The door swells in its frame each winter,
paint curling like old tongues —
still you press it open with a finger,
leaving soft dents in the wood.
Inside, the walls hum from hidden wires;
plaster sighs under your barefoot weight.
Every step — a loosened nail,
a whisper of dust sliding down beams.
The windows breathe in drafts,
their single panes shivering;
no storm need rage —
your shadow is enough to rattle them.
In the hallway, wallpaper blisters;
your sleeve grazes it,
and flakes of me snow to the floor.
The ceiling, swollen with damp,
droops lower each night you sleep here —
timbers ache above your breathing.
Downstairs, the kitchen faucet drips
like a clock without courage;
your laugh sends the pipes ringing,
and the cupboards cough up ghosts.
Upstairs, in the attic, silence nests —
you climb no ladder,
yet I feel your warmth seep into rafters
where rot waits, patient.
When you close the door behind you,
its frame leans inward, yearning.
The house is always colder after.
M-ap
I-nstructs
C-limbers
H-ow
E-ach
L-ine
L-eads
E-levations,
R-evealing
A-ltitudes
M-apped
O-ut
S-trategically
©bfa061525
Monocrostic (Birthday of Michelle C. Ramos)
Blue Print
Spiritual beginnings
Be patient, don’t worry
Walk the narrow road
With very few words
Live a healthy life
Opportunity to rise
Blueprint to be true
Write down notes
Life with balance
Follow the cross
Don’t follow the world
Don’t cast out stones
You have a unique gift
This is your blueprint
Take it easy
Don’t have to always be in a hurry
Don’t compare to others
Don’t worry about tomorrow
Be a star in the sky
Stand up and fly
J-ustice
O-btained
A-lways
N-ullifies
C-ounter
O-nslaught,
N-ever
C-ompromising
E-very
P-olicy's
C-omplete
I-nstructions
O-n
N-onfeasance
©bfa052425
Monocrostic (Birthday of Joan R. Concepcion)
They handed me a body like a floorplan—
no doors, only expectations.
I built escape hatches out of music,
poured windows from ink.
Now I live in my edits,
rewriting the roof.
You are that feral fox
that’s wild and wary
not easily won over
needing to be approached with caution
ever so gently to be coaxed to trust
Opening up in bits and bites
get to know me slowly
get used to me in increments
i’m an acquired taste
a rose blooming in its own time
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Created to be different to bring about a generational change
Trauma invoked to keep most from creative conscious range
Learning being different can bring in a great feeling
It's imperative for the need to work on inner healing
That inner child help develop creative healthy happy adults
Taking chances to heal, help the experience for those results
Don't stay in the cycle of programmed victimization mode of pain
Get help to find tools and resources to turn your pain into a gain
Take accountability for your role you played while blaming/pointing a finger
Easy to blame another, sometimes they had no part of the sadness or anger
The masks worn and swopped due to your unhealed trauma
Hides a grudge that blames friends, lovers, daddy and momma
Forgive them, they experienced and lived through trauma too
Reflected their own stories, hiding with pain too shame to tell you
Each generation has suffered through the abuse and trauma program
Become your generations' survivor with the future blueprint or diagram.
Harmonious tales of esoteric beliefs,
Uplift the celestial collective;
Magic dust is scattered akin to autumn leafs,
And mystical pursuits reshape the narrative.
Nebulous designs slowly step into limpidity,
Ianthine rays light our winding journey;
Telestic quests meld with earthly deeds,
Ylem is the source, veiled by human weeds.
They interviewed the artist
inside of her large blueprint mansion.
At one point she criticized America
for being overtly materialistic.
Her painting studio alone, was large enough to
house half a dozen desperados...
but instead, it harbored dozens of giant unsold paintings.
I was amazed by how bright a person could be
but at the same time completely blind to their own
devastating hypocrisy.
He is the man of my life and l can bank on it,
A rock l can count on with forever being secure,
He is what God had in mind when he said, “Let there be men”,
Many don their smiles upon his presence,
But well, what can l say, “He is mine”,
So flawed but perfect,
At least l now know how it feels to be loved without trying,
His chocolate skin and smile makes me forget about my own existence,
Not just his looks but what is within,
But well l guess l am not much into his appearance,
The ruler of my mind despite of his absence,
The very reason l wake up next to wet dreams on my pillow case,
Cause l cant seem to close my eyes without picturing his face,
I cling on the little crumbs he leaves in the plate,
Because l have no shame,
He's the very reason I marvel at the hands I possess,
The same ones that seek his pockets, no less,
A power to captivate, to make his heart race,
An ounce of joy that that fills me upon seeing his name popping on my screen,
I guess he is what God has been preparing for me when l prayed for Mr. Right.
The blueprint marked the plan of her life.
Just like an architect she was, she constructed it perfectly
Drawing it to the very detail she wanted it to be.
Ink dripping, paper raffling, on to work she was.
As others slept, she kept burning the midnight oil in the attic where the sound was below ten decibels.
The blueprint contained segments and blocks. Each segment was partitioned by a pathway, demystifying a phase of life she had.
Armed with a compass she placed it on top perhaps a clear signal the direction she wanted her life to take.
Shapes were drawn, lines crossed and figures inserted between columns and rows.
To her advantage, she wasn’t in the 70s for she would have to wait for the canvas to dry up.
A peculiar picture struck my mind upon seeing her work, "a bridge “was it a message or a phrase “we’ll cross the bridge when we get there?
blueprint
To have the innocence
again, not abused
nor denied
to see with the
eyes of a child
the beauty
that could be
in it all -
what we lost,
through bitterness
the curse of
me over you
and warring life
throwing its poetic
grenades, watching
feathers fly
the absurd piranhas
and cockerels fighting
fed love,
the monsters
put to bed to sleep,
to wake
to live
the beautiful dream
the sting
of wonderment
in the child’s heart
untouched
open, sweet
beatific smiles
innocence untried
retrieved blueprint
could be ours again
in another world
in another time
bathed in sun,
Blue Sky
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"The Walk"
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_walk_1376951
I learnt to speak only to grow not to talk with words i understand
If i must speak allow me to settle in with this anxiety first
My chest keeps beating as if my ancestors were not outspoken enough
Forgive me mother
I never grew to be the eye you sow
Every time i try to convince my retina that i am a picture worth seeing the tears blocks down its views
I am a blurred version of truth
I heard the eyes has a mind on its own
Maybe my tongue has too
For the words i intended to speak never did decide to flow
I am a person i never was
The words keeps reminding me of that
Steadily stuck between the thoughts that i am not better than this
I believe my mistakes left a red mark on my face
Showing the world that i was a blueprint never to be visited again
Learning to cry only to find out that the tears are just a waste of energy
Anxiety was the talking drum ringing a bell in my head
At some point it left me stranded in this nightmare i created
ALLS AIDS IS,IS A BACTERIAL CANABAL VIRUS.WHERE THE RED BLOOD CELLS EAT THE WHITE BLOOD CELLS AND TURN THEM INTO RED BLOOD CELLS.GARLIC PURIFIES THE BLOOD.MAG SYTRATE FLUSHES OUT THE IMUNE SYSTEM AND OILS AND INCENSE KILLS BACTERIA,
DIRECTIONS
HOOK A IV UP TO HIM OR HERS CHOICE OF HAND HOOK GARLIC WATER UP TO THE IV AS PRESCRIBED.GIVE MAG SYTRATE AS PRESCRIBED ALSO.WHEN DONE FLUSHING OUT THE IMUNE SYSTEM VEINS ECT GIVE A LUKE WARM BATH WITH OILS AND INCENSE THERE ARE 9 HOLES THAT GOES DIRECTLY INTO THE IMUNE SYSTEM FLUSH THEM OUT THOROUGHLY. GIVE ONION MARINATED BEET SALAD And garlic bread 1st three meals
by Adam m shave
I stand alone and take in my surroundings..
The Earth is quiet.. the Earth is still.
Only I exist in this very moment..
In all my complexity and freewill.
This is my personal blueprint..
Uniquely created like DNA.
It exquisitley defines my identity..
From my first breath to my last day.
I'm characterised by my birth name..
The location, date and time.
It is my future path.. and my history..
Marked where the planets and stars align.
By the constellation my stars occupy..
I am the elements of water and fire.
My gift is the Cusp of Oscillation..
Ruled by the Sun and the Moons desire.
It defines my weaknesses and strengths..
My compatible soulmates and life path.
Lucky numbers and self expressions..
This is my blueprint, my Birthchart.
27th February 2020
GIF# 2
1st Place
Contest: GIF With Your Best Anything
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
Judged 14/03/2020
Related Poems