a searing gash
the world still lives through
Sep.11~
as phoenix proudly rises
from ashes, life resurrects.
For my friend Marvin here is a grateful song,
Woven from the memory of shared years.
His loyalty was legend his whole life long,
And his humor, like music, could inspire tears.
.
Marvin was one of extraordinary style,
And a woven tapestry of compassion.
He was a steady star all the while,
Who lead with the passion of a champion.
May these words be an ode to a brother,
And to a gentle wind leading me home.
For being a lifelong friend like no other,
May his story be sung for ages to come.
Time may smooth the sharp edge of sorrow,
Yet the echo of his voice lingers in the air.
In every golden sunrise and each tomorrow,
We are reminded of the gift of his care.
Let every heart he touched recall,
The warmth he offered without pride.
Wherever silent blessings rise and fall,
May Marvin’s radiant memory abide.
the red poppy is almost an orange-red
two of my favorite colors, reminding me of bravery
the red -blooded soldiers who are willing to sacrifice everything
a field of these blooms parade about in my mind’s eye
reminding me to be more patriotic not just on special days
Have I a classic phone on my desk
The Bible book hardcovered in black
Which uses by me and the acquaintances
Whomsoever perched in the heaven
Whenever life leaves me alone
Whenever I reckon them again
I'll dial up an age-fashioned call
To converse instantly with them all
Of the moments we encounter
Or the scenes we've had together
As a young kid back in the hood,
It was just me and a pet friend~
He was the joy of my childhood~
His remembrance would never end.
I called him Pup as a puppy,
Because the poops he made me pack,
Whenever he ate hushpuppy~
Which I enjoyed as a noon snack.
His name later changed to Hot Dog,
When that became his preferred meal.
At mealtime he'd happily jog,
Since dog food was then his raw deal.
He assisted in all my chores,
He followed me to every place~
He used to greet me on all fours,
From home to school, he kept his pace.
While returning home from my school,
On one hot summer afternoon,
He fell and got drowned in a pool,
To his death, I failed to attune.
Years passed, his memory lives on,
No pet has again brought the joy~
Of those beautiful days bygone,
His pawprints linger in my heart.
There was a time when the child was the center of the circle. The elders sang her name into the morning, braided her hair with stories, fed her with hands that had known hunger. She was carried across rivers of doubt, through storms of becoming, and placed gently at the edge of her own path.
Now she walks with her head full of noise, measuring love by the frequency of messages, forgetting the songs that once held her upright. She says they are silent. That they do not call. But the wind remembers. The wind remembers the prayers whispered into her pillow, the sacrifices made without witness, the tears that fell into the soil to make her strong.
She has grown tall, but not deep. Her roots skim the surface, searching for mirrors instead of water. She has learned the names of stars, but not the names of those who lit them for her. The elders do not chase. They wait. They speak in the language of patience, of time that moves like rivers underground. And still, she does not hear.
ghost wind through cedars—
names carved in the bark still sing,
but no one listens
Placed First in Standard Contest
Specular Fugue
Sponsor : Suzette Richards
_____________
watching passivity in activity
sad, sombrely sad
memories from womb rise and fall
little miracles of remembrance
holding the hands of Fate we wait
Wheels of Fortune revolves, race stagnates
we do not cry, hankerchiefs dry
timeless we watch, clock ticking
clock glancing, mindful of time
unseen cry, tissues wet lie around
loss centres, race proceeds
there is no Fate, only Self-determination
every forgetting is a miracle
uterine amnesia ~ stumbling and ascending
sombre joy replicates in silence
active we look away, passive and still
Bravest Sons of India – Neuve-Chapelle, 1915.
(Linking Pin Sonnet – Dr. Joseph Spence Sr. Style)
India’s sons marched where guns roared in flame,
Flame lit their path as the Lahore men onward pressed,
Pressed with the Meerut through wire none could tame,
Tamed only by hearts in brave Garhwal dressed.
Dressed for the storm, Gurkha steel cut the way,
Way through the fire where the Kaiser’s men stood,
Stood firm for the flag in that Flanders day,
Day paid in blood for the world’s greater good.
Good men they were, yet no grave bears their name,
Name clearly carved instead on memorial white,
White stone in France tells the tale of their fame,
Famed in the East, now in every nations’ sight.
Sight holds their valor where red poppies still sway,
Swayed by the winds, they march with us today.
© USA Goodwill Ambassador, Professor Dr. Jospeh S. Spence Sr. August 12, 2025. All Rights Reserved.
Here's account of pleasure past,
As through it we are taken,
Not our eye but by our souls
Our memories past awaken,
Untouched, unchanged, vaults of time,
Will always remain unshaken,
For if it is that moment nears
To make a choice and change the years,
Defining who you are in here
The answer's never, ever, fear.
Lost in woe for thee we mourn,
We do not ask, we are not torn,
We only see the light anew,
In our hearts,
A special place for you.
So many names on the page today, so many more gone— vanished into silence.
Does the world still care? I know they do.
I hope they do.
Children stolen, ripped from the arms that once held lullabies.
Teens slipping through dusk, running from homes that never saw them, or saw too much.
The ones who cared are left holding echoes. The ones who didn’t never noticed the absence.
But somewhere, a mother plants lavender beneath a window left ajar— its scent lifting like a prayer for the ones not yet home.
Somewhere, a name is spoken aloud, not forgotten. A candle burns in protest, its flame refusing silence.
We gather the fragments, press them into poems, into pages that refuse to turn away.
Oh, those we love don't go away,
they walk beside us everyday.
Their murmurs soft, a tree leaf whisper
defrosts my heart that did grow crisper
with grief that stained inside and out
when I embraced and lived with doubt
that voices lost to yesteryear
would still be here in atmosphere,
but breezy hands they brush my shoulder
and shake the lilacs, zephyrs bolder
as wind-tossed-scent awakens my recall
of purple June bouquets that did enthrall.
Ah, souvenirs and picture frames
can flare or tame my mourning flames.
Our days once filled with cheer and dare,
alas, souls fly as sheer as air,
or sit to contemplate as still as moss,
they come to help alleviate my loss.
I see them in refashioned shapes of clouds
or gold of sunshine warmth spilled over crowds;
I catch a glimpse in happy eyes
and sense they’re there in spirits' guise.
A moment here and then they’re gone,
beyond white angel-air-chiffon.
I’ve come to know and feel inside
that never-ending, they’ll reside
within my heart and everywhere…
to sense them near, fulfills my prayer.
NOVEMBER 2022
Rightly so, the poppies flood
Early in the winter sky
Merrily stood in field, and this
Existence of mine has passed by
Maybe they'd watch us contend
But are authorities ever sober?
Early now, in Winter's sky
Realise how they owed her
Unwillingly ignorant to the loss, they'll be
Scorching their retinas, a veil of red
Raggedy Army
As morning bathes in spring sunshine
A raggedy army stands in line.
Unkempt and ragtag, oddly sized,
Unarranged, disorganised.
Red, a splash among the grey
A new parade at dawn each day.
Some heads drooping, some held high,
A handful gazing at the sky.
Fresh and bright to start the morning,
Most won’t see a new day’s dawning.
In summer’s heat, the same routine -
A new head where an old had been.
In autumn’s fading dying light
A hardy few keep up the fight.
But then to hide in winter’s snow,
Till spring’s warmth says it’s time to show.
And bursting forth and standing proud,
Though scattered, battered, thrashed and ploughed
The raggedy army stands again
Eternal homage to fallen men.
Today is the day
Twenty-nine years to the day
Life changed forever
Your Remembrance
A time, just a time, lived to you in his heart, passed age, this love
Age, nothing remained, an empty marble tablet in a cemetery park
Your path walk is late, didn’t you see? Worn, unreadable letters
On the stone, all the noble sentences were addressed to you, only
But, but someone is waiting for you. In the cemetery, still alone
Here is a stone, not a gravestone or a memorial stone. Just a stone
Invisible this past, hidden by ivy, a protective and friendly friend, love
Ivy, oh Ivy, I feel good under your anxious care, keep me here! Love
Love, past and missed desire. Oh, where is that time? The youth
The youth. The age of youngness. Age of burning love. Dead. Ours
Meeting with the love that kills nature. The human one. Killed love you
Love destroyed, a destroyed loved you. The stone. Radiating to you
Just a black tulip, please. And a whisky
Erma, I don’t need anything
Look at the faded portrait on my flat stone
Pure me with a bottle of whiskey. Famous Grouse
Drop down
A black tulip
Someone loved you
Leave him
Good
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