A Humorous limerick takes the stage,
reading a limerick at any age.
Your fun words made me blush,
now I have a huge crush.
Take a bow for your words and go backstage.
there is tenderness
in each dab of the napkin
slowly arriving upon her lips
removing the aftermath
of the meal he had prepared
remembering now, Cupid's bow
that drew him in countless times
memories he holds dearer each day
as those azure eyes now vacant
disappear into the cloudless existence
he now must care for
gone are those moments
when she could recall a moment
they long ago shared
now he holds an abyss
a deepening that will eventually
claim all the life they shared
there is tenderness
in each dab of the napkin
slowly arriving upon her lips
there is no mourning in his smile
knowing in the band of gold upon his finger
this is the nascent of their forever
and at this point in their eternity
simply grateful for the moment
to gaze upon her Cupid's bow
and steal another kiss
Oregon 2/2025
now I take my final bow
I Place the last period of this chapter
I will show my deck for the last game today
Now thank you dear audience member
For watching this circus go
The show may be over today
And the clowns all piled in their car
I will Nevertheless give my showman smile
As I take my final bow
Time may heal wounds,
but you heal life.
No medicine, no exercise—
just your words, your love.
Like a needle leading thread
through the skin,
your love pains me,
yet defines my life.
My eyes may bleed,
my mouth run dry,
but your love and touch
satisfy my heart,
filling my world with dreams.
Every moment of tears, pain, and sacrifice
brings my broken pieces together.
After you bow to say sorry—
eyes on me, arms around my waist—
I cannot avoid the pain of having you,
because it comes with living hope.
My body is ready, skin to heart,
for your heartbreaks.
I need them for my soul
to mend, to heal,
to stitch your heart to mine.
Mind aflame, bow in bruised rivers,
shattered glass starts to rise,
watching frozen time as shivers,
swimming in empty skies.
Silky thoughts are turning,
ancient bridges burning,
awareness is yearning.
Drifts upward now,
Mind aflame bow.
She will not bow or break, stand in the shadow of your mistakes
But show strength, and resilience, that she still has what it takes
She has a mission and as a destiny without you it will be fulfilled
As your foolhardiness thwarted her true dreams will still be filled
Colours shown for their true intended, intentions, are suspended
Falsehoods exposed of which past words that beguile pretended
As she fears not the ground that upon she has to toil, or to travel
Rejects all the traps that are primed, that she as needs to unravel
She has a home in which to defend, so its land, as all of its wealth
Left un-protected to guard, where she has to use all of her stealth
To bypass the greedy eyes, and hands of others intentions to gain
The last of her royal designated blood line, and hers only to retain
Sword in hand she will not bow, or break to this right as to defend
This legacy given to her only as to which on her it now all depends
Because of the holiday the Lourve was closed.
Mary was impressed with the French pastry
that tasted just as good as it looked.
Horrible coffee, good chocolate & delicious thick soups.
Beautiful clothes with prohibitive prices.
We boarded the Albert Express for Switzerland
with a bottle of wine and a big bag of pastries.
Take me back to Paris, I can’t stand the fresh air and healthy people of Switzerland
Arrived in Lucerne with time to enjoy the fountains in all the squares —
they were boarded up a couple days later.
Delicious cheese fondue, murals painted on the old houses,
a quaint town for William Tell, with his bow and barefooted boy.
A Train from The Alps to Venice.
Train to Florence, Hotel Majestic,
whole city is an art Gallery.
Michelangelo square, mosaic jewelry, leather goods.
Flores Hotel in Rome, Vatican, Parthenon.
St. Paul without the walls, St. Peters in chains,
Nightclub tour of the city, Old Appian way,
Capuchin Church with all the bones...
Written: September 24, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand
***********
She walks in shadow, born of flame,
Her breath the wind, her steps untame.
Night bows to her with silver grace,
Stars blink in awe at her face.
She is the storm that gods acclaim.
Even broken moments bow before your endless shine.
bow wowsing the paper on a winter day
the puppy barked because he had a lot to say
his wife tried to simmer him down with a hey hey hey
He told her to stay out, to stay away
He had a shy bladder and could not pee or poop
If anyone was near, so never in any kind of group
His wife knew he was reading the paper, this doggy Jim
Because he always barked when things distressed him
The last curtain came down
one evening at nine
its drapery falling
to signal ‘it’s time’
The theater dark
all stagehands have gone
alone in her presence
my final swan song
The exit door opens
a new crowd appears
applauding me onward
past laughter and tears
With one final bow
but never so sure
eternity clapping
— forever’s encore
(The Bryn Mawr Theater: August, 2025)
Do insects kneel at the mire of a stronger foe?
Do pages turn themselves in fear of the readers will?
Do the stars flicker in panic from the watcher?
Does time relieve itself at thought of the forgotten?
Why then should a man created with the same flesh, blood & strength of the savior bow to such adversary when the final breath of his majesty called forth the salvation of entirety.
A man should only bow his head at the presence of his creator because it would bring shame to stand against what he was created to stand beside.
There was a young man bought a pangolin
but thought it was a mandolin
to be played like a violin
he tipped its scales 'til they creaked
tweaked its tail so it squeaked
and named the bow Anne Bowleyn
You entered my silence like a violin bow dragged with blood through shattered stained glass
I sewed your laughter under my eyelids and lungs, and the light transformed into myriads of fragrant wounds
I coughed wild moon petals for weeks, my mouth full of the echo of your ever-burning footsteps
There is no cure for you, you are the high fever that shapes bones into transparent crystal bells
You are the imperial chandelier fallen right in the middle of the sonata, when the air still trembles with flame and glass
And I lean daily among the shards, gathering your syllables like phosphorescent fish above my heart
I taste them with fear, checking if they still smell of sound, if they still shake the rooftops of my orbit
Every morning I bandage my lungs with sheet music, hoping that silence will flow from me
But the silence breaks anew and your echo returns like a kite torn by a storm
So I clutch your broken glass in my fists, to make it sound like the violin again
Easter egg hunt for little ones
In green grass under yellow sun
Laughs that grab hearts red sonnet
Bow ties brown eyes and pink bonnet
So cute toddler who picks up a rock
Doesn’t want the emerald egg on top
Another girl seems to fuchsia fear
Easter Bunny with floppy brown ears
Every one excited taking peach photos
Easter memories as valuable as gold
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