Spinning around self
and sun that sets
feeding life on clock
preset to end
dividing day
from night
work from rest
cradling in one lap
life and death
and all that is of earth
returns to earth
when veil descends
and all around is light
the soul ascends
to Sun without a night
and if its halo
by unbelief
was dimmed
will fall into the pit
against its wish
drawn by same strings
that held it in sin
for love is free
and soul
that’s dead inside
is puppet
of the masters
outside
life is love
and love
life eternal
paradise.
a woman am I, a daughter, sister and wife
waiting with hope to enter a new stage of life
a novaturient urge to be a mother
cradling inside me little lives of another
~a prayer I trace to shower on me some grace~
24.08.2026
She sits on the porch
filled with anticipation ...
The scent of pears floods all the house.
She cannot even guess how softly
I steal inside
through the half-drawn curtain,
cradling a broken rainbow
in my arms.
I looked for peace
not in the temples,
but in the ruins behind them—
among bricks that still remembered
how silence sounds
before a missile arrives.
I searched for stillness
not in the slogans of diplomats,
but in the eyes of a child
cradling a doll
with one missing arm.
The world,
they say,
is preparing for peace—
but they build it
with barbed wire and budgets
dipped in blood.
They call it strategy.
I call it
the art of forgetting
what a lullaby sounds like.
I asked the wind—
where does peace live now?
She said:
“Wherever a woman
chooses to forgive,
but not forget.”
I asked the moon—
how do I find it?
He whispered:
“In the breath
you take
before you strike back.”
Once, I thought peace
was a treaty,
a table,
a handshake.
Now I know—
peace is a mother
choosing to feed
a stranger’s child
after hers is gone.
Peace is a man
who buries his weapon
before his father.
Peace is a country
that learns to weep
for its enemy’s dead.
They say
war writes history.
But I have seen—
it is peace
that writes
what is human.
In the end,
peace is not found—
it is chosen,
by those
brave enough
to stop shouting
Oh, the choreography of a crescent,
Where orchids dream amongst the subtle dust,
Weaving visions of vermilion wishes,
Signing scribbles surrounding the stars,
What a mouth-watering ornament,
A flickering flame frosted for eternity
Like the crust around a metaphorical mess
Listen to the velvet croissant curled up in the constellations of a poet’s sky,
Cradling along the corners of our eyes,
The buttery beam of hope is in the clouds,
Gazing with a golden gloss right through a bruised heart,
Might the tales of the torn trust be of any use?
To the pearly silhouette that levitates,
Like a luscious lantern, fully fragrant and flawless,
Guide me, Arc of abundance,
Feed me, in the tenderness of your aroma,
Never let these fingers wonder when to let go,
Make the time go slow,
While the night blooms flow,
Mighty frozen snow,
Merging in a magical merlot mist,
You are the verses in the ash harboring the silence in my tears.
Our presence is given to play,
in motion sans thought commotion,
cradling bliss in this form of clay,
drop dancing atop the ocean,
as moon’s pull magnetic holds sway,
our heart sips love’s magic potion.
God’s gong of Om pervades our form,
as spirit dances on our spine,
that drenched in bliss mists cool and warm,
nodes within begin to align,
at peace in the midst of this storm,
in stillness becoming divine.
Poised just before our maiden flight ~
God’s touch says it will be alright
I wish to undig,
The remains of my buried whispers,
The lingering murmurs,
The gigantic word clusters
The betrayal of my tongue,
stirring hearts with unseen quivers.
Begging for a voice of their own,
Seasons have passed over their tombs.
Yet every grave I open is torn,
Cradling a lifeless confession
As though I'm asking something dead
To be once more reborn.
Hibiscus opens
petals flushed with morning heat
cradling soft newborn light now
Breeze lifts its edges
whispering through crimson folds
gentle as a prayer’s release
Bees circle slowly
drawn to its brief, burning bloom
knowing beauty’s borrowed time
Spring approaches slow and tentative.
Sunshine warms the air gently cradling sprouts.
It's been worth the wait.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 3rd place 2026
soft sleep
angel winged,
drifts through dim light,
cradling my breath in calm
moon-held.
Yesterday Deborah and I held a miracle in our hands….
William…a baby born only a few days before….
It’s amazing how one so tiny and new
can make two old hearts soar.
The wonder of the moment was not lost on Deborah…or me
as Baby William was but 4 days old…while we are 73.
We sat with baby William’s and his dad
in their front yard…under a tree…
Deborah cradled him in her arms…
I rested his head upon on my knee.
As we felt the warm embrace of the heavens
while the sun shining overhead smiled
we wondered in his four days
what kind of memories William has compiled.
Secretly we wished…this baby in our hands
will be lucky enough to be
living in a caring accepting, and compassionate world…
where everyone is free…
This was our wish for 4 day old William…
It’s the world we’d love for him to see.
A miracle we continue to hope for…
even at the age of 73.
A miracle we hope not only for William but for all babies…
across all mountains, rivers and lands…
One miracle we wished for yesterday…
while cradling another miracle in our hands.
Rays of radiation scorch my feathers
Ultraviolet bakes me from within
Each time, I feel my breath inch closer
But the reds marks never shake me
A young man tried to scale this once
The son of Bravery and Patience
Beating rays of gleaming off-yellow
Robbed him of vision and benign skin
But you, the chain link of armor
Aids my fragile skin of low melanin
With lips of soft lotion, you whisper
Blanketing me with your soft encouragement
Cold dark eyes of determination
You curse, then grip my ivory blade for me
"She'd like a duel."
The sunlight laughs, kicks his feet to the horizon
You place one last touch to me, clearing hair from my face
It makes my bosom flutter, I rise like helium
Knife placed to the jugular of the sol
Oh, my Icarus, you know better than to do this
Basking in clusters of cancer with visual appeal
Lips curl into a smile as the wound deepens
The tsar of life recoiling at my demand
It turns its head in shame and takes back its remarks
Light concentrated in its irises turns a dark violet
And as you rush to embrace me and take me into your arms
"Night is upon us," you cry, cradling me close to your heart
Hallowed vessels maintain the darkest sky,
In silent rooms where echoes learn to seek.
Of barren fields where winter shadows dry;
Cradling their seeds that will desire to speak.
How rich the hands that carry nothing now,
Escape the history of all so bold;
The spirit clears, a dark and furrowed brow.
Stealing ancient stars of fire and gold.
For among rock where people used to dwell,
A quiet wellspring rises from the deep.
The ringing herald of a silver bell;
Is new music that the tribes cannot keep.
When every worldly treasure fades from view,
The cup is drained to fill itself anew.
It’s never still.
Like a clicking jaw.
Thoughts get relayed.
Sometimes replayed with a new cover song.
It’s not just what could exist.
It’s like a cradling feeling, unreal.
In real time or unfunctional.
They claim.
It’s never still.
It’s whooshing with no sound.
It’s gracious imagination which nods to me.
I saw a jaw.
Disintegrate as if it was my own.
And I closed my eyes as if eyes can hold still.
Please believe me when I say:
Thoughts can’t be stilled.
Try to crack them with a hammer.
And get another vision.
Try to forget the crackling.
And another candy wrapper falls from the sky.
It’s never still.
My thoughts are ribbons.
Got overshadowed by:
The typical earth.
If I return to the drink I meant to quit
emptiness waits
Yet the soul grows thicker
why
Even if liquor knows where it belongs
it must be taken alone
like a wolf
Tracing the time that slipped away
what I had to hold on to
was the hour of drinking
It spoke of shedding the shell
worn thin by years
cradling the bottle
and speaking of Palau
The crumpled self
boarding the airport bus
did he shed his skin
Why I let that dim self go
even when I ask the rain
I still do not know
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