A midday in May.
The rebellious sun.
Under the trees lie
cows, goats, and buffaloes.
Leaning against
the body of my own shadow,
I pluck ripe jamun
and eat them.
That fearless boy from the Dutta household,
as he does every day,
has skipped school
and walked here again today,
to the abandoned house.
He is watching
a dragonfly,
caught in a spider’s web,
slowly dying.
I sit in a meditative mood under a canopy
the sun tries in vain above to pierce through.
A playful light breeze cajoles the senses
while life delightfully carries on about.
Summer lingers and we strive to enjoy
every graceful afternoon as it stretches
longingly and mercifully into that magic hour
where the sun sets to retire in its flamboyant glory.
On Saturday afternoons long ago, when cartoons faded from the TV’s glow
A teenager earned a modest pittance, to finish the week with his remittance
From coins for cans and chores to do, the basement became the work place too
A weekly ritual dust and sweep, and memories were polished for us to keep
Years rolled on yet still there lies, a wooden shelf with the writing of “pizza flies”
A phrase half-lost, a family thread, echoing something once misread
From allowance paid to words unclear, the past returns as I sit here
In chores, in jokes, we had a good time, it’s these small moments of which I write
(Thomas Kinkade painting)
panorama picturesque
architecture statuesque
Monterey pine trees
tints that appease
flowering hedges
with watery edges
a couple buying flowers
children enjoy the showers
a cyclist slow rides
running dog by her side
hawkers
gawkers
colourful cars
a painted pause
a man reading
a canvas rain-bleeding
a Carmel scene lifelike
this is how peace looks like
manhattan roommate
brainwave specialist
blowhard rippling
always partygoer
dolphinfish royalist
turquoise irresistible
undrained rat
swearing yellowlegs
bearable humbling
houseguest behead
surrenderer bart
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 20–26, 2026)
Written: July 6, 2026 for a contest sponsored by: Jami Patterson
The Tuesday Afternoon Toenail
The toenail lay upon the floor,
it shimmered like a gossamer boar.
Oh, keratin crescent of beige-ish hue,
I cherish you deeper than a canoe.
Your edges poke like a cactus stew,
my soul is trembling, woo-woo-woo-woo.
The clipper is missing, my courage is gone,
I will guard this toenail until the dawn.
A clap of thunder
Engines roll up
A gravel mountain road
Leads nowhere to go
War dogs on the prowl
With a on the back
slow wind blows through the afternoon
when its hot outside and i'm sitting near a window
feeling the surrounding silence
and its just distant sounds in background
the sun rays hitting the yellow walls
and its too hot to even walk outside
i look around, i look around
trying to find a reason to stay alive
running around the house
and then she scolds you
for not sleeping in the
summer afternoon
i remember not wanting to sleep
that has always been the case
so she would tell me a scary story
to make me sleep silently in peace
that kid sometimes would sneak away
without disturbing his mother's sleep
and try to find something to do
but there's nothing only the silence of a summer afternoon
We'll party all afternoon then we'll nap.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
I’m playing Jenga, at a social group. At a social group, playing Jenga I’m. The best block to take out is the middle one — not an absolute, but two left either side sounds solid. Two left either side sounds solid — the best block to take out is the middle one, not an absolute. We are playing for a photoshoot for the social group’s new website, so I purposely remove a crucial block to knock over the tower. For the social group’s new website to knock over the tower, I remove purposely a crucial block, so we are playing for a photoshoot. The photographer wasn’t ready, though. Though, the photographer wasn’t ready. Twice, we’ve rebuilt the tower so he could get a photo of it falling. So he could get a photo of it falling, we’ve rebuilt the tower twice. He didn’t get the shot the time second. The second time, he didn’t get the shot. Third time lucky. Lucky time third.
After the Jengaful afternoon, we wish each other a nice eve. We wish each other a nice eve, after the Jengaful afternoon. Words fall as water, then Jenga into towers.
As water, words fall.
As Jenga, words tower.
Mojubjub knew that the Corcoran tree
Was tall and comely and fair to see.
Yet all the worms in the House of Owls
Could not move; for Mojubjub’s scowls
Brought a score of ladies and their Pekinese,
Only to hear Mojubjub sneeze.
His mother said we shouldn’t mind;
For, after all, he is so kind
He gave to the princess who slept on a pea
A bouquet of roses and fleur-de-lis
To let her know there was nothing to dread
From spending a night in the House of the Dead.
And all the flowers on the Corcoran tree
Bent low to kiss Mojubjub’s knee.
While in the walls of the House of Owls
The worms stood still and heard the howls
Of a thousand manacled Pekinese,
Tortured by thousands of manicured fleas.
Golden light spills through the drowsy trees,
And paints the shadows on the garden wall;
A sleepy hum rides on the quiet breeze,
As unseen songbirds make their gentle call.
The busy world surrenders to the sun,
And rests until the fading day is done.
Nature calls out to me.
Beckons on this gloomy rainy sunday afternoon.
Wants to share my solitude.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
trees waltzing in dots
as boats drift into grey haze;
folks seek Sunday calm ~
hands rest in dappled sunlight
parasols , like mushrooms, bloom
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