in the fifties I was an odd kind of beatnik.
I did not have a goatee; I was not Maynard G. Krebs
I was a hippie in the seventies, but not promiscuous.
But love, sweet love, I surely did believe in that.
And I was not crazy happy about the Vietnam War.
In the eighties, I heard my kind referred to as Bohemians.
We did things our way, not our parents; okay by me.
Now I a non-conformist, but most are who truly grow up.
Grow away, grow their own set of rules and values, right?
I will soon be old enough to be called eccentric.
Oh, I am there now?
Thank you my sweet.
He sat and thought
about how the world
stopped spinning
after she went away
she left one day
without a kiss
without saying goodbye
just disappeared
leaving his life barren
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
He's still as can be ~
Pink coloured one-legged flamingo for hours
He pretends he's a rose
Worku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Where did all the time go?
It feels like yesterday
When we ran through the sunflower fields
And it feels like tomorrow
When we lose all the feelings of youth
Where did all the time go?
Just last night we raised our glasses to the skies
And drank to new beginnings
In hopes of starting anew and change
But tomorrow knocked on our doors
And entered as we drank to new beginnings
Take me back, oh Lord, take me back
For God’s sake take me back
Losing our youth to the forgotten memories
Our future endeavours now result in cries
Reminiscing about childhood filled with voyages
Adventures that never seemed to end
Now ends in all of us asking the same question
Where did all the time go?
In the hush of twilight, whispers soft and low,
"Where'd all the time go?" a lament we know.
Echoes of laughter, fading in the mist,
Nostalgia's gentle touch, a sweet reminisce.
Footprints in the sands of moments passed,
A journey of life, too fleeting, too vast.
Faces in photographs, frozen in a smile,
Time's embrace, a bittersweet trial.
Through the corridors of memory, we roam,
Chasing echoes, yearning for a familiar home.
Moments like fireflies, dancing in the night,
Fleeting, yet eternally alight.
Oh, the days we left behind,
In the recesses of the heart, they find
A place, a melody, a soulful rhyme,
A nostalgic symphony, standing the test of time.
I come from a long line of tea drinkers
just plain orange pekoe tea
we went through many tea pots
have you ever seen tea cozies
they were meant to keep the pot warm
my mom was very particular about the spout
she said it had to be exactly the right shape
to avoid dripping when pouring
we had tea, morning, midmorning, lunch,
afternoon, supper, after supper, at bedtime
we had tea anytime ...
I love my tea very hot
making sure I have to very first cup
we put milk in ours
never honey or plain
there is something so homey about tea time
oh, I recall those days past
of storytelling while drinking tea
grandma would say when things went wrong
come, I'll make you a nice cup of tea
she seemed to think tea would cure all our woes
and I think they did
or was it the conversation
yes, I have my favorite cup
not dainty but not too big and not quite mug
my cat likes tea also
she kept drinking mine
so I make her one (I think its the milk)
she has her very own cup now
I love sitting by the fireplace with my tea
just relaxing on a cold winter night
what could be more delightful
It's getting darker
All the time
I sit alone
It's getting darker
With every poem
I try and include
Another a one single person more
You know the score
No need for or telling you
How stupid and disrespectful of me
Thinking or believing
It's only just poor little me
Who knows
It's getting darker all the time
As you yourself aren't blind either
It's just none of can see
When all the lights have gone out
And we are left
Contemplating and imagining
What is truly going on out there and happening
In the pitch dark journeying on this ride forth
All alone without someone else's
Comforting hand to hold onto
I lived in a fantasy world
with dreams of real love or a fake one
however, in my real world
neither of them ever went on a tangent
to my heart
Time
Swift unceasing
Moves strides sprightly
I wish time gratified me
Rhythm
Author Dana Redricks
October 28, 2022
God is good all the time. Never will He fail me. Even in the valley, and on the mountain top. He's always with us and He want fail. God is good all the time. He's been with me through the best of times, and the difficult times. Even when I felt I didn't deserve Him, that didn't change His love for me, He remained faithful, His love for me is unconditional, God won't fail me. God is good all the time, never, will He fail you, God is good. I will never understand His love for me, but I know that He loves me. God is good, God is good. There's no words that can completely describe Him. His ways are unfathomable, and way beyond our comprehension. God is good all the time. Never will He change, His love is eternal. It will take an eternity to praise Him for all He's done for me. God is good, God is good.
Such hideous tyranny,
My eyes, betraying my essence-
Two lone tears gather and fall
down the sides of my face.
Voice cracking, Jazz notes.
My skin, so full of secrets
Buried, crowbar wrenching it open
Desolation, in spite of myself
So, so, stupid
so, so, alive
so unbelievably, unimaginably, unfeasibly,
existing.
All the time.
Eyeing every trophy is a sin,
Always craving it a prickly pin;
A critic right to raise a din:
“A propensity fit for our Dust Bin!”
For those who often seek to win
Force our hands to support either chin
And our skin pricks with a pin …
An obsession I won’t excuse my kin,
As doing so quite a kin
To eating from a rusted tin
Or relishing a non-nourishing fin.
Order I shall such a kin
To pay with an apologizing gin;
Dying to win all the time, sin.
I'm one of those guys that you see dressed in black all the time.
I'm not depressed or gothic or anything of that kind.
I just happen to be color blind.
My attempt at color coordination,
would evolve into a very comical situation.
Black is safe and so a black wardrobe is mine,
but many judge me suspicious and give me the stink eye.
Little do they know that beneath all of this darkness of mine,
is a great love for all humankind.
The frost has sunshine within it,
light shimmy’s, and the earth is lime Jell-O
Time to stand in line,
to wait upon the lark and finch
until songs arrive.
Be always in the middle of a poem;
find yourself lastly at the beginning
with no real title
just the odor of burnt paper.
This world is a time machine;
a main-spring rewinds itself,
on and on it goes, until we get off
only to reappear over there
on that far mountain
as falling snow.
Make everything alright,
Every day, every night.
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