#QueerBlogWed: Coffee and Mismatched Socks

On November 1, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted a Wednesday Words prompt involving a receptionist, mismatched socks, and coffee.

This poem was the result…

The receptionist has mismatched socks

The coffee she pours is better than you expected

She winks, inviting you in a silent joke

Between the two of you, a conspiracy of silence

The manager would object to spending too much

Quality coffee would be wasted on you

Even if you drink far better brews than he does

The receptionist distracts the manager with her bright smile

Softening his scowl into a condescending smirk

No one with a brain could smile like that

Once the manager asked her why her socks don’t match

She told him too often her socks disappear

She decided to start putting the leftovers together

Don’t they contrast in an interesting way?

She shows off the red and purple with a grin

Interesting, yes, but they don’t match

She keeps missing the essential point

To her, that point isn’t essential

She’ll work with what she’s got

As long as she can enjoy her coffee

Starting her morning with its taste in her mouth

Centering herself as she faces the phone

Ready to direct and hold those waiting

You smile and wink back 

Aware the manager doesn’t notice

Enjoying the coffee as you turn away. 

#QueerBlogWed: Wildflowers and a Broken Hinge

On October 25, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Words prompt involving a broken hinge, wildflowers, and two months.

This poem was the result…

It’s been two months

Perhaps longer than that

Wildflowers grow around the broken hinge

Where it was dumped upon the ground

A piece of a shattered door

Once shut and locked

Busted from the efforts to escape

When it was a barrier to freedom

Trapping the inhabitant within

Someone not meant to be caged

The strength of their desire to flee

Exceeded the solid wood in the way

Let alone the poor hinge

It wasn’t the hinge’s fault

It was simply part of a door

A door others shut and locked

Leaving the prisoner to their fate

The only part their captors left was the door

All the captive had left to blame

All they could batter themselves against

They were the one in the way

They were the one broken

In a desperate attempt at flight

An angry assault upon an obstacle

They scattered wildflowers in their wake

Even if the flowers took a while to grow

Allowing new life to thrive

In the aftermath of angry destruction. 

#QueerBlogWed: Curses in a Jar

On October 18, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Words prompt involving word games, burns, and a jar.

This poem was the result…

Burns cover both of her arms

She keeps a jar, trapping motes of light

Can you play her word games?

Come up with a witty term for a curse?

A curse to weaken a curse’s power

The one she bears is a poison

She still burns with the pain of a people scorned

Happily she has trapped her enemy

Scattered them into motes and sealed them

Eternal guardian of the jar

Surviving on the milk of human kindness

Churned with her best memories

The lights hiss mockingly

Sending images of her lost love’s pain

She soothes herself while drinking the milk

Remembering happier times with her love

The beautiful moment when she was accepted

Ointment for the stinging burns of scorn

Her enemies scourged her with stereotypes

Tried to trap and imprison her within them

She broke the jar they trapped her in

Fled from the fire they sent to pursue her

Stinging burns to activate upon her flesh

Resonating the pain in her brain and heart

She visualizes every moment of joy she snatched

Each image made her foes scream in denial

Raging against her life, against her love

Until at last they burst into motes of light

Diminished in power, still able to sting and hurt

They swamed inside the jar, thinking it was a child

A child they could mold and puppet to their will

Until she sealed them within, containing their curses

Hiding it away from the rest of the world

A protected secret to cradle against her breast

As they hiss and sting against her glass

Summoning the shallow and ignorant

To shatter the glass once more

If only someone could win her words games

Say the right words, to make her burns vanish

Free her from her addiction to the milk

To counter the cruel memories which haunt her

Making her burns come alive

She wouldn’t share those words with anyone

Fearing they might sting the rest of us

If only she’d surrender this secret

Talk to someone about what happened

Those words would lose their power

Perhaps she would finally be able to cry

Letting go of her curse’s pain. 

#QueerBlogWed: Worship Changes

On October 11, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Words prompt involving grapes, a metal box, and superstitions.

This poem was the result…

Never leave grapes in front of the metal box

The worst part of Dionysus is kept in there

Locked away by a bolt and an incantation

It’s what the superstitious mutter

Warding off such a fate with their charms

Creating a god far stranger than was once worshipped

The old ones are never gods

They’ve become something far more monstrous

Something which can be locked away from a box

The incantations weaken in the presence of grapes

Fruit crushed to create the blood of intoxication

A wine we’ve civilized with our fancy glasses

Sipping with a sense of superiority 

As we pair it with cheese, crackers, and chocolate

Indulging our senses as we gaze at the flowers

Never realizing we’re offering a shadow of worship

A taste of our sensual indulgence as we drink

Cracking the lock just a little 

Weakening the incantations

Perhaps there’s nothing to worry about

As the nature of our worship changes

So may Dionysus

After centuries of enjoying chocolate and cheese

Forgetting the flavor of blood

Grapes may be a better offering than entrails

Fruits of the land’s peace

We just have make certain we have the calm to plant and harvest

Not disturbing the earth with angry turmoil

Allowing the old ones to hunger again. 

Wednesday Words: Feline Antics

On October 4, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Words prompt involving a woman with a limp, a ball, and a ruined carpet.

This poem was the result…

The woman is limping

Lamenting the ruin of her carpet

Still she picks up the ball

Unable to resist the pleading green eyes and twitching whiskers

Their owner is eager to play

Mewing for her attention

Attention she cannot deny him

She cleans up the carpet

Giving the ball a toss

Watches a disappearing tail

A paw ready to bat the toy in motion

Some say cats don’t play this game

Her cats just need to be in the right mood

Eager to pounce, to give chase

For her cats love to pounce and bounce

To leap and to explore

To have others running after them

And others to run after

She can’t move very fast

Not with that limp slowing her down

Her cat’s energy makes smile

Straightening up just a little

As she feels his energy in the air

Even if the smile is a little strained

When she regards the ruins of the carpet. 

QueerBlogWed: Path of Choices

On September 27, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Word prompt involving too many changes, choices, and a wrong turn.

This poem was the result…

Changes bring too many choices

It’s too easy to make a wrong turn

Find ourselves lost in a tangle of indecison

Paralyzed by the possibilities

What choice should we make?

Which way should we go? 

One path might lead to safety

Another might lead to happiness

There are no guarantees

Just wishes disguised as promises

Prompting rash decisions

Delusional hopes daring us in different directions

We leap, skip, or shuffle trembling

Unsure of our shaky sense of direction

Wanting to believe we’re headed the right way

Admiring the beauties which lie along the path

Lamenting the perils which we survive, scarred

As slowly our choices disappear

Guidng us toward a single path. 

#QueerBlogWed: Divine Fruit for Devoted Fangirls

On September 13, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Words prompt involving grapes, a cold wind, and tired.

This poem was the result…

A cold wind blows

Tickling my tired eyes awake

It’s cold for grapes

Yet they glisten in ripeness

Gleaming in your presence

The fruit of the twice-born

Dying and returning

Intoxicating your followers to madness

They sprout claws and fangs

Howling our devotion

The unbridled passion of a fan girl

Ready to rage at your whim. 

#QueerBlogWords: Ghost of a Voice

On September 6, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Words prompt involving stitches, ears, and a heat wave.

This poem was the result…

You have me in stitches

I can’t cover my ears

Sweating in a heat wave

Everyone else says it’s cold

Still I sweat

Unable to block you out

Your droll voice drones on

No one else can hear you

You’re not really here

Still I laugh at the memory of your jokes

A sound only I can hear. 

#QueerBlogWed: The Mystery of the Box

Algae trails from the jewelry box

Something sticky clings to the surface

It won’t be giving up its secrets 

Not to just anyone

This mystery cast upon the shore

A relic of another time

When beautiful things were handmade

I wonder about the owner of this box

What secrets she kept inside

Secrets lost to time

Only scraps of them are left

Still we have this box

Its beauty enduring underwater

An eternal mystery to entice our imaginations

Rather than answers hidden by the lost. 

#QueerBlogWed: Stares

I feel like something is broken

It’s hard, moving up the stairs

I’m attracting too many stares as I do

It’s the only way to reach the train

It takes a special permit

To be offered another way

How my legs hurt

Still I grit my teeth and smile

Making my way to my seat

Trying not to flinch at all the stares

My dignity feels as fragile as my leg

Shredding under the attention

I wrap it around me as best I can

Holding my head high as I take my seat

Never meeting any of those probing gazes

Realizing my mask is as fragile as my dignity

I meet a pair of wide, wondering eyes

Taking in my frality, my display of pride

Unsure whether they’re shocked or impressed

A smile breaks across my face, softening my unease

Unease which slips away as I receive a smile back.