Unified Call- We speak their names with
Reverence, and the ancestors rise in
The unseen to witness.
The world reads them before it knows them,
But the obscurity answers; their capital is
Older than any bias.
They learn caution too early, discretion too
Young, yet the unseen strolls with them in
Every stride.
Harm pursues them without petition
But protection gathers like a second horizon,
Shifting the air, not today, not this one.
Their names hold history, optimism, and the
Right to grow old, and the ancestors say each
Name is an ancestry of brilliance.
When the world looks away, injustice transforms
Into bold, but the shadows rise; we do not look
Away.
Truth returns to them like a safeguard,
Justice throbs even when unheard, and the
Unseen closes the circle:
Their lives mattered before the world began, and they matter now, fully incessantly.
Contest: Summer Bawdy/Humourous Limerick
Sponsor: Tania Kitchen
Date : July 5th 2026
She was lost in a mystical trance
While her tongue did an exotic dance.
Her whippy ice cream
Was her living dream.
None of the drooling guys stood a chance!
"What I have Learned about Broken Promises is Priceless." By Poet
As a young child,
friends would make a promise.
They would break their word,
followed by hurt.
The dating world was famous for this trick,
as boys loved to break their promise.
Did it make them feel powerful?
Maybe!
My dad was a very wise person,
he never made many promises.
Guess he knew the pain hiding behind words,
words that were unkept are friends with lies.
He would say,
we will see or maybe.
I knew if he had made me a promise,
it was guaranteed to be done.
So glad this lesson was learned as a child,
thanks dad.
Glamma Grinch will be here soon!
Original Grinch was over the moon
Not so much his sister Sue
She never likes me, she always likes you
Glamma Grinch came in wearing fur
She turned to Original Grinch and began to purr
Sister Sue tried to get her attention by squeaking.
“Be quiet,” said Glamma.”My boy is speaking.”
"Sometimes there are No words just feelings that talk very loud." By Poet
I was a young child,
about four years old.
My doggie blackie was killed,
dad's car ran him over.
I pondered why,
then God sent me Wheatie.
In school,
I pondered why kids are so mean?
Maybe one day they will grow out of it.
In my teens the boys were selfish,
I pondered then dated graduates.
I have spent many hours pondering about things,
then the answer comes as clear as day.
When my boys were ten or so
on a fishing trip we did go
In my rough old ute through a city street
Roadworthy standards it probably did not meet
Suddenly behind us a flashing blue light
Bloody cops they always cause a fright
I pull over my two boys are on the floor
these cops approach the drivers door
Thoughts are forming how can I divert their attention
pretend I,m lost they pullout their street map direction
Once again we're on our way
My diversion's worked no traffic fines today
Next day before the sun has risen
catch some fish that is what we envision
Finally rays of sunlight filters through
The creek has dried up, no water is in view
It's rare I see my fifty year old boys today, I wish
Once again together we could go and fish
Footnote: I go back forty years . I wonder do they still make street directories
Vengeance worms in its way
after art of submission falls prey
Bass slap riff and chords ring funky,
beats that warm the brass monkey
new “cool” expression:
bombing down the hills
on skateboards.
Apparently,
it’s a boy thing
and something
that to me
just sounds scary
and dangerous.
I’m on a slow
sleigh ride into
middle age and
hot, sweaty
menopause.
Damn
"Beauty Abounds"
I’m amazed when beauty abounds
In hearts and souls,
In written scrolls.
I get excited when I see a
A smiling face,
A lady in fancy lace.
I’m happy when I find
Little boys at play and
Little girls who make them pay.
I smile when the aged
Hold hands on evening strolls,
Sit in rocking chairs with no place to go.
I’m amazed at the beauty found,
In fields of clover, and patties of rice;
Sunflowers drenched in morning dew.
I’m mystified by blue skies,
And lightning strikes,
Thunderheads and twister tails.
I’m puzzled by war
And men of power
Who know not flowers.
I’m tired of hate,
Placed on our plates,
With no regrets.
I am perplexed.
I long for joy,
In all we do,
In all we see,
In all we be.
We are much better
When beauty abounds
And peace surrounds.
In the halls of Kimberley, so vast,
Where dreams of greatness were built to last,
Boys walk the paths of struggle and fight,
Each step a battle, each day a plight.
The echoes of whispers, the stares that sting,
Lessons in silence, the pain they bring,
Where pride is tested, and spirits fall,
Fighting for respect, one and all.
The teachers’ words, sharp as a sword,
Lessons of life, not just the board.
The pressure mounts, the days grow long,
In this kingdom where the weak don’t belong.
But through the torment, the endless test,
Some rise above, giving their best.
For Kimberley Boys, though harsh and cold,
Shapes the brave, the strong, the bold.
In this place, not all will survive,
But those who do, will truly thrive.
For the cruelest paths bring strength untold,
And the warriors leave, with hearts of gold.
Trying to love a boy
is like trying to love the sea
Sounds so nice in theory
But I just cannot swim
I get convinced that I’m ready
every time I’m at the beach
But as soon as I see a wave
I get scared of going in
The pond is thick with summer sleep,
Where secrets hide and water’s deep.
Three shadows on the muddy bank,
Their dangled legs and toy rock tank.
They do not speak, they do not stir,
Just watchers of the speechless burr
Of bobbers dancing, red and white,
In golden shades of fading light.
A jar of worms, a broken rod,
Boys barefoot peace, their quiet god.
The air is heavy, humming, still,
As time suspends beneath the hill.
They do not hunt for a big prize,
But stare with narrow, amber eyes,
Just waiting for the line to jerk,
To catch the magic, not the work.
When fireflies blink their green-lit code,
They walk the dusty country road.
Empty pails, but their spirits light,
Having to catch the edge of night.
The water settles, black as ink,
On the edge of dreams, on the brink.
What does it mean to you?
When your own sasafr *ss is on the line,
the hope you had diminishes.
A Proud Boy is in your face
& has the final authority
A bad son shall end the likes of you.
With immunity he sheds blood
Crimson tidal waves of civil upheavals — never forget,
today's puff, may be your last cigarette.
An alien to you, to me you were sanctuary,
a perishing human am I, violently
I belonged, just like anyone.
our boys have the run of the house
an enormous dog run
their own screened in porch
and a play yard fit for ponies
appropriate since they are pony-sized-dogs
they are also air-conditioned-spoiled
the only way to get them to the yard is to go myself
I am here now, sitting in the sun
the boys are hiding under lawn furniture
seeking shade, wishing for air conditioning
What if I write you an 8 page sonnet
And when I see you
We talk about the weather
The burdens of bureaucracy, and the colors of fall
You love the orange and I love that the piles of leaves are pillows of the living dead that I plow into
And puddles are piles of recycled tears that I cry into
But I’ll say I love orange
Because neither boys nor teachers like running sentences
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