My eyes scan the map of our lives –
lived experiences – etched across my grandma’s face.
And her eyes look right back.
But not the same;
The light that once danced to old jazz tunes,
and bold classic blues, that light that is extinguished by name tags at Christmas
donning the shirts of which she herself bestowed the identity.
‘I am sixteen’ I tell her,
again,
and she nods along, but that light does not quite gleam,
dimmed by the brain that cannot stay clean
and I find myself pointing at faces of which she is the blueprint.
Her fingers follow mine,
shaking,
as she tries to recreate, copy what cannot be faked
and I stifle a sob as I find my head bobs as she asks if I am okay.
Silence strangles my words
the way dementia does hers,
and I want to scratch at the very back of my throat the way she wants to remember the name of her firstborn:
An itch that will not be itched.
Not by her pretences or attempted defences, for she does not
remember
faces or names but her love remains, backed only by the assumption that
she should.
For she does not remember the family secrets that her brain will not
reveal –
not even for the sake of this family appeal.
APPEAL OF ART
freed
concepts
transform
assumptive
gestures
liberate
longing
&
formulate
aspirational
harmony
to
regain
all-embracing
inner
necessity
In the rain Paris has its charm.
Autumn takes on a romantic magical appeal.
Life proceeds but seems surreal.
I love Paris in the fall.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
I wandered lost through the streets of dread and flame,
Till mercy found me,clothed in stranger's guise;
Lord bless that man who spake not word of shame.
My heart was proud,I spurned my parent's name
I sought the world reaped its vanities;
I wandered lost through the streets of dread and flame.
The night was cold, my soul a heap of blame,
Yet he drew near with pity in his eyes;
Lord, bless that man who spake not word of shame.
He questions soft-''What land from whence thou came?''
I told of fields beneath Free Statean skies;
I wandered lost through the streets of dread and flame,
He spake of home , of love that never maim.
Of mother's tears that never truly dies;
Lord, bless that man who spake not word of shame.
He gave me fare,and bread,and hope became
A living light where one was compromise;
I wandered lost through streets of dread and flame
Lord,bless that man who spake not word of shame.
Love God and love me
I am Peace, I am human
Pray for our children
the dog like me appeals to her—
the easy grin, the tail that never quits,
a kind of dumb loyalty she can pet.
i dont talk much, i just watch her move,
eyes soft, like i'm reading a prayer.
i don't chase fame,
just the smell of her perfume in the hallway.
she feeds me scraps,
and I think it’s dinner for a king.
I lick her hand like it’s gospel.
men like me never bite unless cornered,
and even then, I hesitate—
remembering the warmth of her lap,
the sound of her shoes by the door,
the leash that looks like love.
i curl up, dreaming,
thinking obedience and affection are the same thing.
two years ago, on Christmas eve,
i made an appeal and stood in your court
i asked you to revoke my status-
from a stranger to a lover, or friends who love each other
but you declared me guilty
and sent your troops, with cannons aimed at my gate
if you had asked me, "will you survive?"
my answer would've been a big no
but here i am writing this one final ode
because i finally survived in that war
Clean off the deck. This is your shift.
Be careful not to mislay our gift.
Hold fast. To lose it, we can't afford.
Some things we can't chuck overboard.
Hey, where did you just throw that thing?
That was freedom's ring.
It is a raw material
And it is part of the natural resources
A creation
It is a fertile land
And it is part of the world
A planet
The commodities
The sweetness of the tongue
Taste like caramel
Breath taking
The playfulness of the words
Sounds like birds
Speechless
The poem,
It is a commodity
And it is part of the ingredients
A sequence
It is a treasure
And it is part of the planet
A universe
The products
Do Seal Deal with much Appeal
when we would seal deal
after we ate a great meal
was with much appeal
Unworthy please words
Already late from saint mouth
Judge has the verdict.
precious petals grow
amazing colors explode
wind lifts its fragrance
SMILE WITH A LEMON A’PEEL
When Life Gives You Lemons...
As life sometimes will
No matter what you feel...
Turn that sour pucker into a "Jesus Smile"
Smile with a lemon a'peel! (Appeal)
The Spectre of sex appeal by Salvador Dali 1934
On the right-hand bottom side, we see Dalí as a
child, dressed as a sailor, observing his monstrosity
I misunderstand, tell what is the plan
As I change from juvenile into man
Her formation intrigues and repulses
Instead of control, there are impulses
Her head morphs upon a backdrop mountain
Sack cloth breasts, stem flow of sandy fountains
Solid rock womb, born of imperfection
The spectre miscarries, sans reflection
Propped up and falls forward in painful lurch
Composite pieces, on acceptance search
Ossified limbs, mangled bone skewers stone
Destined to experience life alone
She poses in pain and reeks of decay
I stand with a hoop, brought along to play
Ignores my advances, falling apart
I’ll return with barbed wire to bind her heart
No more cushioned stumps or flailing crutches
Unraveling her knots, where flesh touches
I’ll fashion a cross and burial mound
Existence fades as parts crash to the ground
Parts don’t stay buried, so I light a fire
Warm them back up, on a funeral pyre
My god she’s beautiful, I’m overcome
We join together in flames, curse undone
Written: December 24, 2023, For Joseph May Contest
_______________________________________
Mute whispers
Wonder wings
On teal night.
Twilight silence
Pardon pray soar
Dreams float at dusk
Path through cosmos.
Majestic hues spark
Endless heart peace urged
Swish wish to blithe star
Dive in swinging thoughts
Lights serenade calm.
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