Stay  – a November Poem-A-Day Challenge – Diminishing Somonka


Love, what would you say,
if I knelt here — begged you please,
don’t go yet, but stay?
Longer, let me your skin lease!
Set my aching arms at ease!
Hear now my reply —
my pale and lovely flower,
while I kiss your thigh.
I’ll find my way yet lower,
and linger for an hour.


PROMPT: 2016 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 1

For today’s prompt, we’ve actually got a two-for-Tuesday prompt. So pick one, combine both prompts into one poem, or write two (or more) different poems. Here are the prompts:

  • Write a stay poem. A poem about staying put, not leaving, and/or dealing with someone (or something) that refuses to leave. Or…
  • Write a go poem. Fans of The Clash probably know which song prompted today’s prompt. But yeah, this is basically the opposite of staying–you know, going.



Diminishing Somonka
A form I created by marrying the Somonka and Diminishing Verse poetic forms:
  • two Tankas (5-7-5-7-7), written as two love letters to each other.
  • remove the first letter of the end word in each successive 7 syllable line.
Variation: Poets can remove sounds if they wish like “flies” to “lies” to “eyes.”




Witchcraft – an ovillejo poem

What magic makes my fever rise?
It’s your eyes!

What alchemy my heart beat trips?
Your hips!

How do you tempt me, charm me cruel?
I’m a fool!

You’ve lit a fire and fed it fuel!
You cause my soul to shake its wings —
my body does the wildest things!
It’s your eyes, your hips — I’m a fool!



OVILLEJO – a ten-line poem made up of 3 rhyming couplets, plus a quatrain. The first line of each couplet is an 8 syllable question, while the second corresponding lines are 2 to 3 syllable responses or echoes. The final quatrain is usually a redondilla, written in trochaic tetrameter. The final line of the quatrain combines lines 2, 4, and 6. The overall rhyme scheme is aa/bb/cc/cddc.


a (8 syllables)
a (2-3 syllables)

b (8 syllables)
b (2-3 syllables)

c (8 syllables)
c (2-3 syllables)

c (8 syllables) trochaic pentameter
d (8 syllables) trochaic pentameter
d (8 syllables) trochaic pentameter
c lines 2, 4, and 6 (8 syllables) trochaic pentameter


My Monster


How do I tell you
about the ache I meet
when my day begins
–about how I feel
greedy and guilty
for the hunger in me?

How do I choose
the calm expression
the smile of generosity
when you reach for
another — and I love her!

In her I recognize
my need for you
— tell me what words
make that jealousy
un-monstrous and



Something Red

@Benedict Gacutan


There’s something
about white underthings
under other things
a red dress and
black strappy sandals
lips painted red.

There’s something about
white, pure and sacred
something holy
in the pulse
beating red
under milky flesh.

There’s something
in a whispered prayer
a hard swallow
past a tight throat
a trembling hand
touching your hand
your face.

There’s something
about the look
in your hungry eyes
black and dark
an iron wolf’s gaze
white teeth, red tongue.

There’s something
in that fairy tale
a girl in red, walking
in a dark forest
wide eyes, white
seeking wild.

There’s something
holy and sacred
in these trees, on
this hallowed ground
blood and hunger
spilled and sated
— something.



To Teeth – a rondeau poem



You smile at me –beguile– you see.
You make my pulse begin to rush.
Your dazzling brilliance makes me blush.
I can’t resist your laugh, so free.

So when my yielding flesh would be
your prey, with which my blood does flush
— remember what it is you see.
Forgive my dancing pulse its rush.

Though sorely frightened I may be,
I ache to know your tender brush,
which turns into a greedy crush
— I long to feel you biting me!
Your smile beguiles my flesh, you see.



The poetic form focus for my PAD 2016 Challenge is the Rondeau — 13 lines in 3 stanzas; rhyme scheme: ABba/abAB/abbaA (uppercase letters are refrains) Usually 8 syllables per line. For info:


Waiting (a #NaPoMo #APRPAD rondeau poem)


There is nothing like the waiting —
not a feeling that can compare.
When I wake and you’re still not there
— my desire is not abating.

No, I’m not here hesitating,
but sometimes it’s hard to find air.
There is nothing like the waiting —
not a feeling that can compare.

I can’t sleep for speculating,
so, I lie awake and I stare,
at your ceiling and empty chair,
–your return anticipating.
There is nothing like the waiting.



Poetic Asides #April Poem-A-Day Challenge – PAD #12:

For today’s prompt, take on one (or both) of the following prompts:

Write a serious poem. Or…Write a silly poem.



The poetic form focus for my PAD 2016 Challenge is the Rondeau — 13 lines in 3 stanzas; rhyme scheme: ABba/abAB/abbaA (uppercase letters are refrains) Usually 8 syllables per line. For info:



Hungry Moon (a #NaPoMo #APRPAD poem)



that first meal we shared
at a full moon table with
silent dueling pianos
your blue wolf eyes
across the narrow table
nervous smile dancing
over a barely touched
plate of french fries

the waitress laughed
as at her question
you insisted on paying
we could not swallow
more than a few bites
but as you held my hand
I was so hungry the world
could see it on my face

the full moon closed
within days — for weeks
I wondered to myself
what that might mean
now I know, that night
you left that place with
the moon on your arm



Poetic Asides #April Poem-A-Day Challenge – PAD #16:

For today’s prompt, write a poem about (or at) a food establishment. You could pick on a chain like Taco Bell or McDonald’s, sure, but maybe there’s a local favorite–or some special dive. Heck, maybe that place where you took your first date or got your first job. Have fun with it, and if you need to do a little research, go out for something to eat.



Your Eyes (a quatern)


There’s a wolf behind your blue eyes —
I see her there, past the disguise.
These waves of lust my soul capsize,
and none can hear my alarmed cries!

I’ve found to my own soul’s surprise —
That there’s a wolf behind your eyes.
To look away would be unwise.
And so I stare — and analyze.

I feel my hunger paralyze.
This ache it seems is emphasized,
by the wolf-stare — behind your eyes.
I can’t take flight, or find the skies.

My wings they twitch, and long to rise.
and yet, I know you — my demise.
I’ll dance with pain and agonize,
to feed the wolf in your blue eyes.


16 lines broken up into 4 quatrains (or 4-line stanzas). Each line is comprised of 8 syllables. 1st line is the refrain (R). In the 2nd stanza, the refrain appears in the 2nd line; in the 3rd stanza, the 3rd line; in the 4th stanza, the 4th (and final) line. There are no rules for rhyming or iambics.


I Like Your Body



I love the way you fit in my body,
in the curve of my hip
in the small of my back,
inside the palm of my hand
and the roundness of my cheek.

I love how you fit next to me
and I next to you —
in the crook of your arm
and the hollow between your thighs.

Where the corners of your smile
lift at the sight of me,
these are the places I find myself —
and I adore that I fit so nicely into you.

If I could borrow poetic words
from e e cummings, I would tell you.
I like my body when it’s with your body
— because it’s true.

I like your body and my body
and the places where freckle
meets freckle like a sky full of stars.

I like the way your fingers
leave indentations in my hips,
the way your teeth carve moons in my flesh,
and the way your eyes burn into
my shoulders, my neck, my breasts.

I like the way your gaze cuts me open
like a knife sharpened on lust,
and the way your breath
fills the hollow of my throat.

I like your body, the weight of it over me,
the way it covers me, pushes me,
makes me crawl — both toward you
and away — up the wall.

I like what my body does,
in those moments
when I cannot figure out
whether I am in me, or in you,
or free to spread my wings —
to plunge into the blackest,
deepest parts of the sky,
where you once told me
the limits of your love for me might lie.

I like that my body is animal —
bristling predator and quivering prey —
that you can tie down, break open,
make hot and wet,
make tremble and convulse.

I like the way your mouth fits my mouth,
the way the taste of you —
all coffee and cigarettes,
warm wind and metal —
fills my mouth and washes
over my tongue.

I will swallow you down
like you are my very life,
sweeter than any honey
summer might offer.

I like the way your body moves
at the touch of my fingers,
cannot stay still
at the sound of my words.

I like the grimaces
that close your eyes,
and twist your smile
into an alphabet of pleasure.

I like the breathing-pulsing-pushing
of your hips and shoulders,
your back and it’s perfect arch,
your muscles rippling as you-inner wolf
fights to escape the flesh and sinews I adore.

I like your body inside my body —
outside my body, tangled up
and wrapped around my body.
I like the way you climb inside
and take control.

I like the way you surrender yourself
to my hungry jaws and darting tongue —
and my relentless fingers,
the way you acquiesce
to the madness in my curse words,
and my incoherent burbles of ecstasy.

I like the poetry
our bodies make together,
and the music
that drives our dance.

I love the places where I find you,
in my body — hours,
sometimes days later,
when you are hard at work,
bending and binding
fire and metal,
and I am sitting here
with pen and ink
staring at a blank page.

I like that you are here,
in the ache of my shoulder,
the bruise at my elbow,
the breath that echoes
just below my ear.

I find you constant
in the hunger that burns
deeper than my belly can
possibly be inside my body —
this body — that loves your body,
these fingers and lips,
these thighs and hips.

They adore you, crave you,
will always love you,
whether you are tangled
up with my body —
or simply on your way
back to me.