always abatable from
anyplace but tuscaloosa
cockamamy downstream bunny
descriptive complain brewing
mistaking birthright crisis
meaningfully turmoil tryst
unvalued unpasteurized ureteritis
stewing vaticinate dejection
deflective firm folklore
through gynecologist communications
episodic honeydew gnaw
a crisply blunted
cheeseboard doorstopper looping
merry as can
be for evermore
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 17–23, 2026)
I'm such a strange individual,
Sometimes I'll parade with a smile,
Other times stewing and curled into a ball.
I'm such a wounded individual,
Yearning for love like a neglected child,
With wrinkles of her own.
I'm such a weird individual,
Wherever I notice everyone going,
I run from there and am called to isolation.
I'm such a timeblind individual,
Existing in this world of realities,
Floating inbetween as timezones shift.
I'm such a contradictory individual,
Intellectual and intuitive but naive,
Timeless and aging simultaneously.
I'm such a human individual,
Navigating the realms again,
Knowing not how many times she's been here before.
MD
The Chicken in the Road
why did the chicken cross the road?
he wanted to eat that toad
he put his feet in the street
and a passing car nearly took off his beak
he thought I am a lucky rooster
that definitely was no morale booster
as he walked to the double yellow lines
he realized he was being watched by a bovine
the bovine asked watcha’ doing
if you aren’t careful, you will be in a pot stewing
the rooster said that’s it
even though I’m half way I am going to quit
with that he turned around
but it was too late and by a car was run down
Who am I? Becoming? Who is that, she'll be.
The dragon slept... And also wept, hid herself from the party filled with tea.
Far away in her cave, brewing firey in depths.
Stewing and chewing on her mistakes and spitting out the pips of empty threats.
Emerging again, as you, as new.
A familiar dragon song, plaguing her mind and ringing again, loudly too.
The attacker, the observer, the tourist attraction, the hidden power... Which one was she choosing and could it be all?
Or none of those...
The guidance.
Behind the scenes, wisdom shared.
Could her wingspan encompass all and guide from behind?
The scenes, the circumstance, the trap of their minds...
The biggest of fantasy, monsters and magic need rest.
Sometimes a reminder of this from the hidden who once flew openly above their villages...
May encourage peace to infiltrate into to their nests.
The scariest and most unpredictable, with the brightest of lights...
Emerging as the understander and encourager of those who can no longer stay out of sight...
Listen to the whispers, before you must hide.
Ode to Robert Frost
My carriage wheels are deep in snow.
My horses head is hanging low.
The hill ahead is hard and steep.
The hay and home is heaven though.
I hold the reigns and do not speak.
He knows the way to hay and sleep.
There’s nothing I could do or say,
To sway him more than wagon squeak.
He sees our house across the way,
With plenty cold to make his play.
He cuts across the neighbours yard,
Knowing I feel old today.
He’ll save a mile after dark.
And with fingers cold, to hold is hard.
He knows that I won’t disagree,
With supper stewing on the hearth.
I drop the reigns to let him lead.
My hands, they hide in sweater sleeves.
The barn is warm, and there’s and mare.
It’s just beyond the cherry trees.
It’s there I’ll leave him cleaned with care,
To sit upon my rocking chair.
His heavy harness taken off,
Along with both the boots I wear.
Stewing o’er surprise storms?
"Crying's not for me."
Wringing peace from panic’s plea,
welcome water’s whimsey.
Let the rain soak in…
revive sapped energy
restore grass to green
relax the worry-warts.
"Raindrops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red
Crying's not for me
'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free. Nothing's worrying me." B J Thomas
Life- Aye
My cherished one
set against
a sordid world
My lanes are coerced
just as my feet are formed
My life is a platter
furnished on a plaza
dicing my thoughts
stewing my ordeal
rendering my life
a treasure meal
set before a soulless world
When you feel you're always controlled,
Like you've not got a choice,
Always questioning if your ever enough,
Letting others drown out your voice.
Feeling like you can never win,
No matter how hard you've tried,
To be left sat stewing alone,
Annoyed how many times you've cried.
Forever the victim to their games,
Enforcing the blame on to you,
Eventually their mask will fall off,
Revealing all you thought was true.
Where you can't see any closure,
Convinced it'll always be the same,
Leave that haunting never ending story,
You're not the one to blame.
As you slowly begin to learn,
Some people watch hoping you fall,
Use that to fuel your fire,
Making a fool out them all.
Begin to believe your inner power,
Start finding the strength to leave,
It's then when you can eventually,
Be able to rest and receive.
Finally there comes an ending point,
You will know when you know,
The only way to move on,
Face your fear to let go.
I ask what I've learnt since I was a youth.
It seems as though I don't have much to show -
so much energy, spent in search of truth.
Little, have I, of what there is to know.
Like anyone, I've suffered from abuse,
but there's no point in stewing in my juice,
and ambition does not, at all times, pay,
when aiming at the wrong thing anyway,
and searching for love outside my own skin
is not as rich as finding it within.
With fellow pilgrims sharing life's bouquet,
I will try to appreciate each day.
To chase lady truth, I still have a while.
Till then, I'll do whatever brings a smile.
On the twig sat the little frog
hungry as a great big hog.
His eyes looked to the east
there he saw the fly, a feast.
He stuck out his tongue
the feasting had begun.
Later on the blade of grass
there was a slug at last,
his appetite was still brewing
his want of more was stewing.
Then from his wandering eye
there was swarm of flies near by.
Once again, he reached out his tongue
and the eating of the masses begun.
By: Katie Davis Written on 6/29/22 Revised on 10/28/24
Anger, burning hot enough to melt a calm mind.
Anger, boiling, steaming like a volcano shaking the earth ready to erupt the pain out of a blistering soul.
Anger stewing, building way beneath. Trying to contain thyself in a fragile encasement.
Breathe. In and out.
In and out.
Just breathe.
Don’t let it simmer and seethe for worse is the actions that are done in anger.
In and out.
In and out.
Keep breathing, keep surviving.
Anger that is like a trick candle that is thought to be blown out, but the flames keep on returning and can burn down what is built.
So be careful.
Anger in all.
are you pho real?
there is an overwhelming consensus
i had to ask
two people had told me they hate all soups
'it's just water and soggy food.'
'slop in a bowl.'
'looks like dish water.'
what kind of reaction is this?
the varieties found online are incredible
i am stewing -
on hearing this, a colleague said to me,
'it's like your gf leaving u for another bloke
only for her to hang around your house for
a few more days.'
i said to him,
'it's not like that at all.'
You don't need to swear and cuss
Making such a big loud fuss
Calm down, take a breath
You are scaring me to death
I know your angers coming through
Because of what he did to you
You are mad and really shaking
Your anger is hotly baking
Into a burning black pit
From this disturbing violent fit
There's smoke coming from your head
There is not a single shred
Of peace or calmness down inside
All your nerves are badly fried
Stewing in a pot of hatred
Too far gone to even shake this
Your bloods like a pot of water
Boiling till its even hotter
Than the suns rays shining down
There's a madness all around
Circling you in a heat
Until you are too far beat
To repair the damage of
A sleazy cheating awful love
She had spells other witches only dreamed of doing.
Her pot was full of exotic homemade recipes she had stewing.
Her spells were legendary, her ingenuity was amazing.
Goats, cows and chickens were in her kitchen, grazing.
She calls the animals, and they come, bending to her will.
A cardinal and rooster just flew into her open windowsill.
What concoctions will she invent today? The other witches wonder.
She brings on a storm complete with lightning and thunder.
"Chai Tea, Vanilla: Writing it All"
We are a cauldron
steeped, stewing bitter,
unlike sweet chai tea
boiling
and bubbling,
our reality,
is hard
to swallow.
how do we live
with ourselves,
knowing,
we live
complacently?
we observe,
we write,
we watch it all,
the killing of
innocence,
the black
and white
of it all;
the death
of a dream.
before the end,
the war
begins
it all.
the future of
our children:
we watch it all.
we watch it all.
we take notes,
we journal,
the poetry
of it all.
do we make
changes?
do we?
do we,
do
anything, at all?
writing it all.
We are a cauldron
steeped, stewing bitter,
unlike sweet chai tea.
we are so
Vanilla,
do we do
anything?
writing it all?
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
John 1 (NIV).
"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."
Lux Vitae.
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