Human being, stretched tension
between the divine and animal realms,
distant balance suspended
between the exiguous and the abysmal!
The body only acts
with what eyes see
and the spirit grasps...
Only in my solitude,
I absorb the complete calm
and the serene sound of silence.
Gentle gestures generate kindness,
tender manners generate tenderness...
attention generates desires,
care generates love...
If you have love,
love without restrictions...
if you have more than love,
let me love even more...
I like much more
what my soul wants,
than just what the body desires,
having both feelings,
life will be full of beauty...!
In life we must avidly,
seek full knowledge
like someone searching for a precious stone...!
"Sentences"
Experience comes at a cost
money is not the currency
the weight of useless titles
are now disgarded avidly
the sun
tastes expensive here
like the stigma of saffron;
I open my palms to the eyes
of some strange royal God
who pretends not to hear me
love and life
slip through the fingers
like sand
the hourglass is turned upside down
a challenge
challenges now shed like worn out novels
unwritten words slipping silently
between the sheets like expert lovers warmly known,
sensuously undressing pages until they’re naked
a kiss
I turn my head in this dream
I’m not looking for clocks
and as I glance back
ahead of me I see my soul
accepted
slip silently out of me
like this body is empty tupperware
and what lies behind me
hollow and unnessary
melting away
into you
between the lengthy
unspoken sentences
Candide Diderot. ‘25
Alone,
the dog outrides the flock,
warning away the terrors of night.
He sees
the cheery glow of the shepherds’ fire,
murmured talk and quiet laughter
float past him softly
on the chill autumn breeze.
He longs
to sit with them beside the light,
sharing avidly
(tongue lolling,
slyly smiling)
in their good-natured jokes
but that is not his place:
He is a dog and no man
and his place is outside
in the dark, a sentinel.
He sees
the sleeping flock,
pressed body to body to hold their warmth,
and longs
to lie in their midst as one of them,
dreaming sheeply dreams,
but that is not his place:
He is a dog and no sheep
and must remain awake outside
to guide strays back to the fold.
The flock stirs anxiously and bleats.
His ears prick, he hears it too,
the tugging untamed howl
of wild wolves in the night.
The ancient wolf in him
longs
to melt into the forest,
romping with them
on their feral haunts,
but that is not his place either:
He is a dog and no wolf
and his place is beside the flock.
Every minute, every hour of each day,
my heart entreats you with longing.
I desire your heart trusts what I say
every minute, every hour of each day.
If God exists, I avidly pray
He accords my desire for belonging.
Every minute, every hour of each day
my heart entreats you with longing.
Every minute, every hour of each day,
I desire your heart trusts what I say.
If God exists, I avidly pray
He accords my desire for belonging.
My heart entreats you with longing
accompanied by true love’s prolonging.
In the ebb and flow of feelings that is the cycle of my life
I seem to be caught in the spring of my emotions
while winter stalls refusing to take its leave.
Like a bad virus insisting to overstay its welcome
tenacious snow lingers under unrelenting skies of grey
while nippy winds bring rebel clouds and showers.
Entangled in that indecisive in-between of cold and warmth
I’m caught in a no-man’s-land of chrysalid and growth
that ominous period of longing avidly for better climes.
Forever craving the sunshine that would feed my soul
I’m reduced to a withered rosebud desperate for any ray of sun
so I can come to life and feel invigorated.
And so it goes as I ride this roller coaster
of the weather of my emotions.
AP: 2nd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
I think I write so avidly,
Aggressively cutting the paper with words,
Because I hope to create a spark
With my force of passion
And I dream that it will become bright enough
That my own poems will form the lantern
That submits my darkness to light.
Dear Emily, 'the Recluse of Amherst'
In my university days, you burned in me
As a dazzling flame of endless inspiration.
As I sit to write to you, your soul in its depth I see
And it speaks to me, still giving endless motivation.
Your concise and crisp musings, penned years ago,
Continue to light poetic sparks in my soul.
Your poetry is like a whispered secret still aglow
As a recluse, you hid yourself. From the crowd you stole.
Your poems give a glimpse into the workings of your heart
Your thoughts, bold and subtle speaks directly to me.
As I think of you, through my mind, emotions of awe dart.
Staying aloof, you watched nature and animals closely.
In your poems, you elevated the mundane to the sublime.
‘If I could Stop one Heart from Breaking’_
This poem, stays immortal in all time.
Your musings on life and nature are breathtaking.
Dear Emily, you shouldn’t have hidden your light,
Like a lamp under the bushel. Sad, your poems you buried,
Abhorrent of publicity, but posthumously came into limelight.
Now across oceans and tides, they are avidly ferried.
what happens when my dog brings home an arm or a leg?
What is the proper etiquette? What is the protocol?
Do I call the non-emergency police number? Or a neighbor?
What if he brings home a skeleton? Or just a skull?
Are the rules the same with flesh and without flesh?
I live on a desolate country road.
I have a puppy that is avidly digging things out of the ditch.
Not daily, but often enough that I am a bit worried.
Why do some scarab beetles have horns and others do not?
The answer to six scientific questions like this, I avidly sought.
To throw down their contender, said man who been a beetle.
To put them on a clothesline suggested a jokester named Meetle.
Why do some scarab beetles have horns and others do not?
The answer to six scientific questions like this, I avidly sought.
To throw down their contender, said man who been a beetle.
To put them on a clothesline suggested a jokester named Meetle.
There’s a wood tick in my cellar
He be knocking at my door
There’s a bunch of them on my tummy wall
I count at least twenty-four
One is biting my ankle, it is screaming out in pain
That is what I get I guess for gardening in the rain
The wood ticks are fierce and mean, floating out of trees.
They glom onto my body and hair in two’s and threes.
Is your dirt therapy worth it? Asks a man who does not know.
The joy of using a tiller, rake, garden gloves, clipper or hoe.
I took two baths yesterday and pulled ticks out of every direction.
They are avidly eating me as if I am a sweet confection.
Beyond the Vast ocean's kingdom
lies a splendid land without boredom;
there this wandering boy discovered real joy,
stumbling on beauty that defined harmony!
Other kids spent their entire afternoons
at the soccer field, he climbed many hills,
and the wonders he saw enriched his intellect:
was he a prodigious child or a would-be poet?
There he avidly consumed his fancy-free days
watching the big-winged eagles in swift flight,
and the noisy airplanes soar above white clouds;
he followed them 'till they disappeared in distance!
Did he choose soothing solitude as a means of escape,
running to idyllic places to jot down unrhythmical words
on his pad from the reflection he made on the landscape?
His peers lacked the imagination to pursue poetic thoughts!
Distance is grief, while time transforms his wrinkled looks,
not the vigor of youth that prompted many humorous jokes;
even now he remembers well that beyond the vast kingdom:
he can retrace the footsteps of his puberty to regain freedom!
The funniest insect ever was wearing dreadlocks and a tam of red
He jumped up from the bowels of the forest saying “Hi! I’m Ned!”
I was shocked because he was a crazy-looking beast for a parasite.
Talking to a human like me was insane, it truly is not quite right.
He jumped on my leg and climbed up to my left knee.
Are you a they, a she, a we, a them or a he?
I was surprised that he is more politically correct than most I know.
I kept him inside all winter, away from ice, and snow.
Did not realize he could clone himself and avidly too.
One day I looked in his cage and there were twenty-two.
I don’t need a mate to do this either, he said.
That is the day I decided to boot out the insect Ned.
MAD TIMES
The season of hope and growth
Following those cold empty days
Dark ribbed ploughed fields wait
As new life sniffs the warmer air
Bursting forth, as if all new ideas
In shades of lime, olive and sage
Avidly searching to see the sun
Soon to realise their new vision
In the flickering light of the lamp,
Despite the chilly night, air so damp,
She surveyed books so avidly read,
Studied the guidelines now in her head.
Time came: she departed for the war,
Sure she'd care for all those wounded sore.
Many followed as she left her stamp,
At night she'd be the lady with the lamp.
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