The sun shyly peeked over the hill
as the cold air made whispers audible
and the dissipation began to rise from the dunes.
The morning breeze stirred flurries of sand from dunes
where shadows stubbornly clung to the face of the hill.
A susurrus from the cops barely audible.
Upon the bench in the lee of fickle dunes
the old brass plaque gleamed in rays cresting the hill:
an inscription of grief no longer audible.
Ridged hill of letters, promises audible among dunes.
I sat again on that old broken bench at the park,
Watching birds, people, and the last rays of the sun fade by,
Remembering our final words—spoken so far from kind.
A single tear I had to shed for the moments lost in time.
The skies turned suddenly ominous, though I knew not why—
But by the grace of God, a little girl smiled, ever so bright,
And I finally realized: forgiveness is not so far behind.
Children's giggles, the melody I enjoy.
Glowing faces, the golden era of joy.
Their moms shout, the sun sets,
music stops—a break from hearing, "YAYAYA OUT".
Sometimes the genre shifts;
a deep convo between lovers hits.
Some cries, some smiles,
an emotional roller coaster,
a compilation of human files.
The dogs run, the air's fresh.
People exercise, talk about mesh,
share their pain, resolve them,
take the energy, smile—worth a gem.
The old tales hymns everywhere.
The grandpa reminisces about his prime time,
misses those people he still cares.
Sad one sits, prays to God.
Life's a movie I have watched.
Frozen in Photographs
Heaven wind calls
Cheery blooms near
Bench feels like home
Your kiss is warm
We smile at photographs and spring that never leaves
He wore the robes of justice,
high and proud,
And passed his moral
verdicts to the crowd.
But far from chambers and
the legal light.
He breached his sacred
marriage in the night.
The gavel falls to punish
wrongful deeds,
Yet he ignored the vows his
wife pleads.
A double sinful life behind a
heavy lock door,
He breaks the very laws he
swore to obey.
The bench holds honor, but
his heart is unfaithful,
A hollow promise that he
failed to keep.
A coveted bench in the shade,
In my world, means that I’ve got it made,
For tomorrow will be, I’m afraid,
Much too hot, so I wouldn’t have stayed.
But today, I can watch the parade
On the river, as boats are displayed
And attention, of course, must be paid,
To the pigeons, who visit, dismayed
That I offer no crumbs in a trade.
Still, I hope, as my rhymes start to fade,
That my writing has somehow conveyed
Just how peaceful is all I’ve surveyed.
.
"take'er edvard"
back
but eve
"((back))"
")>
*jamez...i mean edvard;
we're all funny ')> (like that)
.
yost
different uv
timez
thuh day
*shez spell'd with the
astute think
('tiz not she'z <]')
It really looks peaceful when you see
A man on a bench sitting reading his phone
But it could be the act of contumacy
His vehement dream to stay alone
Similarly, what do they know about me
May have nothing to do with reality
I don't bother to conceal a mystery
Anyhow I'm a missed personality
So what’s real, no one can say for certain
They can only guess and suppose
I say howdy and smile, an invisible curtain
Slightly moved, but remains closed.
Dove sits on a bench,
her feathers glow in the sun.
"Great Scott its sunny!"
I think I’ll sit here a while
The ground could vanish
Say something outlandish
And I’d stay right here
And not move a muscle
This is my bench
It’s perfectly crafted
Devoid of any stench
I made it myself
Catered to me
It’s quiet and peaceful
Or at least it seems to be
The wood is all mine
I can trace with my finger
All the little lines of age
I’m glued to this bench
Is what I will tell you
When they ask me for something
Give me a task to do
I’ll stay right here
Until the day starts anew
Robin lands on bench.
He flicks his tail in contempt,
"So, this is the world!"
Cry my heart, in silence
for love has come and gone
stealing dreams of tomorrow
leaving quiet sobs of reflection
where yesterday clings in sadness
and hangs like cocoons of memories
painted by my brush of illusion
to haunt the bowed head of my soul
The winter sun sets slowly on the beach,
I and my spouse seated on a tough bench,
Gaze at the vast expanse of the ocean,
Feeling the hardness of the painted wood.
Perhaps that is the lesson of this seat,
This long pause in the journey of our life
Not to cry over spilt milk of our youth
But relish the thrill of being here now.
I feel a chill pouring between the lies
where once we huddled in forevers...
I hold your escaping breath ~ and warm it
until it allows my own dreams to breathe.
Then, like a sigh on a frosty pane,
and the scribbled message therein,
it all slowly melts away
like a March snow into the river's tears...
Written March 18, 2026 for Nette Onclaud's
Musings on a Bench Contest
Sub Categories
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