the fire spreads quickly
nothing can stand in its way
firemen are coming
Sometimes we stare
Into the eyes
Of oncoming cars
Merely for the thrill of it,
To pretend as they do in stories
That the good hero darts away
Just in time,
While the evil villain is crushed
Beneath the vehicle, blood on his lips.
We wait
Until the last possible moment
Pulling back
To understand
Which role we play.
The draft dips downward, limbs swaying in the wind;
fearless butterfly hovers over a branch.
Listening too late, one strong gust of wind
propels her towards an overhanging tree.
She grabs hold; hunching under leaves; she waits it out.
What a story she'll have for her kiddoes tonight.
Audacious bee is busily engaged
stockpiling nectar from nearby tulip blooms.
He hears the wind's howl and quickly crawls to safety
deep inside a budding tulip blossom's petals.
"Wind's too strong to risk flying back to the hive;
I might land in Timbuktu or the Sahara."
Hard-working ants had set out on their quest early;
word has it that there's treasure on Ridge Rd.
Hauling crumbs twice his size, along the dusty path,
weary ant has made three trips already by noon.
More slowly, he trudges along with his last load
and gets wind of a blast coming his way.
Dropping cargo, he cowers to a crack just in time.
Take me out of my head with your head.
Now forgive me, but bold is my baseline.
Make no mistake I must be comfortable,
drawn in by the depth of conversation.
Now forgive me, but bold is my baseline.
I want you to taste my entire body.
Drawn in by the depth of conversation,
please take me even deeper inside.
I want you to taste my entire body,
never stopping to come up for air.
Please take me even deeper inside,
just don’t forget the way back out.
Never stopping to come up for air,
how long can you handle the pressure?
Just don’t forget the way back out,
danger smells better than protection.
How long can you handle the pressure?
Make no mistake I must be comfortable.
Danger smells better than protection,
take me out of my head with your head.
the jungle is dark
the panther colored in black
anxious to attack
The Sun is pretty–Yes ,we know,
It makes the sky and flowers glow.
But look too long, and you will find,
It's beauty scars. It's strikes you blind.
We're taught to chase what shines the most,
To the love ones who shine like ghosts.
But not all gold is made to keep ,
some glitters loud and cuts too deep.
Not every smile is safe or true,
Not every life is meant for you.
some lovely things will draw you near,
Then leave you burned, alone with fear.
So, next time beauty pulls you in,
Remember this beneath your skin:
Even the Sun, is all its grace,
can leave a mark, you can't erase
tiptoeing
through a minefield
f r a u g h t
with combustible opportunities
a groom
jilted at the altar by bride
who'd rather stay
"just friends."
humiliated at his wedding,
still reeling
from devastating heartbreak,
yet he won't throw in the towel.
he's sucked back into
the rabbit hole of presentiment.
family and friends
scratch their heads
in frustration;
they push him
to make a clean break...
" leave this woman, she will hurt you, again!,"
they implore.
s e n s i n g
inevitable trouble
on the horizon,
they preach safety first,
yet, he stubbornly chooses
to flirt
with danger;
so it's back to square one.
he still loves her, deeply,
but does she?
signs and warnings out and about
reminders for caution and safety on the roads
we know sunday drivers are a menace
apparently red squirrels drive slowly
while the black ones drive too fast
chipmunks on their bicycle hog the road
and it's not smart to tailgate skunks
it's always wise to mind your manners
so stay alert and be considerate
share the road ~ 'arrive alive' the motto
AP: 3rd place 2025
A voiceless whisper always speaks to me,
At times too faint for thought to comprehend,
Yet it speaks—sometimes even loud and clear—
To warn of danger or to guide to blessings.
Most times, its voice grows clearer when ignored,
But when I heed its prompt, it comes true,
It then fades~
like a whisper lost in the wind,
and like a dream slipped from grasp.
But whenever I long for its guiding light,
That's when its feet grow cold and heavy—
like a feather on a fish...
an imaginary tail a snail would love to wag.
But from where comes this inner voice?
That, like true prophets, dares to predict.
Is it God speaking in me—or something else?
If wishes were horses, I’d rather choose this inner voice—
For my outer voice makes only noise,
While this my inner voice flows like a river of truth,
of wisdom and understanding—
that sometimes may dry up,
but it never vanishes...
and it beams with a cadence that illumines my future.
Out of a hole near a pond so small,
A baby frog gives a croaky call.
But mama frog is nowhere around—
A snake lies waiting; dangers abound.
The baby frog peeks out of the hole—
It knows its fate—no frog would console.
With fear, it leaps out into the pond;
From there, it finds a way to abscond.
It doesn't know snakes crave a bigger meal;
That hole is all the snake came to steal.
Who knows—a big frog might soon hop by.
Such juicy meal no snake would deny.
It's the next morn the baby frog knows
In a nearby snake, mama's soul goes.
Only luck will shield him from their jaws
Even if he hops without a pause.
why do people fear
the arabic language?
the dense, complicated
sweet, athletic tounge language
that many people around the world
speak in
pray in
love in
what is there to
hate
fear
distrust
i don't understand.
In the water hole by Littleton’s Cave
There sits a rascal, a snarly knave
You can go down there if you are brave
But it might mean an early grave
He is a stranger, after all
He who lingers by that waterfall
Strangers are scary is what we teach
Stay slightly out of this weirdo’s reach
There was a rocky hill where I thought could rest myself,
But when I sat there; saw people as small as elves,
The sky was dark over there,
All that the self knew was- the place where I sat wasn't fair.
But my tired feet still forced me ,
The bats flew above my head with an attitude of fully being free,
The trees nearby shook its leaves and turned gray and dried,
And I felt like being on a pan to get fried.
I could hear a lady's weep,
And could also see a blood-covered sheep,
Must be a sheep for sacrifice,
All I knew was my palms were getting colder than a cube of ice!
Suddenly my breath too stopped,
But I was still alive,
And felt I did not need to breathe anymore,
And also that the whole world was a cruel battledore!
- THE STRANGE ROCKY HILL WHICH WAS TOO SCARY TO SIT AND TAKE REST FOR SOMETIME, AFTER A LONG AND TIRING WALK IN A DENSE-FOREST!!!
suddenly my world got dark
and spun out of control
thrust in the eye of the storm
all i could see was you
and how i would find
my way back to your arms
Submitted on March 14, 2025 to contest THRUST IN THE CENTRE OF TEH STORM, ALL I COULD SEE WAS YOU sponsored by ANOUCHEKA GANGABISSOON - Honorable Mention
The Buzzed United States
are thus stirred up due to
the crazy ramblings of the crazy drone
and the outbursts of the crazy MOSKA
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