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Courtney Hubbert Poem
A diverse array of flora and fauna reign majestic
in vivid tawny imagery of shifting sand dunes
and barren rocks-- sixteen miles
from the golden rays of western tomorrow.
Time is played out in crucial moments of emptiness
lying in solitude and intimate loneliness.
Sun-kissed miles of unshaded secrets
seeping from her maternal caramel eyes
deep-rooted in morns muted sage oasis.
And to all who venture here
slow your manic footing and
let time stand still—briefly.
Her slow-paced allure awaits your clouded vision
and your desperate need for her sepia wonders.
Mother Cholla proudly stands vertically amid the towering Saguaros.
Nestled in Quartzsite and the thick aridness of the Sonoran Desert.
Prominent in rustic charm and glorious plentiful cacti.
She defies the harsh climate with buoyant biodiversity.
Her stripped perennial companions
nestled between the parched tumbleweeds
and the course granite stones
guarding her in desiccated glory.
Ceaseless water doesn’t need to flow
over her barbed surface to support her vital independence.
She will grow at her own pace and quench the fleeting thirst
whenever the isolated drops may fall.
Her forked tongue sheathed in womanly wonder
withstanding sandstorms, her head held high
as the gritty dust dances in the empty space
between the cobalt blue and the torrid beige below.
Sol provides her the warmth and tenderness
she has grown accustomed to.
An unspoken love affair of prickly passion
and dry midsummer fever.
They embrace at mornings earliest breath
until he tucks her in lovingly in Luna’s lullaby.
Rain and wind have left her lonely again
once nurturing her toasted ground babies
covering them in Gaea’s adoring mud blanket.
And while her motherly essence invites you in
reaching out to hug you in her dense, fluffy arms
beware of her ruthless gypsy soul
as it ignites in a bronzed torch
when lit by evening’s sigh.
Her legacy is laid out in all four directions
biding as far as the eye can see
knowing no end and preferring it that way.
A once resounding voice that echoed far and true
in Plomosa’s soaring presence—more subdued
but powerful all the same—naturally.
The hidden world within and upon us.
Every Ironwood, Creosote Bush and White Bursage
has a place in her xeric soil.
Every Black-throated Sparrow, Verdin, and Gila Woodpecker
finds solitude in her great vastness.
You belong here too—wild spirit
find your place and be free.
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2021
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Courtney Hubbert Poem
There once was a known lady of vice
Who charged for her moist pie by the slice
Famous men would holler
Down many a dollar
To taste the infamous Heidi Fleiss
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2021
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Courtney Hubbert Poem
Whenever I touch my pen to paper, a faint scent of lilacs fills the air
It lightly kisses the tinged pages with my heart’s dried-up ink
Sitting in the shadows of my wordless noise vulnerable and bare
Paving the poem’s purpose, I know I’m on the brink
It lightly kisses the tinged pages with my heart’s dried-up ink
I find myself here encircled by dawn’s early grace
Paving the poem’s purpose, I know I’m on the brink
The words in my mind, like the passage of time, I always will embrace
I find myself here encircled by dawn’s early grace
Unspoken poetic musings breathed into life for all to see
The words in my mind, like the passage of time, I always will embrace
In the hollowed-out knowledge of yesterday’s promises set free
Unspoken poetic musings breathed into life for all to see
As I hold the pen loosely knowing the rest will write itself
In the hollowed-out knowledge of yesterday’s promises set free
As the pages whispered their last breath, I placed my poetry book on its shelf
As I hold the pen loosely knowing the rest will write itself
Sitting in the shadows of my wordless noise vulnerable and bare
As the pages whispered their last breath, I placed my poetry book on its shelf
Whenever I touch my pen to paper, a faint scent of lilacs fills the air
November 30, 2022
Pantoum on Writing Poetry Contest
Sponsor: L Milton Hankins
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2022
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Courtney Hubbert Poem
Remember when we used to play
In our backyards every day
We built castles in the sand
And chased each other hand in hand
Remember when we used to laugh
At silly jokes and photographs
We shared our secrets and our dreams
Ate ice cream and watched moonbeams
Remember when we used to be
The best of friends, just you and me
We swore we'd never drift apart
And kept each other in our heart
But now we play a different game
We've grown up now, it’s such a shame
We rarely talk or have time to spare
Now kids and jobs are always there
Remember when we used to say
Nothing could ever get in our way
We were so young, naïve, and blind—
We left our childhood behind
*I wrote this poem on January 27, 2024, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ January challenge. This was day 27 and the prompt was: Write a poem that evokes nostalgia.
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2024
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Courtney Hubbert Poem
Roses are red, or purple, or pink
an artistic palette in colors that link.
Petals unfurl in radiant hues
a vibrant symphony—amor’s untamed muse.
Red blossoms, a fiery embrace
passion and love, interlaced with grace.
Their velvety touch, a tender caress
a fragrant reminder of nature’s sweet undress.
Purple fluorescence, a regal display
majestic and proud, in every array.
A royal invitation to dream and explore
in their ethereal beauty, we seek to find more.
Pink blooms, delicate and light
whispers of affection dancing in sight.
Precious and soft, they speak of affection
a symbol of romance and wholesome connection.
But colors alone do not solely define
the essence of flowers forever entwined.
For in each petal, a story is held
of love, longing, and visions quelled.
Roses are red, or purple, or pink
a kaleidoscope of emotions always on the brink.
In their enchanting presence, we find solace and peace.
A reminder of life and love’s magic release.
*I wrote this poem on January 11, 2024, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ January challenge. This was day 11 and the prompt was: “Roses are red, or purple, or pink… “
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2024
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Courtney Hubbert Poem
In the webbed corners of my brain
There blooms a sinister flower
Its petals dripping with venom
And thick roots entwined with despair
Begins with a taste, a mere sip
The madness will soon take control
Shades mix into a motley form
Trapping me in its tapestry
This poison, deceptive and cruel
Cautiously seeps through fragile veins
The vicious hiss in the bloodstream
A symphony of masked decay
My heart, once steadily beating
Now flutters erratically
The rhythm, a jarring alarm
Of an anguished plea for release
Grim thoughts flip and pull and coil
Like serpents locked in fierce battle
Slick fangs sinking deep into flesh
feeding on doubt and self-loathing
My mind becomes a labyrinth
With narrow walls closing in tight
Echoing with hollow laughter
As reasoning stumbles and falls
The toxins muddle my vision
Showing phantoms that can’t be real
Bleak faces contorted in sin
My eyes can still see in the night
In this twisted waltz of fester
Afflicted, I writhe and convulse
muted screams swallowed by the void
All essence fading from within
As I’m left consumed just beyond
A fractured wit seeks to find peace
Until my soul is laid to rest
In bare sighs of forgotten dirt
*I wrote this poem on January 31, 2024, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ January challenge. This was day 31 and the prompt was: Describe something toxic and its effects on a person. This poem delves into the darkness of mental illness, portraying the effects of toxic thoughts and inner turmoil. It is a reflection of the pain and disintegration that can occur within my mind.
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2024
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Courtney Hubbert Poem
The mirror reflects a lifetime etched upon my skin; a canvas of stories whispered through maturity. I stand before it, middle-aged and exposed, my nakedness laid bare. My image holds no judgment, only truth—an unyielding witness to my existence.
I have been heavy my entire adult life—bearing the weight of years of laughter and tears interwoven. My flesh bending beyond societal norms. It is not a battle lost, but a protective shield. My body, a vessel for survival, knows no shame. It wears its scars like badges of honor.
My breasts, once buoyant, now surrender to gravity’s pull. They droop, pendulous with memories of nurturing, passion, and life. Their imperfections track the journey—a roadmap imprinted with creases, a testament to resilience.
Flabby layers drape over my bones, a cloak of vulnerability. It tells tales of growth spurts, of pregnancies, of seasons when I blossomed and wilted. Each fold whispers secrets—the stretch marks, like ancient runes, spell out durability.
Pale and fragile, my outer shell cradles veins like delicate rivers. It remembers sun-kissed days and moonlit nights. I trace the constellations of age spots—the freckles dance across my arms and chest—a celestial map of existence.
Cellulite, those dimples of distortion, decorate my thighs. They are the echoes of summers spent by the water, of giggles shared with friends. I embrace them—their texture is a reminder that beauty transcends smooth surfaces.
Faint peach fuzz adorns my shape—a gentle halo of security. It catches the light, a shimmering veil that conceals and reveals. I imagine it as stardust, woven into my being, connecting me to the cosmos.
Double chins frame my face, a portrait of self-acceptance. They support my hidden dreams and my silent prayers. In their softness, I find solace—a cushion against living’s harsh edges.
Thinning, shoulder-length hair—dyed black to defy time—falls like a midnight curtain. It carries souvenirs of rebellious streaks, of moments when I dared to be bold. Its strands weave scenarios of transformation.
So, I stand before the glass, my nudity a manifesto. I see no flaws but a symphony—a composition of sensitivity, vigor, and grace. And as I meet my gaze, I purr, “This body, this vessel, is mine—a masterpiece in progress.”
And the mirror, unwavering, reflects my truth—a middle-aged warrior, adorned in the armor of self-love and acceptance—finally.
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2024
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Courtney Hubbert Poem
Cry ‘en out
runty Court, corny core
country coon unroot.
Ornery, yet not
your crony too.
Uncute nut
one rut —or
cooter coroner.
Neo coy
Cure concert tune crooner.
Once retro eye toy,
no contour nor couture.
Enter unto none
true outer nurture.
Run or not—
yet outrun no one.
August 8, 2019
Anagrammatic Poem
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2022
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Courtney Hubbert Poem
January…new year, new me.
Met you and now I’m happy.
We watched the ball drop and kissed at midnight.
My February Valentine
hearts and flowers because you’re mine
as we danced you held on to me tight.
In March, we celebrated St. Paddy’s Day.
Pub crawl for a green beer this way.
Pinch me, my dear, it all seemed like a dream.
An April fool, and at Easter time still,
showering you with love gave me a thrill.
We twirled in the rain ‘til morn’s early beam.
May I say that today
you are as lovely as a floral bouquet?
Running through the grass, I still wanted more.
Sunny in June
your love made me swoon
as we splashed along the sandy shore.
It’s the Fourth of July
Barbeque and apple pie.
The fireworks between us lit up the dark night.
August is time for festival fun.
Rock concerts with my favorite hon.
We swayed to the music; our hearts took flight.
County fair in September
we made it a day to remember.
Enjoyed fried food, my baby by my side.
Boo, it’s time for an October scare
Bonnie and Clyde, we made a great pair.
We passed out candy, our love we couldn’t hide.
Thanksgiving in November, what a treat
and lots of turkey and stuffing to eat.
Though falling for you is what I loved best.
December came with lots of snow
many gifts and ho, ho, ho.
But your year-round love is why I’m truly blessed.
*Nearly two years ago, I decided to try ’30 days of poetry.’ This was day three and the prompt was: Write a silly poem. It was written on April 3, 2021.
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2023
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Courtney Hubbert Poem
Time to load up the family Dodge and hit the open road.
Our backs to California, the wheels rolling east towards the deep south.
Arriving by plane wasn’t an option, the car was our only transportation mode.
My older brother pulls my hair and a yelp escapes my thin mouth.
Our backs to California, the wheels rolling east towards the deep south.
Country greats like Strait, McEntire, and Alabama blaring through the radio.
My older brother pulls my hair and a yelp escapes my thin mouth.
Mom and Dad won’t get a break and my car sickness is touch-and-go.
Country greats like Strait, McEntire, and Alabama blaring through the radio.
Travel bingo and the license plate game forever etched in my brain.
Mom and Dad won’t get a break and my car sickness is touch-and-go.
Three days to get there and three days back without rain.
Travel bingo and the license plate game forever etched in my brain.
Big rigs honking as my eager arm pumped up and down from the back seat.
Three days to get there and three days back without rain.
Eating piles of junk food on the road was always a real treat.
Travel bingo and the license plate game forever etched in my brain.
Arriving by plane wasn’t an option, the car was our only transportation mode.
Three days to get there and three days back without rain.
Time to load up the family Dodge and hit the open road.
Contest: A RHYMING PANTOUM OF FIVE STANZAS (6th place)
Sponsored by: L Milton Hankins
Date of poem: May 12, 2022
Copyright © Courtney Hubbert | Year Posted 2022
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