, and field
A barn owl declares
the morning, before the crow
A frolicking zephyr stays
 
Cowbirds and Blackbirds
struggle for the fertile land
but a Dove will wait
with strength for the peace to come
Lilac and lemon balm sway
 
Canterbury Bells
knelling for orange day lilies
and white irises
A distant coyote howls
A doe surveys the thickets 
 
As dawn slides towards
morning, the sunlight swaddles
hidden nesting dens
A panoramic viewpoint
lends a more enlightened love
 
©️Winter Dawn Burns 
 
 
 
Registration photo of N. D for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Flow

pour your heart into
my cup. it may be chipped but
its base will hold firm

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

Moment #12

Britches pinned to shirt.
Proportionality off,
Pants (ideally) on.