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

Ice Bath

Easy does it
slow
into the ice
I make myself known
every nerve in me tingles
blood rushing through
every appendage 
I forgot about
how alive I can feel
dunking myself into slow
cold
ice-cold
sitting only in the moment
letting every part of me freeze
letting the cold bury itself in my bones
giving it space to fester
so that the bad might die
letting all dead things finally meet their maker
an attempt to clean the slate
an attempt to start over
an attempt to freeze off
the cold
dead-cold
parts of me
that keep me sluggish
once all becomes warm again

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

Traces of you

My apartment was a minefield.  

I found your hairs on my mattress, and in my bedsheets. 
My drawer held the shirt you left behind, 
on my bedroom floor the morning you left me. 
I cooked with the stack of garlic you bought, 
when you made me dinner that fed me for a week.  

In our final moment,  
I knew deep down I wouldn’t see you again. 
I tried to kill all hope I had of getting you back,  
but it gasped for air every minute of the day.  

Just as I thought I was ok,  
and that I didn’t miss you as much. 
I found another part of you left behind in my home. 
It hurt me for a long time to not talk to you,
and I forced myself… to not lose my already fragile mind.  

I know I deserve better than you, 
and you’re a coward for running away without as much as a simple “goodbye”. 

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

Bugs in the Daylight

1.
Creepy crawlers
known for infestation 
generally like to keep
to the darkness they spawn in
but will occasionally leave
if driven by desperate hunger
or a disturbed hiding place

or a nest
             too populous
                                                 for another.
 
 
That’s when you know
you’ve really got a problem.

2.
A world that seems to move faster by the day
versus a youth that grows at the same slow rate
creates shadows for new conflicts to swarm in.

Little minds like new homes constructed
with handheld windows to infinities of things;
knowledge and philosophies not meant for
                                                         or aimed at
                                                                               preteens.

Doesn’t take much for wrongness to get inside–
a Tate or a Rogan to stake out their claim,
heralding a spiral that breathes life
                                                           in the privacy of headphones.

3.
Every new idea is another egg hatched.
Dark humors look for fresh lines to cross.
Insatiable algorithms beg
                                                   for more time to consume.

Then suddenly, that which fills a young man’s mind
becomes the words that he puts out into the world.
You’ll hear it in the home
and you’ll hear it in the schools
and read it on Reddit
and if nothing pulls him back
you’ll feel it in his votes.

4.
Is it his fault? No
though it will one day be his responsibility.
But when exactly does that day arrive
and who is to call the exterminator before then?

And if–hopefully when–he reaches that point
where his reality needs to change,
will you allow him the safe space to grow new in?
Can you keep a strong stomach
when straggling toxicities scurry about?
Can you show him safety
in a different way of being?

Because it’s unfortunately very easy
to send men like this into retreat.

Because one who’s lived in infestation
            has learned
how to be comfortable with the bugs.

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

a good sign

Fatigue undresses our cheeks,
our boots thhh-lucking through mud like molasses.
You’ve sweat already through your shirt this morning
and there is no ice for the tea.  

The normal pacing of time has been lost
to the shaking of an unbalanced spin cycle.
All the flags are upside down
and I grow pale in the heat-  
     -a bad sign  

The rows of this field seem endless,
didn’t we pull the same weeds yesterday?
Waiting on the seeds of better angels to sprout,
to give them what chance we can.  

Maybe barefoot is better than boots, I offer.
Perhaps we should bow down instead of trample,
sing soft to the seeds that will feed us,
ask forgiveness of the holy soil.  

Rest awhile in the shade,
I will mend you a fresh, clean shirt, make ice for the tea.
Rest, and remember how to pray.
I watch a bird, wide-winged, ascending-  
     -a good sign

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

My mistake, I’ll make a new egg

Dinner is served

I eat, disgusted
at my lack of appetite 
I’m starving
For the hope that’s comes 
On tomorrow’s sun
Waiting impatiently 
I chew my water
Watching my egg solidify
Another sunny side I let get cold  
Registration photo of Diana Worthington for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

The Sound of Fire

In a dream

I saw the Pueblo burning

from a cliff looking

dead ahead

the smoke blanketed the sky

blocking the sun

The Pueblo that stood for a thousand years

now bathed in amber flame

The hills all around, charcoal black

glistening with glowing embers

the main fire filled the air

full of sound and heat

the roar assaulted every sense

Every inch of my body

The “American Eden” is ablaze

and somewhere in all this

I knew what lit the match

I woke up angry

Title inspired by: “The Sound of Fire”, Montana State University library: Acoustic Atlas Blog posts. https://www.lib.montana.edu/acoustic-atlas/acoustic-atlas-blog/posts/the-sound-of-fire.html#:~:text=%E2%80%9CIt%20sounds%20kind%20of%20like,It’s%20just%20a%20roaring%20sound.%E2%80%9D

Rick Romancito, “Remembering Taos Pueblo’s Encebado Fire”, Taos News, Mar 15 2013. https://www.taosnews.com/tempo/remembering-taos-pueblos-encebado-fire/article_0bd08144-9e1f-59e0-a386-6cba7eaabacc.html

Category
Poem

Parting

can i sit with you one last time
before i go, before i go
we’ll never have this chance again
my time is coming to an end
please know i love you so
can i sit with you now before i go

can i hold your hand one last time
before i go, before i go
we’ll never have this chance again
my time is coming to an end
please know i love you so
can i hold your hand now before i go

will you sing to me one last time
before i go, before i go
we’ll never have this chance again
my time is coming to an end
please know i love you so
will you sing to me now before i go

please know i love you so
now it’s time for me to go . . .

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

The Sunshine Flower Shop on Tates Creek

He’s got three legs.
I named him Lieutenant Dan,
the owner of the flower shoppe tells me.
And I want to salute
this golden retriever,
to thank him for his service,
to tell him how moved I am
that he didn’t give up.
He nudges his muzzle into my hand,
exposes his soft animal belly,
wiggles his spine
among fallen begonias and impatiens
and I rub his belly
until he smiles.  

                       -Marianne Peel 

Registration photo of Danielle Valenilla ∞ for the LexPoMo 2025 Writing Challenge.
Category
Poem

I’m Not Angry Anymore

it softens into remembrance puddles
reflections where the rain gathered
and i know it has helped the flowers grow
and the worms dance

i teach my heart how to stretch
how to love beyond proximity without closure
and how to keep pumping blood
when it wants to rest from the ache

we are pancakes, messy puddles crisping,
bubbles popping with the urgency to flip us
onto our soft side and sear a new memory
a memory that honors and gives permission to let go

and i’m not angry anymore
i just need some more time and more butter

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

Mourning Dove

the morning dove was not surprised by me
she quipped a bit, fluttered her wings but went straight back to work…..
picking through my debris pile of late………. ““`no not this one- maybe this?”””””
no she threw it away too. 
hot it was in the sun so I moved into the shade
her only feet away, she cooed and again went to her fate
picking sticks for a nest
I spoke to her, as always, acknowledged I saw her dance throughout last eve with her mate and trusted her to find the right one to start her family