Stars lit up the velvet sky
The salty sea breeze blowing
through the window of the old car
Dash lights illuminating the dials on the AM Radio
While Elvis and his blue suede shoes kept me company
My dad hollering out “one more throw”
As his cast net made the perfect circle
Fish jumping
Silver scales shining in the moon beams
He’d wade back out into the dark,
Knee-deep where the tide chewed at the bank,
Shoulders twisting in a rhythm
Older than the radio,
Older than the rust creeping along the fenders.
I leaned my head against the vinyl seat,
Warm air threading through my hair,
Watching the lead line sink beneath the foam
And reappear like a pocket of captured stars.
He never did throw just once more.
There was always another shadow in the water,
Another minute stolen from the night,
While the dial hummed low
And home felt a thousand miles away,
Right where it belonged.
the moon drifts through the stars,
ropes soft against its glow,
a small basket swaying
over the dark purple mountains~
quiet as a lantern carried by the night.
a faint wind turns the ropes,
slow enough to see the motion,
steady enough to trust.
the basket dips once,
a gentle nod toward the ridgeline,
then rises again
into the cool, bright hush.
the mountains hold their shape,
dark shoulders folded beneath the sky,
watching the moon float past
as though it were a traveler
with no destination
The hot air BALLOON rose through the BLUE with its VIEW
forever NEW. No ROAD could SHOW where to GO,
only FLOW. The WIND kept STREAMS full of DREAMS,
unseen SEAMS where the sky learned to LEAN.
Below, the TOWN turned to THREADS as it SPREAD,
roads of LEAD now made SMALL by them ALL,
seen from TALL heights where FARMERS and BARNS
became CHARMS on the quilt of the LAND.
The pilot sat STILL with no WILL to DISTILL
or fulfill some PLAN. No MAN can COMMAND
what is PLANNED by invisible TIDES that provide
hidden GUIDES through the rivers of AIR.
He did not ASPIRE to climb HIGHER through FIRE,
but acquire one GLANCE at the DANCE
of mere CHANCE. EARTH seemed more CLEAR from up HERE,
each frontier drawn bright by the LIGHT.
At last he came DOWN where fields BROWN wrapped the TOWN,
without SOUND. Yet he KNEW what was TRUE
still flew THROUGH the unseen ways we'd ignore
evermore, though they move us each DAY anyway.
thieves condemn thieves
renting breath from the open air
news repeat theft.
pearl-soft rain gathers
at the threshold of early spring;
your compass traces
a quiet path through the silver air,
where calm awe begins to rise.
September is busting out all over,
leaves with pretty colors,
fill the cool air.
A new sweater for the cool morning air,
will keep me warm as I pick up pretty leaves over and over.
I love the red and orange colors.
Birds of many colors,
are singing as they are flying through the air,
they keep going to the bird feeder many times over.
September will be over with new colors to fill the winter's air.
Fly BMI, to land in time
There is no time to waste
Stroll down along the Serpentine
The morning air to taste
Across the park to Albert Hall
To Kensington High Street
And further on, towards the Mall
Where you can rest your feet
It’s got to be the Living Room
Their Dover sole is great
Pale sun, and even paler moon
Fall down on your plate
Two people here, three people there
Dull people talk and turn
I like the fuss they make, don’t care
To be liked in return
On Charing Cross I’m quick to toss
Some CDs at the Foyles
A truly searching lad I was
To find my kind of noise
End of the day, the hotel bar
I’m looking at the floor
There is no more Thistle Hyde Park
And Living Room’s no more
The times have changed, but I remain
About the same today
Although it’s quite a different game
I imitate to play
Those were the days, my darling dear
Those were the nights as well
Fly BMI, to disappear
No one would care to tell.
autumn folds its leaves
a flora of crooked hearts -
sympathy and tea
Geese take off into the crystal bluish sky
These birds soar weightless in the air so high
Glide along with the murmuring wind
Slide over oceans leaving familiar territory behind
They cover miles with wind under their wings
Hey listen, their loud honking, like trumpet rings
Moving clouds oft shut them out from sight
Grooving, they give the feel of wispy dreams in flight.
The air starts to shift and turn cool
A gentle whisper, nature's rule
A softer light begins to gleam
Reflecting in a sleepy stream
A scent of earth, a hint of frost
Where summer's vibrant bloom is lost
The sun descends in golden haze
Through shortening of passing days
A silent setting starts to weave
That only souls who watch believe
The trees in robes of russet dressed
Their leafy crowns now put to test
The fields are bare, the harvest done
A resting time for everyone
The scent of wood smoke starts to rise
Beneath the vast darkening skies
A comfort lies in the night`s chill
As the cool breeze stands deeply still.
This autumn breath, prelude to frost,
To winter`s advent, never lost.
The stars are jellyfish,
The planet is a cloud.
Now our only wish
Is to touch the ground.
We live in space
In a hot air balloon
Longing to see the face
Of the Man on the Moon
Storms are passing with
The heat I could not stand,
The days drag on so slow as
Summer's flames were fanned
Winds calmed the burn
Yet it lingered there,
As stubborn as ever
Hanging on in the air
Just when I thought
That I was truly done,
Then came the rain
And a more gentle sun.
I felt the tug, the loosening air~
Oh joy! I drift without earthly care.
I popped free with a laughing spin,
a tiny pilgrim, born of wind.
My comrades joined—what giddy glee,
dancing like colorful confetti spiritually.
The autumn breeze nudged us in its stride,
we somersaulted, tumbling side by side.
We skimmed the lakes, pirouetting on our way~
a drifting troupe, an autumnal ballet.
We rode the rivers, wild and free,
a giggling, leaf-born odyssey.
The wind grew hushed; our laughter stilled~
as though some deeper call was filled.
We felt the earth’s slow pull begin~
God’s summons soft as whispered wind.
We settled down in muted grace~
content to fade, to feed this place.
HOPE
HOPE
thin light
gracile flame
27 years in stone
cold air danced on the floor
he smiled through broken prison glass
"hope survives even in the smallest cell"
Craving the words I long to hear
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
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