Smiled down upon are, here.
The one sunny place.
Meanwhile round about, everywhere
All what blurs for grief.
If so willed meant for whom
If not, friend, ourselves!
Self congratulations deplore.
Yet clap them! If brief.
Torment tempests perish psyche
Anguished anger blazes the maligned mind
Seethes sad life to cinder cake
Agony ashes soar to fly far
Bleakness blurs dark despair
Enticed essence seeks solace in
Halcyon hope of rare rapture
I’ll never forget those jumpers,
dark jet fuel leaking from the sky.
Distraught felt with an endless cry,
each previous moment in blurs.
Now it has been twenty five years,
it’s crazy how time has flown by.
I’ll never forget those jumpers,
dark jet fuel leaking from the sky.
Sent from our sisters and brothers,
forced to grasp their final reply.
I can still see the Twin Towers
Stark sound echoed by the others,
I’ll never forget those jumpers.
Some days the weight isn't heavy or loud,
just a fog that settles behind the eyes,
a persistent, low-hanging winter cloud
that blurs the shape of the morning skies.
We ask ourselves why we are tired or slow,
as if healing moves in a straight, clear line,
forgetting the seed buried under the snow
is working in secret before its design.
It takes courage to rest when the world demands speed,
to sit with the storm till the thunder subsides,
to listen with patience to what the heart needs,
instead of the pressure that daily decides.
You do not need to be cured by tonight,
nor prove that you’re whole to be worthy of space;
just stay in the room, let yourself see the light,
and meet your own spirit with unconditional grace.
Written 24th August, 2026 for Epiphany Poetry Contest sponsored by Constance La France
The ironbark stands rigid in the heat,
shedding strips of gray to dry red earth.
For hours, the cicada hum is absolute,
a wall of sound that blurs the horizon,
then, the hot wind drops.
Smoke from a distant ridge dissipates,
and the canopy splinters the harsh sun
into a thousand sudden, golden prisms.
In that quiet fracture of the afternoon,
the answer settles over the sandstone.
It is not a shout, but the shedding of weight.
It is the ghost gum stepping out of its old skin,
revealing the pale, unblemished wood beneath,
breathing in the newly altered light.
I had a surge to walk in the rainstorm
It made me so happy and very warm
Yet so cold with its drops of rainfall
It gets so cold after a while after a fall
I get up and try my best to be nice
God has a reason for us to pay a price
Whether we do right or wrong…
I’ll be writing this book of a song…
I had a surge to walk in the rainstorm
It made me so happy and very warm
Yet so cold with its drops of rainfall
It gets so cold after a while after a fall
I had a surge of energy honestly
That sets me apart from others
Who cares what others think clearly?
My future blurs and my mind truly spurs
I had a surge to walk in the rainstorm
It made me so happy and very warm
Yet so cold with its drops of rainfall
It gets so cold after a while after a fall
I must endure the pain
It shatters me away
I must drift away from the dust,
Blowing around us today…
The rainstorm in my mind is brewing
Undo the hatred you put me through
I won’t cry, I won’t die, I won’t deny you as you take wing
This silence i sit in
Sustains like a hanging fog
Fog that blurs the whole day
Until you forget it
My ears pick it up
Volume increases
This silence is shouting
Ears pass on the pain
To the bones
So loud this silence
Its lied and crept up unseen
It shouts and cries
With a voice like stone
Decaying
You look at me with confusion
You can't hear this silence
You are not haunted
Like me
And so I endure it alone
Hearing the cruel words
I shout to drown it out
But I can't shout forever
This silence it grins
It knows it has got me
For Nette Onclaud's Eight By Eight Poetry Contest
Written: Aug. 2, 2026
Folded in fog of muted white
a drifting veil within our sight.
The willow breathes a muffled myth
to dust the dusk with autumn pith.
It blurs the chalky bone of mounds
and hems the sky in shadowed shrouds.
It steals the wholly shape of sounds,
then leaves the soul in dew-tranced shrills.
words are blurs
written through tears
a wreckage of my thoughts
that stumble across paper
my pen cursed
by emotional mental state
my mind a prisoner
ONE
God made me and God made you hues of every kind
Your blood is as red as mine, and the love of God within us
Blurs the color line.
Grace is clear, salvation free there should only be love between you
And me.
We have only one Father who loves us one and all he has no respect of person
So why do you make that call.
Adjust your attitude, with loving patient deeds, be kind, caring, with understanding,
your words should not hurt, and break they should only fill a need.
Holy Spirit fill our hearts, so our words do not offend, for we are all your children and each other’s friend.
Deanna Malone
Turquoise seduction
silken eyes so deep.
Sky blue potential,
that taste so loyal
blurs delicate lines.
Falling so hard
instantly safe
it won’t be you
playing the fool.
Take a look,
stay alert.
Deception
calmly
attracts
prey.
The sun is out,
The day is about to unfold,
Yet somewhere deep in my bones,
I am freezing.
My eyes drift to my wrist
Only to find I’ve run out of time.
The edges of the world go soft,
My vision blurs,
And the ground rushes up to meet me.
They say the fall is part of the journey.
They say the echoes are just lessons to embrace.
But as I lie here in the dirt,
I want to know
How?
Is this poetry or medicine...the border blurs
A whispered line can calm what fear obscures
A verse becomes a tincture for the mind
Restoring quiet places stress unbinds
Each metaphor a balm for hidden ache
Each rhythm steadying what strain might break
Ink turns to breath where heavy thoughts reside
A gentle pulse that lifts the weighted tide
So call it art or healing…both are true
The poem repairs what life has torn in you
Behind the garden wall I lie
And there’s a brick wall too
Another wall includes the sky
With all the tints of blue
When comes the night, walls disappear
I see the glimpse of home
And there we are, my darling dear
Until the light of dawn
Blurs our faces, and again
The walls return, as if
They never disappeared then
When through the walls we lived.
He speaks to all who ask him
Your will, he does obey
Your laughter and your judgement
He endures it every day
But now it's night. It's Silent
The pier is empty, cold
The sound of waves on metal
And creaking wood so old
I gaze into his prison glass
His eyes they mesmerize
I cannot walk away from him
I feel I'm recognised
His eyes sink into my soul
He seems to know me well
His tired paint and faded robes
Have secrets yet to tell
I feel for his loneliness
He's enslaved forevermore
But something in him smiles
A glimpse of ancient lore
I stay for what seems hours
He blurs and seems to move
Something stirs behind the glass
Whispers I cannot prove
A click of gears and switches
I step back from his stare
A little bit of paper
that paper was not there
I run away towards the lights
I'm cold and numb can't breathe
I look at that small paper
and it is...just empty.
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