It's the end of an Era,
Terra formed Egos tare away
Terrified by the part they play,
Clarified minds think a new way,
Staying focused on today,
Saying their affirmations,
Saving the people of their nation,
Slaying the beast within,
Never to be a slave again,
Behaving like we love to be alive,
Thriving together like a hive,
No longer fighting to survive,
Information arrives right on time,
Priming the filter first,
So you thirst for more,
A need to explore,
Discovering doors,
You've never seen before,
The corridors are the same,
Pain, Shame and Guilt,
Are the walls we all built,
Tilted perceptions align,
Combined with a Divine design,
Intertwining to refine,
Defining each experience,
A variance in the equation,
Each of us a data station,
A vibration of the source,
And it's redirecting the course.
The Bermuda Triangle, does it still exist?
For a long time there has been no mention
No airplanes vanish, nor ships and boats missed
What’s happened to famed fifth dimension?
I read about time tunnels, unquiet zones
Toxic vapours of methane hydrate
Triangle get lost, so no happy returns
The last of great mysteries fades
Its magnetic field has been demagnetized
Or maybe the global warmth stroke
Bad seaweed has died, and the air clarified
So the danger zone evoked a joke
No one gives a damn was it fiction or truth
That old hype has veered off the track
But I'd much prefer to see this in the news:
“The Bermuda Triangle strikes back!”
Contest: Never Say Never
Sponsor: Suzette Richards
Acrostic: 10 lines, Never Never
Written 090426
NEWS that is bad will always travel fast
EAST less if you dare, but buy the best
VOTE your conscious, not your money
EVALUATE first, before you calculate
RULING our tongue is always 'job one'
NOSY neighbors need to change
EVERY 'No' does not really mean 'No'
VALUES should always be clarified
ENEMIES today could be friends tomorrow
READ the ingredients before eating
Contest: Epiphany. 22/8/2026 Sponsored by: Constance La France
"To continue to live, can be an act of bravery." The poet.
Desolate and in deepest despair,
I had lost the will to live.
My tormented self,
wandered aimlessly through life.
Consumed with anguish and grief,
each sullen moment led to ending my misery.
Finally the day came.
I fell into a vortex of suffering.
Drowning in devastated hopelessness,
every ounce of my being became desperate.
Morosely I stood on the precipice.
My dismal heart could torture me no longer.
Despondent and forlorn,
I anticipated entering total oblivion.
As if from nowhere came a voice!
My melancholy mind became shrouded in doubt,
as I stepped away from the edge.
An epiphany clarified my impending mistake.
Today I live in peace to write this poem.
The voice simply said,
"Your hurt wont go away.
You will merely pass it to those that care."
An idea is an intake of air, a sudden gust of wind awakening
thoughts once dusty, suggestions hidden below cobwebs.
An idea is the putting on of glasses, clarified and cleansed,
cluttered less so now by the daze or malaise of time.
But the choice that follows the idea murmurs.
The choice balks, offering visions of ‘what if?’
and forks in the road. The choice sheds the skin
of the idea. It reveals consequences in bone,
in scale, in claw and print in the dried mud of no going back.
But what of the grey? The grey in between, the grey betwixt?
This sleeps soundly. It yawns and stretches in bed, then
curls around the contentment of that golden idea – yes! –
before the rabbit hole shadows and chasms of the definite.
Stay in that grey middle, this grey before an after, the grey twilight
bridge that holds an idea spawned here, and a choice made, there.
ON MARY’S MERRY DAY
Let’s be in love’s flow,
Mart’s birthing water’s gift:
God, in Jesus Christ:-
Let’s enjoy the merry day!
Giving and enjoying love:-
Blessed be Mary!
Merrily birthing our God’s
Divine Supreme Love:-
Let’s have a Merry Christmas:
Sharing gifted love supreme:-
Merry Christmas, Love;
Child of the Holy Spirit
Of God, and Mary:
Collectively—with Joseph—
Supreme service, clarified:-
Time does not change --
distance and consciousness
does. Things can work for
entirely different reasons than
thought. Man has many grafted
bibles. To some, Science is a
truer messiah. Love, then, par for course,
to the same mindset, is a mere figment.
Man conjuring up what he believes he
needs – thinking what he imagines
he cannot exist without.
My well-searched opinion,
Love is not Love until it is clarified, rendered
a unifying reality. Released from the palm of
Ego Driven Grip. Freedom, a double-edged sword.
Possessing both lengths of good and evil.
actually aware that times are changing
i go back to the norm and the gravely familiar
comfort and warmth there works for me
regardless of all that i am obviously missing
that is, until i decided to grab some of the keys and turn some of the locks
the amazement of the ease of all the experiences and the life skills and life lessons learned brought forth unexpected regrets that were already there as an invisible, gripping pain
before i get to old, i think that i will blow the off the dust and clean off the rust of some of the remaining keys
once i see what is on the other side of some of those remaining doors, i may keep going and change my name to sam beckett
actually more clarified that my time is running out much quicker than my sleepy mind thinks
Sometimes an obituary
Adds some background fact
That brings laughter, not the way
You’d think a reader would react.
Tom Shipley’s obit clarified
That he was feeling fine,
Perhaps a bit too much, when we went
One toke past the line.
A friend gave him some weed to smoke
Backstage between two sets
And warned him more than just two hits
Might cause him some regrets.
He didn’t listen, spurring him
To state the way he felt,
Yet a song was born resulting from
The hand that he was dealt.
What cracked me up, though, was to learn
Some clean-cut duo sang
That song on Lawrence Welk’s show;
Unfamiliar with the slang
Of the drug world, Welk declared
“A modern spiritual” was heard
Because within the toke line, to
“Sweet Jesus” was referred.
I wonder now if Lawrence Welk,
So strait-laced way back then,
Ever learned what he endorsed
And why folks shouted out, “Amen!”
They with masks and scalpels
rewatch
the seconds I was given without consent.
My breath hitches
as warnings stillborn in my throat.
At this moment,
I am but
a body
opened
for overdue answers no one asked for.
A poet’s gift lies in the voice of Truth.
No—
A poet's gift is to lie,
constantly,
in lavender-gray syllables
threaded through with near-Truth—
The answer to unvoiced questions,
clipped out with tweezers,
a scorched coil—
my vocal cord.
I, a third-party haze—
rewatch
the moments I lived through like
faint breaths
fogging an oxygen mask.
My lies will be forgiven,
when they split open my sternum,
and find Truth still beating—
They’ll know,
late Truth cuts deeper than scalpel.
While the sun was slipping away
You left me
With a gifted moment
A moment that lessened fears
Yet hastened tears
A moment that spoke to me
Yet set you free
A moment that caressed my heart
Yet put apart
A moment that fostered giving
Yet nurtured living
A moment that clarified a decision
Yet cleared my vision
While the sun was slipping away
You left me
With a gifted moment
When will she come to me
To take me to that place
Where I suppose, we shall be free
Like spirits in the space
The fortuneteller gave reply
Ambiguous and wise
But no advice on what to try
Should I just close my eyes
Engage myself into the realm
Of pure imagination
And it’ll make me overwhelmed
With the enforced elation
There, on the boat of dreaming fools
Under the stormy sky
I’ll be, submissive to the rules
That can’t be clarified
Death, Five of Cups, and Hanged Man
These were the cards I drew
A penny for old Charon
For taking me to you
It’s hard to tell, and hard to take
The simple fact of death
Denies a dream I have to make
No life without breath
Seems possible, we need a flesh
For birth, rebirth and all
You name it, and I press refresh
To hear my fortune’s call.
Benji practices genocide
Brave new Isreal has sick laws
Is Isreal thinking rectified .
Benji thinks he is glorified
Death is a singletree- the kill nods
Benji practices genocide .
Harris loves Isreal -verified
Harris on housing I applause
Is Isreal thinking rectified.
Trump supports Benji -clarified
He think he does that for a cause
Benji practices genocide .
Stop electric car laws-petrified !
Stop outsourcing I give applause.
Is Isreal thinking rectified?
Many more not identified,
They think that their laws have no flaws,
These leaders rulings I deride ,
If they change-I am satisfied .
Our differences are like the pieces of a puzzle called life.
~~~
We’re like black and white, forever disparate.
While I look to the right, you search the left side.
Though we’re so opposite, I see your merit.
When I’ve been confused, you’ve often clarified.
What seems like love and hate, could be crazy fate.
You’re outspoken while I’m totally tongue-tied.
At times, we’re night and day, which can complicate.
Still, our hearts are linked by our feelings like love.
Our dreams bring so much wonder to captivate.
Our bond was surely started by God above.
Only He knew what this union would teach us.
Though unalike, our two hearts fit like a glove.
Some think this relationship is treasonous.
I still believe love is meant to make a fuss.
I wrote this poem during the pandemic as I questioned what the future held.
Since the pandemic crisis has passed, we keep hearing about a “new normal.” Normal is over, or did normal ever exist?
Will normal ever be the same?
It’s never been before.
Can this new lifestyle be the one?
Will less become the more?
Can changes move you from your place,
when altered is your path?
Will this new trail disrupt your life?
What is the aftermath?
I can’t predict the world’s new course,
as I survey my fears.
I hope my vision’s clarified,
while trudging new frontiers.
I can’t go back, ‘cause back’s not there.
It’s like a shattered glass.
The breach I see ahead of me,
could be a deep crevasse.
I pray to God He guides my way,
and soothes my harried soul.
I know that I can trust in Him,
to keep my being whole.
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