September Challenge - Tritina 9-24-26
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Electric Aurora
Neon ribbons flame across an onyx midnight
When electric flares and fires flash in jewel tones
Pale crystal snows reflect Aurora’s gossamer gown.
Swirling arcs decorate the hemline of her gown
As solar sequins flash across the midnight
And currents of her ruby fire play in arctic tones.
Arctic sprite pulses in bursting topaz solar tones
Queen of astral mischief wears an emerald gown
Sneaking out to play in the sapphire midnight.
In gowns of emerald, playful minx winks at midnight in turquoise tones.
spirals of morning rise~
soft arcs ascending from
still water’s crystal skin,
seeking the sunlit leaf,
shimmering like confetti
strewn by the forest’s breath,
singing creation’s dawn
casting in high arcs
pretty young things line the banks
casseroles for bait
Chasing the unforgiving cruise of fleeting years,
I dash at lightning speed hoping to apprehend
Slowing impediments and crippling fears;
Fettering setbacks that arcs of successes bend.
And I know not if I’ll at last prevail
Or shall to failure’s claws succumb;
But whether I will excel or dismally fail
I’ll keep trying till all toil’s rewards come.
Chasing the unforgiving cruise of fleeting years,
I dash at lightning speed hoping to apprehend
Slowing impediments and crippling fears;
Fettering setbacks that arcs of successes bend.
And I know not if I’ll at last prevail
Or shall to failure’s claws succumb;
But whether I will excel or dismally fail
I’ll keep trying till all toil’s rewards come.
a pencil eyes the moonlight
wishing its lead could glow like that~
dreaming of drawing silver arcs
longing for brightness
Written: August 12, 2026 for the PoetrySoup Poetry Wheel Contest.
Poetry Wheel Challenge:
Theme: Ocean
Emotion: Angry
Color: Gold
Season: Harvest
Form: Villanelle
Object: Lantern
Verb: Break
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold,
A lighthouse hangs where harvest darkness falls;
Autumn rising tides break in, harshly cold.
It clutches the coast, vexing to be told,
While amber arcs scale as a blazing wall;
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold.
The lantern shakes, its little flame grown bold,
As blackened clouds descend beyond the squall;
Autumn rising tides rush in, harshly cold.
Midnight mist is sumptuous to behold,
And shattered shells sit speckled by the fall;
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold.
Yet thru tempest, the lamp is still in hold,
A shimmering star shines against the pall;
Autumn rising tides rush in, harshly cold.
No storm retains the flame from growing old;
No sea can silence every distant call;
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold,
Autumn rising tides rush in, harshly cold.
The Sanctuary
The wind grows cold, branches turning bare sending yellow leaves down in silent arcs.
Raindrops tap a steady rhythm on the window pane while inside, the world stays safe and still.The espresso machine hums its lazy tune and spiced cider flows in deep gold waves.
I hold the heavy ceramic cup, absorbing the heat watching steam rise in soft, slow curls as cinnamon and roasted beans sweeten the air. Every sip tastes like a quiet afternoon a brief pause while daylight fades into an early night.
The ceramic mug clicks against the wood, empty I push past the heavy glass door breaking the spell of cinnamon and steam.
The street greets me with a sharp, gray slap—traffic roaring, the wind pulling at my collar.
My shoulders tense under the weight of what waits next stepping back into the noise and the heavy, crowded day, but for a few blocks more the ghost of warm cider stays on my tongue ,a small, hidden shield against the frost.
Fall is here, its aroma stays upon my lips, warm soft fall sweater wrapped snuggly around my neck, untill tomorrow where my Sanctuary will once again beckon me
I see the moon riding with its reddish-golden tinge.
I see the moon riding as lives here die and begin.
It has no fanfare, no blazing gas, no rings.
It just reminds us that we’re mortal short lived beings.
It pulls back the oceans and commands the seas. It arcs, it wanes, it waxes—showing wonder to us, sea creatures, birds and other animals without wings.
I see the moon riding through the night, and sometimes through the day, reminding us that its silent power touches every earthly thing.
When will the sky sing to the abandoned arcs of my sonnets?
They remain subtle, yet soul-stolen by the sea of stone,
Could those storms stitch the sublime shimmer sinking through,
Silent yet sudden, secretly sensational,
I’ll play the rays you lusciously left longing for this momentum,
Breathing brassy beams barely breakable by the blades of the blaze,
Teach me the tunes of your truth,
Call me into your chaos with my delusions,
Kiss me when the sun sleeps,
Wear me as the moon dreams,
Hold the crying clouds over the vengeance of our vulnerabilities,
The furious fall is further than we dare speak of,
Let your bones bear the crown I seek to bestow,
For the bolted iron ornaments house the hologram of my ebony emerald enchantments.
On the edge of something
language hadn’t been invented yet
to describe what I was seeing,
the horizon whispered secrets,
color drenched in honey and twilight,
where shadows danced like old friends,
smiles and sighs mingled
in the liquid air.
The sky was a canvas,
not of stars, but of ideas,
shapes that bent and folded
like dreams never quite dreamed,
a tapestry woven with possibility.
I reached out, fingertips grazing
the pulse of something new,
unfurling,
tender like a first breath,
heavy with silence,
swelling with wonder.
Time stretched in soft arcs,
each moment a petal unfurling,
the world a chorus of visions,
where mountains cradled the sun,
and rivers carried laughter
in their swift embrace.
I stood, suspended,
on the cusp of discovery,
heart racing in rhythm
with the melody of the unseen,
the unsaid.
In that space, I was lost
and found,
a witness to the unspoken,
to the edge of language,
waiting to be born.
Sun-warmed boards
glow
beneath lingering footsteps~
heat
rising gently
from their time-soft grain.
A faded ball
spins
through amber air~
sun
warming its seams
like a memory held close.
The infield
breathes,
dust rising
in slow
brown spirals
of yesterday’s hush.
A foul ball
arcs,
threaded with sunlight,
its seams
catching the hush
of a summer crowd.
A glove waits,
creased,
as if shaped
by every catch
that ever
came home.
The glove lifts,
easy,
as if greeting
an old friend
returning
home.
how much is habit
I must extend to see
already written in the s t a r s
do I map
my neural pathways
into a sky against my will
shall I fight it
break free
of rhythm & repeat
or go gently
fearing not trajectory
or expectation
to draw upon night skies
trace how I ache
until I'm whispered to
by the moon
tempt me forward
to step out of line
from relentless linear existence
for I am free & unfettered
no arcs predetermined
yet with regret
always full circles drawn
Wings carve arcs into the silence,
A sudden tremor in the silvery air.
Etching a dark ink on the horizon.
Tracing secrets only the wind knows.
Below, the world is heavy and still;
Above, there is nothing but serenity.
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Cape wind fills the sails~
white wings skimming indigo,
tipping toward the sun.
Salt-spray arcs in laughing light
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