pum/mel ...... pound .….. pul-ver-ize
(left/right) (jab) (punch-down-out)
Just around life’s next corner
we have no clue what awaits us
~ know to expect the unexpected
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place 2025
A tea bag in the ocean,
small, fragile, trembling in vastness,
its string a whisper,
its paper skin thin against the tide.
It carries a world of fragrance within,
spices and leaves gathered from distant hills,
yet when cast into infinity
its essence bleeds gently, unseen,
lost to the salt and surge.
The ocean does not change—
its roar unmoved, its deep unshaken—
but the tea bag, emptied of itself,
becomes a ghost of what it was.
And still, there is a quiet beauty:
the courage of the small
meeting the enormity of the endless,
the offering of all it holds,
though the waves may never taste it.
To give, even if unnoticed,
to dissolve, even if forgotten,
to color a sea that cannot be colored,
and yet still try,
is to become a living sacrifice,
holy and acceptable
to
God
Summer Winds
Amidst strong winds, John was treading the road
Carrying on his back a heavy load,
It was a pitiful sight
To brave the wind in such plight:
When load fell down, it showed a bag of toads!
If you own a dog, at some point you
Will be carrying a bag of poo,
At least if you’re considerate
And follow laws regarding s#%*.
There are some, though, who flout the rules
And think that bagging crap’s for fools.
A joke said, aliens did land
And, struggling to understand,
Determined that the smarter race
Were not the humans, for their place
Was picking up whatever lot
Their masters left with every squat.
In any case, when doggies do
Their business, making number two,
Their owners might hold back a gag
But will be left to hold the bag,
Unless, of course, that they refuse
And leave the mess for others’ shoes.
Footsteps fade where sidewalks end,
stories told in weathered skin.
Cardboard kingdoms, borrowed ground,
a life unseen, without a sound.
The city hums, its lights embrace,
yet shadows slip between its grace.
Hands once held, now pockets bare,
eyes that search, but find no stare.
The wind knows names the world forgets,
whispers woven in regrets.
A resting place beneath the sky—
another night, still asking why.
that would be perfect
maybe a touch excessive
as it's enormous
for just a basic meal deal
scissors and hair dye
of course there is the lipstick
but it will be fine
for several pairs of shoes
plus changes of clothes
when I get tomorrow's train
towards Manchester
speedily changing platforms
to another town
where landlords still accept cash
and don't ask questions
my bruises will fade in time
I will find a job
somehow I will start again
if I buy this bag
for me and my brand new life.
Eyes close head tilt back...
As I arrived out of thin air
the sand was warm to touch
the tide rush in from the shore
water cool as it covered my feet
rays from the sun heat my skin
I searched for a lounger under a tent
table had a tray of things to enjoy
shades, fruits, books, and glass of ice
cooler with bottled wine and water
warmth and peace was my intentions
I exhaled my tension about winter blues
chose to open water and tasted fresh fruit
poured wine on sphere shaped ice cubes
put on shades, selected a book, and relaxed.
I brought everything in a bag.
Feeling my arms sag.
In that place, they gave us blankets.
In that place, they gave us regrets.
But all those memories are for another time.
I packed it all up, leaving the walls I would climb.
I used that bag year after year.
I used it to pack gym gear.
I used it on my vacation.
That bag followed me to each destination.
But some days, I wonder if this bag,
Which is beginning to sag.
Is haunted by that place, as much as me.
When the bag was new, and I was 23.
The bag got old and worn.
I became torn.
I almost threw it into the trash.
But then I sensed that it could be rash.
Instead, I decided it simply needed cleaning.
For years, I never found meaning,
In this bag.
We are both beginning to sag.
But inside a hidden pocket, is a note.
“How To Save The World,” I wrote.
Maybe, I could become a hero someday…
My bag starts to sway.
My bag starts to say-
“They might once again lock us away.
But if we work in secret, we’ll save the world by Sunday.”
A bag of bones tucked in the trees,
Nestled against the fence,
Camouflaged by branches and leaves,
Heavy with the weight of death.
It tells a story of mystery,
No longer here in this world, but in the stillness of the bones—
Once a living, breathing form.
An animal of sorts,
Fallen prey,
Once roaming the orchard,
Living off the land,
Day in, day out,
Surviving at best, hiding at rest.
The land that nourished life
Now provides a resting place
For the weary bones that will turn to dust—
The bag, opened by predators,
Animal instinct in survival mode,
A gust of wind scattering the bone dust
Back into the food chain.
A once-living creature, now fertilizing the earth.
The cycle of life continues
Through all the seasons.
No longer a mystery; the bones, now dust, lie
Beneath the apple trees.
I am my mother’s verbal punching bag.
When she has a bad day, I pay the price.
I can’t stop her daily verbal attack,
Because nothing I do will e’er suffice.
The things she says are unforgivable;
Her insults are like acid on my hands.
Her kind comments have always been minimal,
But what else would you expect from my mom?
I pick at my fingers to help me cope,
And oftentimes, even that makes her annoyed.
So, for the sake of my skin, I hope
She’ll be a person I can fully avoid.
Her verbal abuse is shown through my fingers,
Through the dried blood and dull pain that lingers.
Alvin
Bragg
Is
Such
A
Ragged
Bag
Of
Political
Corruption.
God
Bless
His
Little
(Corrupt)
Heart.
Why is it
that a garbage bag
when full
and being “put out”
will always lean
in exactly the opposite direction
to the one you’re aiming for
no matter how you position that bag
before putting it down
intending it to lean away from you
it always, always
leans towards you
you can rotate that pesky bag
into a thousand different positions
applying microscopic adjustments
and it will never lean away from you
and so
after “putting out”
a gazillion full garbage bags
I have come to accept
with the frustrated resignation
of proven defeat
that a garbage bag
when full
and being “put out”
has more than 360 degrees
to lean towards
and that it has
an innate and jester-like propensity
to always lean the other way.
Do not try there is no use
You will only badly lose
Running will not do a thing
When I find you it will bring
Only more pain you caused this
When you took a closed up fist
Hitting my friend in the face
There is not a single place
You can hide so watch your back
There are bruises from the smacks
Many times you left on her
You are in a world of hurt
When I finally track you down
You'll disappear and not be found
From the rage that will come out
I'll be like a water spout
Sprinkling violence on you
And when I am finally through
With each shot and angry hit
I may throw another fit
Just to see the sight of you
Turn a lot more black and blue
You will be a punching bag
I will beat until you sag
Because you ran out of air
You can't breath and I don't care
Just a Haiku’s
You made me dumb drunk
I gave a for your mind
It was just a
Dim of mind you are
Thinking that a is love
It was just a
Paper bag o'er head
Is how I wished you to be
It was just a
When I did you
It was her face I did see
It was just a
Regret meeting you
Nearly lost the one I want
You were just a
By Cathrin Stuart
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