I sought, in silence, solace and peace,
by which, my dank soul cried 'release'.
From pent up ridicule, guilt and shame,
long nights of torment, I wept Christ's Name.
I wept Christ, as lies pierced my mind,
my sombre spirit poised to - walk the line.
Instead I battled through decades of pain,
led now, to step out, and enjoy the rain.
09.01.2026
('The perpetual black dog, has one but cure,
That is, Christ Jesus, for that I'm sure'. - prayers welcomed )
The glaciers loosen from the poles,
their ancient silence drowned,
while oceans claim the homes of those
who wait on higher ground.
The forest burns beneath a sky
turned copper, black, and red;
we bring relief when flames pass by,
then feed the fire instead.
A tiger fades, a coral dies,
a songbird leaves the air;
we mourn beneath disaster’s eyes,
then act as if unaware.
My worst enemy is Apathy,
her hands refuse to move;
she treats the wound for all to see,
but will not face what we must improve.
IN THESE CLOUDY TIMES
Today’s apathy
Must be washed away from us:
Come, God, let zeal rain:-
The “never been.”
Never bin.
With styles like frills and extras.
To places like lakes that didn’t do much for me.
I have enough clothes.
Gets eaten eventually.
The “never been” market place.
With seashells washed up then rewashed.
Perfume samples where there used to be other stuff.
Tossed.
Scarce.
And pretending that things were crystals found somewhere special.
The “never been, never bin.”
Hangs out in alleys.
Pretends to have rare stuff.
Gets eaten eventually.
In savage streets it’s hand to hand
once shrapnel rips the air that’s damned,
no sin of ego in this land.
Baptismal bloodshed echoes
through rust and rebar ghettoes.
There’s bullet swarms and rocket rain
but infantry must hit terrain,
forget I’m sane and rupture veins
with melee-trench-knife flashing,
the bane of peace doves, slashing.
I wear their red of death and drive
my blade abuzz in hellish hive
to stay alive! Yes stay alive!
The apathy of killing,
and twisting morals willing.
My heartbeat kept, a victory,
it pounds just like artillery
but prized, despite the misery.
A witness to destruction
and holy soul’s corruption
and christened by the selfishness
of presidents with negligence,
we soldiers march with evilness.
The narcissistic leaders,
the preachers and the breeders
of rhythmic spates in drumbeat hate
unfurl their nation flags and fate
in bloodlust war… while heads of state
stay combat clean in bunkers.
I witness gurgling utters
your last and bloody gasp for “mama”.
I grasp with greed my breath in chest.
Thought ricochets inside my skull;
I’m still alive! I'm still alive! I'm still alive . . .
God, when the mother's cry
arrives—do You hear
the shape before the sound?
The phonemes of her grief,
or merely what they stir?
You hear
the way December hears a leaf:
as afterthought.
You frost
what begs for spring.
We are Your coordinates for cold.
–And so all I can say to the soft cooked flesh
beneath my teeth and the smell of dust
and felt is this; when you think you are
alone, you are. When you think you are not,
you are not. When the waves crush and flood
the streets, you will be left with this
band on your wrist. We eat our fill,
and then some more. Everyone thinks you
are attractive, wants to be you, wants to be
with you, but no one is willing to
speak. To understand. And thus your
idolization leads to your abandonment.
In this dark, cramped room, you may
breathe. No-one exists here but you.
Your arms length reach widens, widens,
widens till it bleeds. Fate is not a word
for people like you — you were the only
one with a say, and you said “Be destructive.”
You said “Let it fall, as it’s all nothing.
There is no difference between the mist
and the sky. Let the world be eaten up,
be drained, woven like clay. If I am the world,
let me die, so I may rest.”
My heart sinks dire,
Blood clots forming a nest,
It almost seems impermeable,
Yet I’ve long been put to rest.
What’s seen as trivial-
My soul and heart whimper,
For a call, hope, anything to linger.
They seek out my amiability,
Along with sheets of tears and gold,
It almost seems unpredictable,
How one can make me out as so loved.
Please… listen closely-
I call out to you last once more…
Come, dear forefront smile,
Snicker as I inherit the wind,
Watch my faith doodle for a while,
On your shifting sands of blatant sin.
Come, dear sidewinders of writ,
Let me with no choice, lies embrace,
Let beneficiaries taste false grit,
Our close hearts fooled by a social face.
Tantalize me with procrastination,
And hit me dead centre with living lies,
Let me watch power distance of no action,
And hypocrisy rise and truth murdered, dies.
Yet, the perfidy is predictable prophecy,
A reaping at mellow joy gets the purge,
All for that one discarded sagacity.
All for that fall into apathetic urge
An afterthought!
"Now is it not shameful to ask where power is?
When your feet are standing on it? "
Ode to A-Pathetic People
Oh, yes
I’ve discovered,
Dug up
and uncovered,
What broke our--
So-ci-e-ty…
It’s called apathy--
But it don’t matter
to me.
Cause I just
don’t care…
Anymore.
Alone lost in a crowd
bold silence overpowers the roar of traffic
~ the world perseveres without hesitation
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 1st place 2025
On the Desk of Darkness
On a Monsoon Night,
The afflatus roars in clouds,
And albedo fills the sight.
In the darkened gorge,
Among the alleys
And gravelled ways,
A lass on a jade.
Apathy of her own,
Gazing upon the dog in the kennel,
Barking and crying at it.
And when she gazed and gazed upon
The dog of ash on kindlings,
A murmur of sight on her lips,
And a wet eye with a glaze.
With a jolt, she stood up —
The roar now a voice,
The sight now white,
And the white now light.
From sight to light,
And light to white.
I kept quiet far too long.
I couldn't open my mouth,
it seemed, not even for a peep.
The perfect doormat.
Welcome to one and all.
Come wipe your feet.
Tolerance is that ugly sin
a coward learns to live with
while incessant cycles repeat.
Nothing changes when nothing's said,
silence being the prime enabler.
And like a weed, shame grows
in the shadow of acceptance.
AP: 1st place 2025
For the strong ones — on their stay-in-bed days.
© Gabrielle Munslow 2025. All rights reserved.
I think I’d just like to be —
No noise in my head.
The TV on standby.
Radio not transmitting.
The dog forgetting his bark.
The tears unshed.
Just leave me in bed.
My whole psyche ashes away,
aching from absorbing prophetic punches.
I changed the trajectory of my life —
now I need to be achingly numb.
No words.
No prayers.
No petty arguments or poetry.
Just me.
Hair like a banshee,
mascara matching my disillusionment.
I wear my apathy like a medal —
nauseatingly won.
Let the world knock,
let the day stretch open.
I won’t rise.
I’ve already fought
too many mornings.
But don’t mistake my silence
for defeat —
I am not broken.
I’m just choosing not to speak
while I sharpen my teeth.
Urgent is the will,
The self is as still as the night;
Apathy controlling;
Urgency calling,
The will remains imprisoned;
And apathy, keyless;
Urgency calling,
Apathy, shedding useless tears;
Fear controlling action:-
Genesis begins all,
Revelation ends it all;
Life dwells in between:-
Apathy is like a cold stone
Nestling in the mud;
Decision, like a swing in the wind;
Action roars like a lion,
And races like a waterfall
Roaring to its destiny;
Cold stones are no match
For angry sledgehammering chaos,
And in sunlight, mud dries and crusts over:-
Life should be woven
In a web of love, netting all
In a beehive of togetherness;
Indeed, there is no apathy
In the lives of hiving bees;
They live in onederful oneness:-
Let us strive to live life
In conscientious, concentric,
Cosmic onement;
Let us strive to live life,
Void of all senses of neglected apathy;
Let’s choose to be as bees, not as the mud:-
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