Best Cusp Poems
Mystical Moon, languidly adrift in pallid glory,
is holding night court, clad in gold silk sarong.
Ruling her astral kingdom, amusing with a story
about a cow and a spoon; singing a lyrical song.
"Wondrous Moon," said I, "lamp unto this night,
may your lustrous path stay vigilant and not stray."
In comply, I saw strung on high, myriads of bright,
luminous stars, glinting down on a fishing quay.
Moonlight plays on lily pads, afloat on Amon Bay,
shining on croaking bullfrogs, just having fun,
bathing in nocturnal frolic until faint spark of day,
flirting with saucy winks and adding, "Hiya, Sun."
As morning draws nigh; moonlight slowly dims.
Luna will crown Sol at horizon's cusp of dawn.
Baronial is his warmth, but now my vision swims.
I'm drowning in a whirlpool, trying not to yawn.
Mystical moon will glow tonight with vivid pomp.
Again, donning a corona, flowing in auras of light.
As sunlight lulls, worn out from his daily romp,
I'll waltz in moonlight, among dazzling stars tonight.
July 16th, 2020
Lipogram Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Every so often, my mind wanders back to the summer of my youth, where a specific memory awaits.
Having completed my first year at University, I’ve come home. My younger brother John, fifteen, seems all grown up, so different. He’s gotten taller but it’s more than that.
I'm surprised when he offers me a tour of his new ‘Boyz Only’ clubhouse. I almost wonder if he has missed me while I was away, likely not. The shell of a hand-me-down camper has been converted into a hangout. When I mention that he keeps it surprisingly neat, he snickers and reveals his stash of hidden girlie magazines, safe from the inevitable parental inspection.
I am impressed, and at the same time, I can’t help but feel like I’ve entered a time bubble, a door, a transition. On one hand, it feels surreal; on the other hand, it’s simply an honour to just sit here as a guest.
I talk to John about what it was like to adapt to life in the big city. He talks to me about his recent exploits and his adventures with his friends. It isn’t long before we reminisce about the escapades we shared when we were younger. In our pauses, we’re somehow cognizant that we’re one step closer to adulthood, to what we might call freedom.
In the past year, I haven’t thought much about home and our countryside fields. For me it’s more about what the future has to offer. But on this day, it’s tangible how John and I are setting out on different journeys. He is next in line to fly the coop and I'm sure he realizes it. As we spread our wings, it’s obvious that the gap will only grow.
This precise moment clings golden to me, ever so close to the surface of my heart.
at the forest’s edge
by the old baseball field
youth within reach
AP: 1st place 2024, 2nd place 2026, Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on September 1, 2025 for contest 2025 POETRY MARATHON MILE 13 sponsored by MARK TONEY - RANKED 1ST
and on November 15, 2025 for contest 2025 POETRY MARATHON QUALIFIERS' FINAL PLACEMENT sponsored by MARK TONEY - RANKED 14TH
Time came as the fourth dimension
It wiped away all allusion
Transition from special to general relativity
increased the universe's accessibility
Time travel once a hyperbole
is now possible through wormhole
The geometry of space-time
made gravity an age old mime
For high precision came the strontium clock
which made cesium an uninhabited block
Back at home lazing like a bum
Like the doctor told me to do
A broken record sings its stilted tune
Never getting onto something new
Wonder what it's going to be like
When I'm back on my feet again
On the cusp of something greater now
And I feel like I could use a friend
Holding onto life
The way it used to be
Make it so I gotta let go
So won't you be a friend of mine?
Now she's heading to another place
So far away I couldn't hope to go
Do I take her with me when I've got
Nowhere to call my own?
On the cusp of something greater now
Something bigger than I've ever known
Life's not turning out the way I planned
And I'm scared I'm gonna be alone
Don't let me let this go
I'm not ready to advance
Baby, cling to me though I cannot see
How we're gonna make it out alive
I'm doping up with TV and games
To escape the grim reality
I wish I could get up and run
Somewhere that's nice and clear to see
I wanna stare out at the setting sun
Sinking down beneath the waves of trees
On the cusp of something greater now
It's a lie that I may believe
It's almost time to go
And never look on back
Won't you take my hand, baby it'd be grand
If you'd always stay a friend of mine
We are on the Cusp of Fall
By Franklin Price
9/15/2016
We are on the cusp of fall
A chill is in the air
Leaf colors changing on the trees
Won't be long until they're bare
Hot days of Summer sweltering
Are coming to an end
The days are in transition
Nature once again to mend
Preparing for the Winter
Birds, again, are passing through
Our feeders fill their stomachs
I feel we're helping nature too
That's how the birds are coping
In Fall a southerly migration
Bears too big who have no wings
Prepare for hibernation
Get outside and look around
Fall's our chance to nature view
How it prepares itself for Winter
So in Spring it may renew.
Living on the cusp
Aching to be swallowed up –
Sans net, free fall.
Late November dawn. Sun’s rays slanting low
Filtering through a haze of naked trees
To stream, in weakened state, through my window
Caressing my face, as the darkness flees
The colour of the light, warming my walls,
Banishes thought of winter’s cold fingers
And, though, daily, the temperature falls,
So much of autumn’s beauty still lingers
Red leafed vines paint the near terraced skyline
Green woodpeckers laugh with unshared reason
Persimmon, holly, mistletoe and pine
Nature’s decorations for this season…
(And Christmas does not feel so far away)
Replete with hope; new birth, new life, new day ~
An overachieving college student
with lofty ambitions.
Her education is finally over,
a completion of a complicated puzzle.
A summa cum laude graduate
with two doctorate degrees under her belt.
The sky's the limit, yet she struggles
to decide which fork in the road to take
She stands with her arms akimbo
on the cusp of destiny.
As her eyes search the infinte stars
in the sky, she's wondering "Now what?"
Crossroads Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One (Winner: 3rd Place)
Date written and posted: 09/20/2019
Last night ached with the fear of fall.
I stubbed a toe against the dark.
And then came morning, sparking
ponderosa’s candles one after another;
igniting every living bird with the spirit
of song as we tip the seasons,
the sun tilting to touch each stunned tree
with the amber of its sap, so it stands
for the moment transparent.
At the cusp
Of a wave, a change, a fall
Into total darkness
Here we stand
Or rather slide
Headfirst into destruction
And as we fall
Into chaos and dissolution
We will at last be saved
And in that moment
What we took for granted
Will be lost
Within the total chaos
Law and order will be established
And with it the end of freedom
This is the new world order
That awaits when their machinations
Come to fruit
You, me, us
Reduced to so many parts
Without regard for who we really are
And in the change
As the light of dawn unfolds
Will we be revealed as spirt or flesh
And in the severing
Will we sink or fly
In terror or relief
This is the cusp
We find ourselves on
As the powers that be extend
And as they grow
And we still have a choice
What will it be
(10/25/24)
His sons used to take turns holding feasts in their homes…when a period of feasting had run its course, Job would send and have them purified. Early in the morning he would sacrifice a burnt offering for each of them, thinking, “Perhaps my children have sinned and cursed God in their hearts.”
Job 1:5 NIV
ON THE CUSP OF JOB
On the cusp of Job,
we find his sons
and daughters
feasting apart,
their hearts failing
their father and God.
On the cusp of Job’s
disasters, he purifies
and teaches.
He loves his kin
ever so much.
On the cusp of life’s
divide, Job’s priestly
responsibilities. Serious
as mannah delivered
every morning
to the hungry crowd.
On the cusp of pain
and sorrow, too great
for one man to take -
yet down the line
we find Jesus’ sacrifice.
On the cusp of this generation,
do we nudge our children
toward salvation or perdition?
Do we teach them to have
a lively faith?
7/6/2022
Final verse inspired by words from Ellicott’s Commentary
As par and parcel of being
alive wire impossible aye
to maintain totally tubularly
literarily celibate by and bye
with parochial restraint antiseptic dry
as dust poetic refrains
asper this healthy older guy
devoid of physical whim zee
unlike a inscrutable eunuch...so hi
there dear reader experienced
by this self contrived Zen
minded nonestablishmentarian outlier,
whose nonconformist yen
tries to steer clear of controversy,
heresy, prurient wen
unless one happened
to be eunuchized,
i.e. sexless as a cold oven,
but similar to generic men
this writerly hen
pecked husband dully
drumming, droning, and
dribbling as a lix spittle
aged chap housed within
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania bailiwick
though far less inclined
to whet ma lil atrophied dipstick
than some young buck
at the peak of his sexual prowess
every now and again viz,
aye feel a much slighter sensation
drubbing, crackling, and
buckling mine body electric
and attempt to record
re: font ten blue type
boldface and/or Italic
such infrequently occurring
fleeting Johnson magic
speculating why the
hoo ha regarding mystic
spell binding codas,
dogmas, and enigmas,
an integral component naturalistic
within the calculus of life,
when human species
(parenthetically), naturally, inherently,
and biologically opportunistic
akin to other organisms whose quixotic
antics allow NON GMO,
MSG, and gluten free,
and uncensored discussion
asper reproductive habits rhapsodic
with floral and/or faunal symphonic
emanations donning each their own
"NON FAKE" trumpeting
spectacular humbly modest
rubric, yet...universalistic
as being linkedin
within the cosmic whirled wide web.
As I stood, night half fell in the car park,
Stuck between twilight and sheer dark,
Suicidal on the ledge of near dark,
And I touched the fire-station wall.
In the quiet empty void of a slow chill,
Like the march of an ant up an ant hill,
Hanging on yet unable to keep still,
The shift of the seasons befall.
The fingers of winter retracted,
The bones and the talons contracted,
Whilst the light hit the screens and refracted
And then faded out and died.
I observed as she tottered and stumbled,
Heavy hearted she muttered and mumbled,
And her soul seemed so weary it crumbled
With the youthful remains of her pride.
On an old splintered bench she sat drinking,
Teenage thoughts in her head she was thinking,
When the vodka took hold she was sinking
To a dreary, anaesthetised place.
I looked on as she bowed her head sadly,
For some boy who had treated her badly,
When she’d loved him so truly and madly,
Her tears shone a silvery trace.
I wanted to tell her forget it,
If you don’t you will only regret it,
But a voice in my head wouldn’t let it
Philosophically roll off my tongue.
For the young they will heal and endeavour
To transcend asymmetrical weather,
And their hearts remain light as a feather
In the bright shining future to come.
Yet I felt for her juvenile sorrow
And my own multiplied for the morrow,
Nothing left I could beg, steal or borrow
To dispel what devoured of my mind.
As the cusp of springtime receded,
I sighed and then simply conceded,
That all I still wanted and needed
Was to turn back the hands of time
I waiver on the cusp of a dream
while through a keyhole I envision
a gathering of cherubic flowers
perfect faces as innocent as creation.
Pure, guileless faces of all colors and races
earnestly plead with tears in their eyes
"save us!” they softly whisper in unison
then fading to black, I can hear their sad cries.
With a gasp I awaken as the vision unveils
for these flowers are sweet, unborn babes
ruthlessly cut off from the cusp of life
from hands of death they must be saved.
Written on 1/26/2019
Morning thoughts of you roses full of dew
gardens full of summer love, sweet romance
here inside your arms we rebirth brand-new
like the morning sun when it starts to dance
Aborning sunlight cortef hours .... loved,
like the pied colors of a rainbow burst.
glancing tinted shades two petals englobed
to the loving hands of time, we come first.
Inside this garden youthful hours of truth
reborn like the seasons we live nonetheless
despite of the winter mulched in vermouth
we pair up nicely, ... to nature's headdress
Morning blushes her cheeks and we turn right,
like airborne angels, at the cusp of night.