Iron Poet Challenge #36


Iron Poet Challenge #36

Poetic Form: Double Acrostic

Writers:  Moira McArthur, Matt Henderson, Maureen Larter, Nerisha Kemraj

Paddock Theater
Maureen Larter

Patches of dirt
And grass, green and lush,
Dotted with cattle.
Distance giving the area
Opalescent patterns of bright
Colour, spots all over.
Keeping my imagination alive.


A Poem of Paean
M. Henderson

Maybe another word or two; a polished phrase, poised, boot to wing–to unzip
at just the right time, flowing with just the right balance—grace, gusto,
momentum—soft enough to touch but resilient enough to invoke
intimations of reverence to look at with awe and wonder—a red butterfly’s dream
Everything one could expect and delight in from a poet’s words–magic spells.



Nerisha Kemraj

Dancing, laughing, sharing joy, with her spirit so kind

Always forgiving, and ready to learn, without a quota

Understanding total love, whether through her presence or a chocolate gateau

Giving her all in everything she does, she’s forever smiling

Heart of gold, she strives for truth

Thankful for the things, to her, we’ve taught

Earth has known no greater joy or love,

Radiantly presented through the compassion of a true DAUGHTER…


Moira McArthur


Rewritings and edits are making you cuss.

Every time, says Finn, We get this fuss.

Writing is all about getting things down.

Reader decides dunce cap or crown.

If all you wish is fortune and fame

Then sister, you’re certainly in the wrong game.

I guess what I’m trying to say, is keep going

No giving in, keep that story growing.

Give me tonight, a chapter or three.

See? I’m behind you. Now get me my tea.


Iron Poet #27

Iron Poet #27

Style / Meter: Haiku
Theme / Keyword: Bleak


~ Matt Henderson

I watched a crow land
to dot my mind’s cold canvas
gray tree; grayer sky

~ D Lee Cox

Sun over brown hills
bleak winter paints mountains gray
spring dreams deeply still

~ Johnna Murphy

Ice upon the roads
a bleak and frigid morning
winter driving sucks

~ Nerisha Kemraj

Air bleak with sorrow
Raindrops fill every corner
The land is barren

Homeless ~ Sean Bracken

Sleeping on the street
Living week to week
Future looking bleak

Iron Poet #23


Iron Poet #23

Style / Meter: Free verse
Theme / Keyword: superstition

The word “superstition” does not have to be used, but if used as a theme it must be obvious.

untitled ~ D Lee Cox

momma makes a potion
bug juice and calamine lotion
in a peculiar motion
to ward away a demonic notion
about to
craze the back of my hand
skin might find
ways to take off and land
thin white rind
stays upon the dram
and I fall
into her arms

The Receding Spirit ~ Matt Henderson

Born on a Wednesday
under a red sky morning
the grinning old midwife unwrapped
the cord from my neck
my light blue lips fluttered
they say she dropped her scissors
on the gritty planked floor
and said an old Welsh curse, took a drink
from a flask she produced out of nowhere
whipped out a knife
and cut me free
then howled with laughter that shook her bones
crooked and disjointed

Superstitions now surround us all
a bundle of feathers and piercing cries
in the night
sorceresses and symbols of magic
pure vision to perversion– the sleight of hand illusion
the brujo, the shaman, the tribal elder
recede into the corners of the world taking with them
the true spirit
replaced by the flicker rate media program
the politician
the liars all
even the priest with a boney hand on the plate and one under a robe
shake and rattle the bones, stir the soup, repeating formulaic prayers
spin, spin, spin—sell it to the fool—give it to their children
until they are hooked
the uninitiated see no difference
a sweeter drink goes down easy and the poison settles in
a sad time for the wicked, the blind, and the willing programmed
they get the same results
in Washington D.C.,  in London, and in Rome
so together they convulse in fits
of lunatic laughter that fill the grove
and they dance upon the waiting graves of the broken walking dead.

Believing Blindly ~ Nerisha Kemraj

Supernatural forces brought to life
By those who believe
Ghosts roaming cities,
Spirits guiding us through the night

Kissing dice for good luck,
avoid walking under a ladder
Friday the thirteenth, beware
Urban legends

Superstitious thoughts
For us to make sense
Of things we cannot explain
Or don’t want to…