Every day it just gets more and more embarrassing, smh. The sad part about it is, the grass was gray (dead and withered) the first time, yet somehow people still believed gray grass was gonna somehow turn green the second time around. Truth be told, it is far worst. We are in Total Disarray! Like for real, how many signs of stupidity can you ignore? Smh. We really are the Weakest Link and the Dumbest Link. Barnum & Bailey at its finest.
With that being said, keep your seat belt buckled, cause every day we going for a ride.
And every day is like a malfunctioned Waymo car, running wild and loose with no order, no structure and no sense of direction.
All I can say is wheww chile! When this circus show comes to an end, there’s going to be sooo much to do and undo… like literally, SO MUCH!
I thought my driving wasn’t that bad~
a wobble here, a creative turn there,
nothing worth filing a complaint over.
But then my GPS cleared its throat,
sounded genuinely concerned,
and announced in a trembling voice:
In 400 feet, do a slight right…
stop…
and let me out!
I swear it buckled its digital seatbelt,
recalculated its life choices,
and whispered something about hazard pay.
Now every time I start the car,
it sighs like a weary parent
and asks if I’ve considered walking instead.
There are pearly white flowers
that delicately sway
mimicking tiny dancing butterflies
within the lacy shrubs sector
breeze blown away
blooms of heaven-sent nectar
an attraction, an invitation
A meadow brown butterfly swarms to
its empowering rich white petals
resting, buckled, uncoiled tongue, sucking
scaled wings clasped, it settles
stupefied by scents, it feeds
bewildered by sugary sucrose
ideal prey for a spider’s capture
in its ampullate silk orb web
sticky droplets woven to ensnare
Asclepias incarnata, magnets for pollinators
Ice-ballet swamp milkweeds
amongst igneous rocks banding from foliation
rocks formed from cooled magma
gravy tones, an obsidian correlation
where white flowers string
In a momentums gain,
a brown butterfly takes wing
spine not straight
had to wait
for fertiliser from miser
was it that expansionism
took lubricating oil
from loamy soil ?
arms to be palms
legs walking eggs
buckled, I shovel
___________________
Allpoetry Contest Honorable Winner
April 26
Prompt : " In the month of harvest.. I still feel half grown.."
I know it looks all clear,
But can we wait till the man is green?
I want to know that when you go,
You won’t be leaving me.
You were only across the road,
But now you’re going down the street,
Further and further and further.
I feel like I might as well go back home.
I feel like I might as well go home
So I can stand at the crossing till the man is green
And visit the field around the block
Where I’ve always been.
Can you wait till I’m buckled in
Before you start to drive?
In fact, can you wait till I’ve found the seatbelt
Before you turn the engine on?
Can
The town of Plymouth has a rock.
Each buckled shoe must have its sock.
Each open door must first be shut,
and this bolt needs no other nut.
Just as all these things are true,
This ardent "me" must have a "you".
Four voices whispered through paper-thin walls,
A thousand dreams inside me called.
I didn’t know what songs could free,
But something sang inside of me.
The drumbeat nudged my face to try,
To imitate, joke and make them cry.
It grounded stories, sharp and smart,
And settled deep within my heart.
The bass hummed low, it moved my feet,
A steady pulse beneath the beat.
It pulled ideas into line,
And taught me patience, over time.
The lead guitar blazed a fiery call:
“Erase the line called usual.”
I pulled the strings and buckled up,
And took the leap toward stand-up.
The vocals rose, my heartbeat stopped,
My thoughts froze still and worries dropped.
They turned my feelings all around,
And finished songs I now sing loud.
I find myself
So marveled
At the layout of it all,
By that I mean,
Existence,
That the personified
Ambition
Sits next to me, buckled.
But definitely not driving.
Has ideas, that said.
After mind hug,
I was waiting in the dark —
warm as the kiss
you never gave me.
Time didn’t stop,
but I did —
right where you left me.
Even angels were bored.
We ran out of time.
I still whisper your name
like a secret line.
Don’t walk away —
I’m already faded into you.
All the versions of us
burning out in other galaxies.
I loved you louder in silence
than I ever could in the light.
Reflection ripples in space.
Black holes ignite.
Was it real,
or just the wrong place,
wrong life?
You were the glitch
I believed in
more than the truth.
The world buckled
under the weight of knowing.
I held you quiet —
but it kept growing.
Don’t walk away —
I’m already faded into you.
All the versions of us
burning out in other galaxies.
I loved you louder in silence
than I ever could in the light.
And if I ever said it,
it would lose its shape.
We were only perfect
when it was too late.
But I took your ashes
and made them into clay —
rebuilt myself
with trembling hands.
I thought I was small,
but I was just beginning to grow.
Unfurled leaves,
outstretched —
like hands waving
goodbye.
On a warm summer evening
we are pinned together on the octopus ride,
twirling with excited pleasure.
Even the breeze we swirl through
cannot cool us down,
for the passion of new love
consumes us.
We browse along the Midway,
and he buys for me spun sugar on a stick.
Later we sit buckled in on the seat
of a huge lit-up ferris wheel.
It circles round and round as we swing our legs
while surveying the bustling gleeful folk below.
I shiver with a fever
of anticipation.
At the pinnacle of our last go-around
on this gigantic wheel,
the ride hovers there in the cooling night air.
The stars above us seem to be dancing with delight.
He leans over and his lips meet mine.
I taste the sweetness of cotton candy
and melt into our first kiss,
never wanting again to come back down
to earth.
I often struggle to make peace
with nagging relapses that,
like endless tides, come
then I need to chase away.
Intrusive rekindlings of loss,
of wanting to resurrect the past,
each time needing to go through the motions
of convincing myself it's pointless.
Confined, trapped, buckled in,
I ride this live rollercoaster
that leaves me feeling disillusioned,
frustration having a bitter rancid taste.
AP: 3rd place 2026, Honorable Mention 2025
I don't think about Tr*** often
I don't like to
My guess is a third of you
are at this time
ticked
triggered
troubled
torn
turned off
or
tickled
Avery few feel that
tripled in spades
And the rest have buckled up
in a mingled mess of
confusion
curiosity
or careless concern
Take your pick
Only the most humble
learn their lessons anyway,
and earn a table
at the hearts of the yearning
We're all hurting
If only we could learn to listen
I won't give up, but I'm losing everyday.
We built these gallows before we knew what they were for.
A smile of joy arrives in me
You know where to find me, distance me or dont.
Reasons I can't be loved, reasons I do.
No one knows the trouble I've become.
And even a warrior needs somewhere to rest.
Dug in deep, buckled down, this is true.
Oh it's a sick thing, it's deadly. It's leading me to my grave.
Bury me. Bury me.
Feeling so good should never be so wrong.
I won't regret, i was trying to disappear.
Hello there
The shadow in the background of the morgue.
A fallen angel, is what you are.
Where are you?
Please forgive me if I seem forward.
Know that I'll always love you.
If i die tonight, would you be there by my side?
Feeling like I'll never make it to the other side.
Everywhere I go, you go, and you go, I go.
The hurricane was weeks ago,
Yet now I get to see
The damage, or what’s left of it,
That was described to me.
We walked the route we always take
When down here for a visit,
Past lovely homes with water views,
Expansive and exquisite.
The local park’s in ruins
And some trees and plants have died,
But the lovely pier we strolled on
Shows destruction magnified.
Staring at its buckled surface,
Twisted into quite a mess,
Tells me when it will be walkable
Is anybody’s guess.
Eager enchanted chair wore a ghost cover of white
Stay right there! Ordered the witch named Might.
The chair sat in its place, and the goblin chuckled.
Might swirled her wand, and the goblin buckled.
Black cat laughed, and was turned into a frog.
With one flick of the wand, he landed upside down on a log.
This delighted the chair that used to be a ghost.
But he dared not react, for he was scared of his host.
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