—Paint My Love—
Come, paint my love, where silence dares to speak;
let oils transfigure what words dare conceal,
bid every hue reveal the fire I seek,
till secret ardours make the unseen real;
paint not the visible, but inward light
where love's unspoken immensities hide,
let every strange tincture enchant the sight
till secret tides within my bosom bide;
yet one true hand must pierce my veiled desire,
no mimic craft shall counterfeit the fire;
I'll set AI to test each living wire,
and crown the hand whose hues make love aspire;
though ladies vie, one only shall be crown'd—
her prize, my heart, where all my loves are bound.
I do not know how or when it happened.
One day I was by myself.
Then you swept me away.
Sponsor Nette Onclaud
Contest Name THE NUMBERS GAME
Date 8/30/2026
Juan bought seats for the pickleball tourney
Sonia was glad to go on their journey
Juan showed her his paddle
She made it go ‘twaddle’
Sonia was pleased, said ~ 'Seems you prefer me'
~ “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” ~
~ FDR, 1933
Even though I am no FDR
And I do not want to start a war
I do think there is something to fear beside fear
That something is Almighty God, please lend me an ear
He loves us, and we should love Him
But without fear, there’s no such thing as sin
And if our only appeal is to logic or man’s reason
War will be Peace, Truth – Lies, Patriotism – Treason
In fact, it seems the world is almost there now
Time to get back to fearing God again, somehow
Quicksand has not been on my mind
for decades, neither have brass knuckles
a pillow by any other name is a bureaucrat’s sword
pensive, dormant even in elevator shaft #11
o, frustration, o the itch to do it all now
O, ambivalence, o, vacillation
O, marination, o intimation, O cruise vacation
O litigation, o fraternization, o Hi o
(Did I win the prize? I hope so. Do you think
I can possibly be writing for pleasure?)
O, Portia, where art thou now?
Upon trying to stimulate my pineal gland
Through OM chanting for the first time
There before me in the silence that ensued
I saw a great void of raw existence
Frozen and unassuming
Like a door I’ve never opened
In a place I’ve lived my whole life
Everything and nothing was different
Staring at the cat between my feet
I reached down to touch it
And got to see where they exist
I should stop writing because
I feel like I’m bastardizing the eternal
Making a vain sport of it with a poetic devise
I am the very void upon which I now gawk
I took off my clothes to excuse my presence
I should not post this but probably will
Life remains a grand head game
Even after you’ve awakened the divine
Seeing the sacred should change one’s life
but now I’m not sure
Perhaps this is the true epiphany
Can I really write a Pleiades?
Oh, I think I’ll try and have a go
Now, where to start, ensuring that I
Try to meet requirements of this style.
Every word I write must make some sense
So, whoever reads these words, will smile
Thinking I have made it to the end.
I love contests and hate them too
Often because I don’t follow rules
It’s all in fun I really believe that
Even if I lose its writing I grasp
I find I grow when I embrace and enter
Though trying new forms feels like a splinter
Has entered my brain caused me stress
Very rare for my poem to be the best
But looking within I can see more out
And poet friends often teach me how
To meet new goals in forms you know
I don’t have to win I just have to grow
he was an ironist
hardened with pitiless cruelty and crudeness
she is a sculptress
shapeless assuming his spite
you will never shrink from this breakthrough
put your enthusiasm into that schedule
sanitise the musculus
decode her ordination
to squarely vex their corruptness
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 1–5, 2026)
I often feel that you are still here,
bringing laughter and so much cheer.
Your Limericks like a news reel.
You are still here, I often feel.
A dose of fun every day.
Some had current affairs at play.
All had humor, many a pun.
Every day a dose of fun.
Rico so many miss your rhyme.
I was the subject of your last time
That's why I offer a tribute like this.
Your rhyme Rico, so many miss.
the cat and me
hold a staring contest--she
purrs and falls asleep
In the quiet before my thoughts
light gathers quietly,
a soft gleam rising from the page.
Scripture becomes my lighthouse~
a lantern steady as breath, bright without burning.
Its words tilt toward me
like a beam sweeping the dark,
not demanding belief,
offering only direction.
I keep close to the glow~
my fear thins,
and the heart remembers
how to unclench.
*Your word is a lamp to my feet~
the quiet truth that steadies me more gently
than any lighthouse ever could.
In this tender radiance, I am guided,
not by certainty, but by presence~
a beacon written in grace.
*passage from Psalm 119:105
Facing a blank page
Feeling the stress
Of writing a response
To your latest verse
Have to keep it positive
What can I say?
I can still smell him like he's close
But he could never be more far
I can still hear his laugh
Filling the room with that familiar sunshine
I can still see his smile
Lighting up the world brighter than ever
But of course, I only see him in my dreams
Because there is no chance of seeing him again
no chance of seeing his bright smile
Hearing his booming laugh
Smelling his warm wood scent
It's like he's still here but he's not here anymore
he won't ever be here again
And I need to accept that.
I need to accept that he has a new girl
A girl that's not me
He's loving a girl who's not me
It won't ever be me again
It hurts like I'm getting stabbed
but he's happy
and like I said I need to accept that.
An odd hatchling was judged by many,
Life for her was hardly sunny,
Every single good old day,
Just saying his skin was grey,
Why did they say it was so funny?
Was it that in the princess and the pea,
A power was held inside this sweetie,
Such a sensitive princess
to find in such thickness,
such a small pea, he was in glee
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