Misshapen Characters
They stood overlooking us like monuments
Carved wrong, titles raised, Integrity cropped
Down to a particle.
Their shoulders were uneven- One Organized
With authority, The other clamorous where
Empathy be required to have lived. They
Walked through corridors that extended
To fit their swollen names, each plaque
Polished more glaring then the truth on
The other side of it. Their decisions fell
From great heights, heavy as stone,
Landing hardest on the ones who never
Learned to cite loud enough to be heard
Spiraling.
They measured us with rulers arched by
Bias, weighed us on measure titled by
Convenience, and called the imbalance
System methodology. Their power grew
Disproportionate, A skyscraper built on
Crooked joists. Inclination further each
Year toward self-interest away from the
People holding up the cornerstone with
Tired hands.
Yet even Misshapen Characters cast dimness
And our began to rise, expansion long across
The ground, evoking them that height is not
The same as honor, and soaring is not the
Same as standing tall.
The silent letters were not happy.
They wanted someone to notice what they did.
The k from knife walked in first,
but his arrival slipped past their eyes.
The w from write brought a pen.
The g from gnome brought tea.
The b from doubt raised his hand and asked - “Does anybody notice me?”
They shared their little troubles,
and joked about being ignored.
They lived inside familiar words,
but stayed quiet all along.
Then an oxymoron walked in
with a strange expression of his own.
“I’m an honest liar,” he said,
“I’ve been this way awhile.”
“I’m a pretty ugly genius
they told me so.
I’m seriously funny,
with my own confusing style.”
The letters shared a silent joke.
The visitor laughed along.
It was a gathering with no noise at all,
where the quiet letters finally got noticed.
Silent Letters and Oxymorons
Contest Judged: 9/2/2026 12:00:00 AM
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
(1st Place)
Night Channels
It was a Friday on The Hill
a place where I could forget
classes and even classmates.
darkness possessed
I drank and played table games
Talked with a mechanic
And a lady friend. I dated her once.
music played
Bells of pinball machines rang
and conversations filled the room
to the touch of whiskey and gin.
new life found
A man in a Civil War uniform
danced in the middle of the street
while others walked bar-to-bar.
in conversation
A second self I embraced
my texts closed for a moment
while I learned the art of living.
celebration
When I sat in my car
the radio played a call-in show
of a rock station in Chicago.
city lights like stars
when I was younger, my mom read me books to sleep. I saw myself in characters, the smart girls, the strong ones. I liked that feeling, relating to characters, so, I started collecting them like peices of a mosaic. as I grew up I changed, and my favourite characters with me. as I changed from a girl to a boy, so did my favourite characters. one's trans, another one is socially awkward, another alone, another an outcast from everywhere he goes, another needs to be perfect, and another is sensitive. They all have one thing in common, their ending is never good. their story ends with them dead, or without love, or sad.
Dear Ancient Well,
what can your wisdom
possibly tell
about that marble guy
for whom every lady
her soul would likely sell?
Upon them he'd cast a spell,
turning their bodies into cold stone,
a crystal clear marble
reflecting the skies above.
"Oh dear, my love,
I'm bound to say farewell,
for I, forever and ever,
will belong to hell."
That's what he'd always tell
right after casting his spell
beside his beloved ancient well.
A twisted tale,
picturing a lad
so cold and yet so frail:
his gaze so unfazed,
yet his clothes quite jaded.
"How could someone not fail
in the attempt to rescue me
from my own mental jail?"
Many answers had yet to be found,
for he was still trapped and question-bound:
"Where is the love of my life?
Someone who'll succeed
to make my cry,
and smile
and feel alive?"
"Is it that outlandish,
for this marble heart of mine,
to desire a rainbow princess as a bride?
Sweet and pink in her attire,
though with a demeanour so wild,
she’d fight against all odds
to stay by my side,
knowing, deep inside her heart,
that she'll never expire."
Come on champ, do it for the story,
for metaphor and allegory.
Get away from me. Are you cracked?
In all your stories, I get whacked.
Give me some space with that cattle prod,
you frustrated Marquis De Sade.
Oops-a-daisy, there goes your head.
Alas, poor thing, you’re tragically dead.
Four men in a boat,
afloat in the ocean.
The winds are still,
the sails have no motion.
The Optimist waits for the winds
with great anticipation.
The Pessimist shakes his head
and curses in quite desperation.
The Fatalist begins to cry
and screams, "We're going to die!
The Realist lets out a Rebel Yell,
takes a drink of whiskey
and calmly adjusts the sails!
If you want to feel rich
Try to have the things
That cannot be bought with money
Like sincerity, dignity
Respect, humanity, simplicity
Kindness and love.
Being humble
Gives mind space
Set mark up high.
Gratitude means
Plain attitude
Clear bright way sign.
Where the road ends
Inquiry search
To go beyond.
Under the sun
All can be done
With zealous hand.
Without risk, there's no reward
Without pain, there is no growth
Without honesty, there is no clarity
Without trust, there is no friendship
Without discipline, there is no success
Without commitment, there is no love
Without investment, there is no wealth
Without guts, there is no glory
Without self reflection, there is no progress
Without imagination, there are no new things.
• A mouse wearing pants
• A bear who can talk
• A cat in a tux
• And a friend born from chalk
• Such wacky characters I've grown to like
• Ever since I was but a tyke
Inexplicably they appear in memory from time to time
the characters of the long-faded autumns and dim winters
Condescending, always ready to pry
to pick on, to step on, to say a loud word
and suddenly get caught like a nail on a remark
thrown by someone at random, like a pebble in the water
An unstoppable verbal tsunami pours in,
having fun scattering summer huts on the shore
I'm a terrified tourist that runs away, trying to escape
I dash into stronger huts, but those are also demolished
with relentless verbal tide of the condescending characters,
But wasn't that panic a usual thing
many summers ago, when life seemed a big adventure?
Know-it-all omnipercipients, satisfied with themselves,
making you want to disappear unnoticed,
quietly closing the door from the back side.
Has the stream of time taken you all?
My secret was simple - I always wore
laceless shoes, not to tarry up in the hallway,
disappearing without goodbye and without regret
escaping from their homes, clogged with the same
recycled paper books of the times, which seemed then
an invariable attribute of happy days,
the days of ignorance and innocence, full of hopes.
who are the characters in my dreams?
I see different faces
they are me
saying things
making choices
surprising me with my own thoughts
I argue with myself
I agree with myself
in a crowd of myselfs
and when I wake
I am made whole again
“****”
this morning
my alarm clock
swore at me
wake the
beeep
up!!!
Building lands, lives, loves, with words, from the bottom up.
Crafting hierarchies, creatures, laws and sins,
spinning worlds, oceans, rain and wind.
Beings wild, loyal, devious, strong and weak,
righteous, loving, demure, naïve and meek,
all different, unique, in features, personalities,
showing the duality of their complexities.
Some may use humor to win over hearts,
others don't care if emotions ever start,
those that give all, loving to their last breath,
while some covet riches, all the best.
One thing that every character seems to carry,
is a piece from my life, a fancy, habit, a bit of me,
my dreams, my desires, who I yearn to be.
Diving deep into this imagined reality,
immersed, until the story ends and sadly,
it feels like I just buried a part of me.
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