Gatekeeper, Flame Seeker
Written: April 29, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place contest winner
*********************
Brian Strand, the bard man—
polite in posture, patient in his perch,
a steward of syllables,
sorting the soft from the strong.
I lift my lines to him—
bare-boned, breath-warm,
stitched with small sorrows
and the shimmer of things I’ve survived.
Back they drift,
brushed aside with a courteous calm,
as if my voice were a visitor
He can’t quite invite himself inside.
No bright badge,
No, kindly clue,
just a quiet decline
wrapped in well-mannered distance.
So I wonder, wise reader—
Is my rhythm too restless,
My truth too untamed,
My cadence carries more candor
than comfort allows?
Maybe my metaphors
wander where his compass won’t,
or my rawness resists
The neatness he names as craft.
Yet still I write—
for poems are not petitions,
and worth is not a window
One judge alone can open.
Brian Strand, the bard man—
You keep the gate with gracious hands,
but I keep the fire,
And flame needs no permission
to rise.
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