In front of a blank page, I sit with my pen,
Writing a poem for a contest again.
With thoughts in a tangle, I ponder and fret,
“What metaphor fits?” but none come to me yet.
I gaze at my cat, dear Sami by name,
Her eyes hold a mystery, yet nothing to claim.
“Could she be my muse?” I wonder aloud,
But my page remains blank as a lion is proud.
My room is disheveled, my thoughts just the same.
Chaos surrounds me, and I feel such shame.
The words that I seek, they elude my grasp,
In the silence, I hear my own desperate gasp.
Perhaps this contest is not meant for me,
I’m tangled in words that I struggle to see.
But here with my pen and my faithful cat's stare,
I’ll find my own way, through this poet’s despair.
I write of this struggle, this quest for a line,
In hopes that my efforts will somehow align.
My poetry’s nothing if perfection’s my goal
Here I am flawed with a true poet’s soul.
In twenty-five words or less
suicide notes get life off your chest
Contested Crossroads
By Mark D. Stucky
On a battleground bloodied across millennia,
on a compact land bridge spanning continents and gods…
Canaanites, Philistines, and Hebrews, oh my!
Israelites, Judeans, and Samaritans, oh my!
Babylonians, Persians, and Romans, oh my!
Jews, Muslims, and Crusaders, oh my!
Turks, Brits, and Zionists, oh my!
Palestinians, Israelis, and others, oh my!
So many clashing claims to such a small strip of land.
So much religious, political, and ethnic strife.
So much cursing, contempt, and conflict.
So much destruction, death, and despair.
So many words of unfulfilled prayers.
So little hope for permanent peace?
(See also my poems “Hate Vacuuming” and “Bringing Heaven to Earth.”)
(Photo by Shahar Weinstein on Pexels.com.)
I saw a neat contest today
But rules seemed to get in the way
So, I''ll write what I like
The rules take a hike
And settle for my usual N/A
Drivel
Driveling
Driveled
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