a runaway cloud
streaks through an open sky
spoiling the otherwise perfect blue
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2025
“A Little Dab Will Do You”
By: Miracle Man
January 5, 2024
Morning placed another snow day,
under my belt.
I’m searching for excitement while,
watching it melt.
It didn’t snow much just enough,
to make a mess.
But it painted a beautiful picture,
I readily confess.
As flakes were falling they moved,
across the ground.
Also, the north west wind’s whistle,
was the only sound.
A shade of yellow, paint with blue
Blemishes the canvass, all in crude
Creativity in the lazy sky
Dulled in myriad etches drawn
Enthusiasm overwhelming
Fields of hope now ascending
God given blessings bestowed
Heaven's a bliss to behold
In the artist's loving hand
Jaded with clues after clues
Keen on its every detail
Life time's own redemption
Memoirs upon the final touch
Nature's guise to reach heights
Oils and pastels combined
Portrait hung with grace
Quite breezing one's mind
Racing deep to the bosom
Sunflowers waving its mother sun
Thistles whispering sweet goodbyes
Utopia on the majestic moon
Vivaciously unified
Wonders of an impressive grade, like
Xylophones synced in harmony
Yesterday's today an understatement
Zephyr stirred within every stroke.
2/25/2015
Sofia the large sandy crab
Afraid of a life too drab
Took to the sea
With her cousin Kong Kee
And a six spotted floundering dab
Oh Kong Kee now this is the life
No worries no trouble no strife
Shoulda done this before
She got hit by an oar
And that was the end of her life
The dab and Kong Kee carried on
To finish their cousins swansong
The smell of fishrot
In a new fangled pot
Was the end for the cousin called Kong
Now the dab swims alone in the bay
While the sun shines he's still making hay
For he's back whence he went
Pocket money all spent
And so happily, blissfully gay
Dab met a small fish on the way
Who aspired to become a great ray
He ate as he must
Til his belly did bust
And he ends up as soup o' the day
There's a moral in each little story
So never go hunting for glory
You'll end up on a plate
Tryin' to mimic a skate
When you're really a small johnny dory
Recently I got tired of being a puppet on a string.
I’m not sure why,
but I woke up,
and then it all made sense.
Until that point, I’d spent my life deep in mind’s pretense.
I found my heart,
I dove straight in,
and much to my surprise,
I landed smack dab in the center of spirit’s loving eyes.
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