a sugar maple leaf slips free
counting toward One proof
the Seven Mysteries
God, I count prime gaps
I watch prime numbers growing
only primes orbit
a rule sends one step
loops return periods double
recursion counts One
an iteration
within fluid smoothness frays
water turns inward
can you see the curve
study elliptic rank shifts
findings test the rank
questions spiral out
unknown patterns circle back
pi bends into sight
a proof can be checked
still search cannot prove it now
checking outruns search
every loop turns east
the count folds back into form
through form, God's Haiku
the sugar-maple leaf settles on frost
children of the corn start to awaken
still two fingers
dumb, not speaking to me
a numb okay
grasping utensils with one hand
not a lefty, that’s right
Every dog is a conundrum -
rub him on his back or on his tum-tum?
There’s constant decision, decisions,
choice and choices.
How do you quiet all the voices?
What should I do?
Which way do I go?
These questions I’ve wrestled
more than anyone might know.
Am I alone,
or is someone there?
A quick look around
and the room is bare.
What to do?
Should I stay or leave?
Nothing is for certain,
not even the next breath I’ll breathe.
I arise daily
with the decision and will to live.
I’m forever lost
in a series of moments,
trying to make peace be still.
Do I write to free the demons of my soul or are the demons free because I write?
The Humpty Dumpty conundrum -
is it a cravat or cummerbund?
Do not answer this in haste -
from the bottom up what is his waist
might as well be his neck,
and now that egg is in a wreck.
is the private chaos
that no one shares
or can translate.
The confusing question
is too difficult
to articulate
in little, shallow pools
of words or
trying for meaning.
Resounding
windchimes
don't just sway
without
sound,
or hope
of being heard.
They should be noticed
dangling
on the left end
of an uncared for
garden shed.
Walking into the woods
barefoot
in my backyard
on a Friday night
and sensing movement
in wings and song
is company enough
to fulfill one
of the cavities
other than those in teeth.
Something unarticulated
fills the indentation
and the hollows
of a rickety body
I call my own.
My heart is hurt and in tatters
My gut in a continual knot
My spirit sad and depleted
I truly feel l am losing the plot
My heart has cried a million tears
My soul now fragile and bruised
My being filled with hurt and disappointment
Without clarity, direction and totally confused
I need time to process what has happened
As l honestly don’t know what to do
I do believe changes are inconceivable
I am uncertain and unclear what avenue to pursue
~
I have no voice, but tell all tales,
No one, but on the wind I sail.
I’m often broken, never held,
In every language, softly spelled.
I may be strong, or just a peep,
What am I, that secrets can keep?
They ask their burning questions
Then flinch when ours appear near
And when no answers find them
They bristle at what they can’t hear
There should be nothing nowhere, but the opposite is true; Instead I see the universe, and in it - me and you. It shocks me to the core with awe, to see this Cosmic Stew. Exited to be part of it, but scared of whats in view.
1. Men do not have to be providers…
2 Men can do ballet and forget baseball..
3. Men must have gay, male, friends.
Comment.: none! What is yours??
PS. What are male opinions here??
9/1/2025
A new sun has arisen in the dawning literary sky,
the poetry horizon is illumined by the flash of Ai.
Novel ideas and stylistic stimulation the poets get
from metaphoric spectrum of the sun that doesn’t set.
Experimenting with different poetic forms Ai is free
to motivate new perceptions for innovative poetry.
Choosing Ai as creative collaborator poets may flock
when they need help to overcome the writer’s block.
The delicate domain of human emotions in Ai is hollow,
making its structured poems seem artificial and shallow.
Devoid of life skills it lacks human feelings in the core.
So, the artistic depth of passion its essence can’t explore.
Ai poems may replicate the existing ones with dexterity,
inviting queries about plagiarism and originality.
The poems of heart run the risk of being undermined
by Ai, overshadowing the lively reflection of the human mind.
AI: panacea or pain? Contest //Sponsored by: Simon Rogerson
Contest Judged: 9/9/2025 6:59:00 AM
( Ist Place )
Written: August 10, 2025
A whisper born of code and light,
vast potential, a promising sight--
yet twilight sprawl where circuits reign.
Panacea — or pulse of pain?
We hold the key, the spark, the fear,
to pave the way — far and near.
Bang the taut drum
Thrum-thrum
Conundrum
Pound sand
Ain’t it grand
Conundrum
Hit the bricks
Pay for your fix
Conundrum
Drive off a cliff
Life is an IF
Conundrum
Weather is weird
Climate is feared
Conundrum
Sub Categories
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