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

Boxed In

conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  r e s i s t   conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  conform
conform  conform  c o n  f  o   resist

Registration photo of Toni Menk for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Bluebird Box

Second clutch – five eggs
first one – very productive 
I set out meal worms

Registration photo of Jerry Hicks for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

The Fisherman

I saw him there,

Upon a log,

Shoulders hunched,

Like a calico frog,

 

Frozen it seemed,

His gaze was fixed,

Upon the water,

Flowing betwixt,

 

Where he sat,

And his mortal foe,

That swims the ripples,

There below.

 

Is he a wizard?,

With a Zebco wand,

Or and acolyte,

With a thin long frond.

 

He scans the waters,

With eyes like steel,

And pulls from the deep,

His evening meal.

 

 

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

Pour Decisions

I know I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I don’t allow everyone to touch my fine china—

it’s too delicate.

They say don’t pour from an empty glass, so what do I serve them if I have nothing to give?

Do I still have to be hospitable?

Should I let them “wine?”

I’m not trying to waste a good pour on poor company,

or, play pretend with imaginary “friends,”

sipping with a digit up.

(The middle is the best choice, perhaps.)

Well, if I have to entertain because it’s the polite thing to do,

guess I should give them something.

You can lead a horse to the water, but you can’t make him drink.

So, I’ll give them something to think.

Straight from the kettle.

Because, boy, they sure like to meddle.

Give them some hot “tea” to pour out,

quenching their thirst because they have nothing better to talk about.

Give it to them straight from the horse’s mouth.

Registration photo of Bill Brymer for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

5 Cinquains

Familiar Face 

What dust
gathers sad shape
rises in ghostly form
every lonely morning… sister,
that you?

* * * * *

Irritant

Is it
my demeanor
that so much bothers you,
my brash, cavalier attitude?
Tough beans.

* * * * *

Coming Soon

We odds,
weirdos, the strange,
are allowed to be free
despite what the powers believe.
Rise up.

* * * * *

Matter of Time

The cat
here knows nature
better than you or I
leave it to her to find the mouse.
Relax.

* * * * *

AutoPilot for your Love

I think
I’m losing it
when I’m in your orbit
too many Gs, lose pitch and yaw,
bail out.

* * * * *

Registration photo of Laverne Zabielski for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Transformative Resistance

Once I went to a wise woman

confused

I didn’t know which decision to choose.

 

It doesn’t matter.

You will learn something either way.

And so will all your children.

 

pacing

this aimless walk to nowhere

seeking

the task that will change the course of this river

with tributaries leading to the unknown

 

I place plastic on the table

place more silk in iron water

rust attaching itself to pale

soaking up impressions

I wait without pacing.

Registration photo of Chelsie Kreitzman for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Rachel Alexandra

emerges from the barn’s cool shadow,
clops placidly down the path beside her groom, 

appears unassuming except for the spark of white
on her face, the unusual upside-down exclamation

point that serves as her trademark. She regards 
the assembled throng of fans, her quiet eyes 

belying greatness, how she once slaughtered
a slew of speedy fillies in the Kentucky Oaks

by over twenty blazing lengths, then bounced 
back in just over two weeks’ time to whip 

the best of the boys in the Preakness Stakes. 
Now she rests on well-earned laurels, 

meandering pastures pristine and green, 
her only obligation in this luxe horse heaven to pose 

occasionally for photos and snuffle 
peppermints from the palms of children’s hands.

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

Summer Breezes

soon, summer breezes will sweep a craggy coastline–
 
 
listen; the air speaks in tongues
of shaken spirits
in forgotten seas
where unsteady tides push and pull at souls’ remains;
 
 
spirits roam,
fragmented like restless shipwrecks
scattered amidst the seabed’s darkness
 
 
disquiet shakes the abyss below charted earth
from peaceful slumber stirring in the ocean’s might
 
 
on the surface,
towering waves triturate weathered shores
a sunrise glistens atop each swell’s crest
 
summer breezes are coming–
to tell thrilling tales 
of all the lives they led
of all the myths they mastered
of all the deaths they defied

 
 
 
 
 
Registration photo of Tabitha Dial for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

Green Onions this Year

We exchange lists of 

what we’re tending in 
our own patches of dirt:
 
Yellow squash and Zucchini,
Bush beans and Cucumber, 
Snap peas and Basil,
Lettuce long as it may last, 
Mint, Dill, Lemonbalm (individually contained)
Sunflowers??
 
And again Jalapeños 
And again Bells
And again Tomatoes 
 
Green onions this time. 
Carrots by seed in the fall.
A container blueberry bush
as the leaves turn, too. 
 
I’m learning the peppers
are preferable in five gallon buckets.
 
I’ll ask my bakery for their empty containers–
And urge you to put in a request, too. 
We can overwinter them together. 
 
Gardens teach as we go. 
Come out back
and see how everything grows. 
Registration photo of J. Mo for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

On Breaking Generational Curses in a Neurodivergent Home

I hear the crash

Battle on
It’s 3 AM and once again
I am reminded my power will lie
With slow, deep breathing 
The padding of feet fills the hallway 
Before the familiar voice calls out
“I want ice cream!”
As if this is a viable option
And not simply a gestalt 
Already my husband, her father, is visibly angry
It’s like this more nights than not lately 
A small child with insomnia 
Disturbing two adults with trauma
And the sleep deprivation is maddening 
My bonnet feels like a vise 
As my body begins to rise 
And I face the little girl
A 3D print of my young self
My mother and father had yelled 
They had hoped I would have to raise
They thought they were cursed
Sometimes I think we have it worse
For parenting in modern times is hard
No village at hand to understand 
The war we wage with wrestling wrists
Keep us separated and irritated 
With rising costs and dwindling empathy
But for now there are no spaces for reflection 
As the fists come hard against my chest
I once again focus on being a better mother 
I try to recall being this young
Wondering why my brain felt prickly 
And my body had to act to make it stop
Now I must quell that same urge
That I imagine will always surge
To handle this as my father did
And his father and grandfather as well
Even though my hands twitch to react
I remind myself it is just a trauma response 
Hoping to validate the remaining ape
Ignore wishes to discipline defiance
Allow her anger but not her violence 
I remain the gray rock in the room
Force myself to breathe deep through doom
For no matter how many times 
This happens at 3 AM
I will lower my body down to her level 
And use my best mask through doubt 
Screaming internally and not out loud
I won’t match wits for crying fits
Instead I’ll invite her into my calm
I’ll be healing patches giving back scratches
As her body climbs now into my bed
Maybe a place she should have outgrown
But the parental bed still feels like home
I stare at her relaxing face 
Smiles with a gap in her teeth
Walks on the toes of her feet
It’s like looking into the mirror of my past
I had snuck in against threats of rage 
To snuggle their warmth at this same age
Because the night could be long and scary
She settles to the sound of the rain
I see her anxious energy drain
Now she giggles with scripts
And I once against commit
To grow into the adult I must be
The one I deserved as little me