Lexington Poetry Month Writing Challenge (#LexPoMo)

Category

Poem

Romolo

Like warriors in the night,
we went to war.
Reclaiming what they,
had taken from us.

Raw screams,
deadly weapons.
An ambush.

We found ourself at the battlefield,
fighting like brothers and sisters in arms.
Until we finally pushed the enemy,
back into the inner corners of hell.

After all, that’s where they all belonged.

We unleashed the demons,
and patched eachother up.
While watching the night burn out,
into yet another day.

We made it out alive.

Toni Menk

Category

Poem

6/16/24

June

Half way through the month
Poetry well running dry
Need to dig new one

Category

Poem

6/16/24

Trigger Warnings

“Didn’t I tell you about the time my mom

thought I had an eating disorder?”

you say, offhand, from the sink.

You are washing the dishes,

and I lock my eyes on your face,

doing my best not to scan you,

a deep-seated instinct,

but—damn—

now I’ve taken too long to say something

and you’re avoiding my gaze.

So I let the revelation settle in my gut,

one more move in this game of chicken

where we pretend we do not worry

and we do not want

to be worried about.

Take last night.

You cracked a joke and I flinched

instead of laughing like I was supposed to.

But I wouldn’t have let you apologize,

and you knew that,

so you passed me a sleeping pill

and offered to buy me some melatonin

and turned on the air conditioning.

And this morning I laughed,
lied
and said I slept

to reassure you that it was okay.

It wasn’t,

I mean, I wasn’t,

but the whole world is a minefield

and we can’t tiptoe around it all.

We’ve both spent too many years trying.

Once, we went to a bar,

and I helped you with a glowstick bracelet,

and you said, “Wait,

how did you get yours on?”

and my fingers started tingling

and I mumbled, “Slid it on over my hand”

and you said, “God, I hate skinny people”

and I knew it was coming

but I still thought about how

she used to poke me in the locker room

and say I looked so good

she couldn’t keep her hands off

and I looked so good

it made her hate herself

in the same breath.

I just wanted to change my clothes.

But I weigh maybe 115 pounds,

and I do have skinny privilege,

so I didn’t call you out.
Just waited until you couldn’t hear,

then sobbed into my pillow

because I was so sick

of my body needing to come

with a trigger warning.

The other day I was contemplating

putting on shorts and texted you,

“I wish I was Violet Incredible”.

A sentiment you share,

although for a different reason,

since you hate the scale

because the number is too high

and you want to feel lovable

and I hate the scale

because the number is there at all

and I don’t want to be sometimes.

But still, you understand the appeal

of going unseen,
shrinking,
and that’s alarming, but

it’s also comforting.

Because you’ve been there, you notice

when I’m too anxious to eat

and find something easy on my stomach.

Casually, so you won’t seem worried,

since you don’t want me to make myself

smaller than I am
and disappear
altogether.

And because I’ve been there,
I forced the words down

while you were standing at the sink,

just drove to work.

But from the parking lot,

I sent you an Instagram meme

about being hot and unstable

(like climate change),

my way of reminding you

that you’re beautiful AND

that you can be honest.

So maybe we’re tiptoeing after all,

but at least it’s afterwards

instead of before.

At least it lets us

drop the lore while washing the dishes,

and for two girls who always pretended

they were okay,

it’s such a relief to be allowed

to take up so much space

and not even have to apologize for it.

Leah Tenney

Category

Poem

6/16/24

morning prayer

just add hot water to this cup
already prepared with cinnamon and brown sugar to sweeten what is bitter

just add hot water to this cup
and the saucer will catch the overflow of any exuberant sipping

just add hot water to this cup
and everything will swirl together into magic, into morning ritual, into making sense

just add hot water to this cup
and watch the steam rise like dancing prayers

Nancy Jentsch

Category

Poem

6/16/24

And It’s Even a Pleasure to Say

“Joyful — now there’s a word/we haven’t used in a while.”
– Louise Glück in “Presidents’ Day”

Squeeze the “j” in joyful of its sweet
juice. Let its taste stay on your tongue,
in your cheeks, till you’re ready to open
wide for the vowel — a diphthong really,
that joins, blends. And think of the good
in that! -ful‘s “f” is a toothy sound
written as Philly or trough, strong
as a fortress, feather-bed soft,
dreamy as frankincense. I don’t know
why -ful would end with a wet-washrag
American “l,” except to give your muscles
a break before you shout joyful again.

Laverne

Category

Poem

6/16/24

Undesirables?

In the 1860s great grandfather converted over 500 Indians to Christianity rounded up by soldiers & brought to the fort in chicken wire covered wagons to be taught by missionaries these people were called savages.

In 2023 homeless at the bus stop across from the Lyric were rounded up by police & arrested for loitering these people were called vagrants.

N. D

Category

Poem

6/16/24

Love bites

adorn my skin with
bruises, let us show the world
how you care for me

*For C.*

Cadence Perman

Category

Poem

6/16/24

All the Nice Ones are Dead

You killed all the

Nice queer people and all

That’s left is me,

With my shaking hands

And cracking voice,

And fear giving way to anger,

And a tiredness that nestles

Even deeper into my bones.

Way back in March was my second

Transgender rememberance day,

Where the community mourns all

Of it’s trans and nonbinary and genderflud

And gender nonconforming siblings,

Because they were killed for

Daring to be themselves,

In a world that would rather

Bury their dead “sons” and “daughters”

Than have a child who changed their

Name and gender markers

To the right ones.

Because being trans and queer

In any time in America

Is an act of deviance and rebellion,

Where I could get beaten up for

Using the “wrong” bathroom,

And it would by my fault

Because I am other,

I am a freak,

They do not understand me,

And therefore that makes

Me the enemy.

But you have sat next to me

In classrooms

And on the school bus,

In the bathroom stall next to me

While my anxiety mounted as

I waited for the bathroom to clear

Out so I could leave comfortably

And I know when you look at me

You do not know what box

To force me into.

And I want to know,

You owe us all the answer,

Of how many more of our

Siblings have to die before

You realize that we are people too.

I am as human as you are.

But you have killed all the

Nice queer people and all

You have left is me,

And I am making my anger

Into a louder voice

That will never be silenced

Because you can cut out

My tongue and you can

Take away my human rights

And you can even kill me

But the truth is that you will

Always be more afraid of me

Than I of you.

Marta Dorton

Category

Poem

6/16/24

16

Aging Father

which present will make him
love me which will calm
his nerves

which present will make him
treat mom better make him view
me with some value in his eyes

which present will suffice
since presents do not alter
emotions for very long

which present will mark him “honored”
satisfy this year‘s requirement
then I’m on to other things

which present will show him I’m beginning
to understand the time and energy
required to be a parent

which present will reflect
my knowledge of the father role
now that I’m a single mom

which present does he need
to soften his comfort ease his pain
remind him I’m still here

which presents do I find
stacked neat into drawers
skin bracer and talcum powder
we clear out his room
family pictures on the wall

Category

Poem

6/16/24

Addictions

I can’t stop waiting for you

It’s like my body doesn’t know any other way to be

I don’t have nightmares anymore

I went to therapy for that

But now that they’re gone, I wish they never left

It was the only way I got to still see you

All of this is so frustrating

I’m finally happy

Finally free

Finally in love with someone who actually loves me

And yet…

I end up going back to my old ways

Like how a train won’t leave its tracks

Like how a prisoner can’t leave their cell

Like how prey doesn’t leave its predator

I’ve always been a creature of habit

I just wish my habit wasn’t you

Help us keep on giving.