The Poetry Haul Challenge
Week Eleven - #artstackpoets #artstack ARTSTACK
Welcome to Week 11 of The Poetry Haul, where words shape worlds and creativity flows freely! Whether you're a seasoned poet or just love playing with language, this week's challenge is here to spark inspiration and push the boundaries of your artistry.
Here are your 10 words for the week: jump, easy, Georgia, remembrance, vector, five, between, you, come, life
Your challenge? Craft a poem incorporating some or all of these words in a way that moves, surprises, or delights. Whether you go abstract, tell a story, or experiment with form, the choice is yours!
How to participate:
Write a poem using some or all of the words.
Share it with us by [posting directly on Substack with #artstackpoets] and tag us ARTSTACK please remember to type @ with our name and click our account. From there our account should be highlighted.
Share your poem in the comments or in our online art center (tag #ThePoetryHaul so we can find it!).
Engage with other poets—this is about community, connection, and expression.
Need inspiration? Try crafting a poem based on a theme—mystery, dreams, or even a journey through time. There are no rules, only exploration.
I dive into the deep end of the pool
Because loving is the opposite of a chore.
Like cutting wood and piles of lumber,
I carry my secrets barefoot through the forest,
And place them on the living room floor
To burn the wood of conspiracy, legacy, and revelation.
With anarchy comes a curfew,
So we do not fly too close to the moon.
I count back from eight,
To seven,
To six,
To five. . .
Until at four the smoke fills the room,
And I begin to swoon
Til two,
Til one,
Until the daybreak. . .until today.
I pray at sunrise
Where there is no time or definitions of delay.
he thinks of relaxing in the pool
after the tedious fucking chore
of chlorination
as the woodchips fly
he wonders will his daughter
keep the curfew
must keep her safe
so much danger
in the world today
he pauses, saw idling inside
the commodified tree
lights a smoke
glances at the pack
fuck, eight left
might have to knock off early
=
wise teacher
harmonium of genes
symposium of dreams
the being they call forest
screams
as its students
ever greater
yet fewer in number
blind to her gifts
reduce her to lumber
Eight Past Eight
Waking, a pool of light
Floats upon my face
What is this?
Clouds, it was to be cloudy,
This day, today.
Floating there on my face,
This sun chore from which to
Move away
At eight past eight
The morning after the
Big red moon was covered
By clouds
This eye-squeezing-shut sun chore to move,
To lumber, away from through my day
The blinding spotlight waves on my face
No rest, no calm…
But wait
At eight past eight and a little bit more
Another window, smoke,
Moving clouds,
Not fire, but spring storm,
A promise for rest, a moody grey peace
“It’s in your genes.”
My mother would say.
No need for curfew
When grey forest cloud
Fills the sky, I fly to rest
To breathe
I am home
A tanka:
"Summer again
at the edge of the forest
all these butterflies.
Another fleeting painting
to frame for today’s room."
I long for a pool of silence
Words fly, I’ve heard this story before
Today, I take a break to smoke
Which only takes three minutes.
I worry if it’s in my genes,
He’s eighty eight.
Lumbering through each day waiting to die.
Why is it I wish he had a curfew?
I need the peace of mind that flies away
When I hear again…
Did I ever tell you….
Yes,
I just want a nap!
My genes pool by the edge of the forest
They lumber there like smoke on a slow fly through an eight day week
Simmering about today
The curfew of a relationship
Calling me back from the edge
The chore of breath
Grinding me forward
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Title: grounding self
One
Two
Three
Four
Five.
Jump!
land easy
Jump!
Land easy
Breathe
Come alive
Breathe
Come alive
I’ve been flowing between the waters of health and illness
I seek refuge in my journals
I proper my form, position myself in a state of remembrance, I know who I am
Georgia darling, one day I feel like a vector is etched on my side other days I’m in nirvana
One
Two
Three
Four
Five.
Jump!
Land easy.
Breathe
Come alive
Breathe.
Georgia darling, is this what it means to be alive ?
#ThePoetryHaul @Artstack
I love this one, it evoked so many memories for me.
.
Artstack Poetry Haul Challenge Week 11
Between the Tracks and Time
🛤️
Five miles out from nowhere fast,
where the past still lingers sweet,
the Whistle Stop Café in Juliette, Georgia
hums with voices, slow and deep.
🍅
Fried Green Tomatoes sizzle bright,
golden memories crisp with spice,
a taste of love, a bite of life,
a thread of remembrance sliced.
🚂
The Midnight Train to Georgia calls,
steel and longing in its cry—
a vector drawn through time-worn tracks,
a pull to leave, a push to try.
🎼
You stand between the then and now,
where ghosts and hunger intertwine.
Some jumps are hard, some falls are easy,
but home is more than state or sign.
🇺🇸🇩🇪
So if the road bends back again,
if echoes come in whispers low,
let Georgia’s arms, let Juliette’s hands
remind you of what hearts know.
❤️
#ThePoetryHaul @Artstack
Here are your 10 words for the week: jump, easy, Georgia, remembrance, vector, five, between, you, come, life