The craziness of the world
comes to a close in silence
draws breath and shuts down
gathers into a ball of fire
gracefully falls into darkness
to dream of a better tomorrow
AP: 1st place 2026
A nobody cast into a sea of duties
Drowning in confusion and being dragged
By the turbulent tides
A vulnerable thing tossed
By the waves of prejudice.
Opening my mouth—
to scream a single word
Stretching my hand—
to reach where nothing holds—
Bearing a sense of emptiness
Pressing into my spine.
Struggling to retain my sanity
with a single thread—
A rotten rope
stretched between various dreams
While suppressing nostalgia for
The golden silhouette of the wrinkled past.
In this small patch of blue,
With a wave of her hand
I could say it....
clearly, without doubt—
She's my sky.
The day has finally come
Learn what was and what will become
A small injection that could change lives
With hope and prayer that she thrives
So much depends on this injection
To feel content without any rejection
To make those bipolar voices disappear
And her personality to reappear
The thoughts and voices driving her down
For months no smiling only a frown
Negativity flooding from every pore
This little thing could open a new door
All I need is for her to be safe
A promising outlook without the chafe
A happy and healthy women
And not sink this far mentally again
This type of medication is the last hope
Something that we both need to cope
I do not know what to do if this fails
Or what to do with all it entails
But I’m willing to let myself believe
In order to let myself feel relieved
Fingers crossed this is the answer
Without it is like living as a chancer
I’ve pinned my hopes on this
With hopes and dreams that can be bliss
This is just a small piece of the puzzle
But a giant leap forward in the struggle
Thousands of hands slash their eyes
When a thousand truths turn bloody lies.
Her morning smells of stale beer,
Her evening tastes of local fear –
Lights flicker on. Beds curse the strain.
Not the mind, not the head
Knows the helix of pain
That aches in man: downwards led.
Stoic statues weep at bleeding shelves
Of drooling words and lost lovers;
Everyman stands in walled cells
Dim and dimming others.
The sun descends, dark clouds unite,
Caged cattle cry, birds and wind fight:
The heart, the street, the sky, fall ill –
The world bleeds. Yet the stars shine still.
Would there ever be a light at
the end of the tunnel?
She didn't know, she couldn't see one;
she waited and she hoped
knowing there'd be no guarantee.
Still she persisted waiting in the dark
for even just a spark.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Stolen Shadows from the night,
That have the Power to cast a light.
Powerful as they may be –
Everything cannot be easy.
This Darkness could be all consuming,
But you shouldn’t go around assuming
That Darkness is all Evil –
Even though it could be Lethal.
Darkness has a bright Shine,
Use this as a Guideline
Life consumed in all black has so much to offer –
Is the creature lurking really a Monster?
Or simply just your Mind
Being fearfully inclined?
Making up Monsters in your head –
Maybe talk to the Beast instead?
What could it say
About how it cannot Live in the Day?
How the Darkness is its Home
But that it is free to roam -
Untethered to the world around it –
Full of Wonder and Wit.
The Darkness helps it grow;
It’s Safer than you know.
Place of Shadows and Black –
Giving it the Freedom the day can lack...
Through dusk’s shadows they soar,
flickering evening lights,
flies flashing cold fire,
bugs unleashing lightning,
micro-luminescent,
miniscule miracles.
Though fainter than candles,
clustered firefly flocks
flash brighter than stars
in summer night skies,
sparking joyous wonder,
fluttering till sunrise.
In our darkened world,
can we shine like them,
glimmering in the gloom,
gifting goodness and hope
for all those who grieve
until a new dawn?
(First published in Feed the Holy, 19 March 2025. See also my poem “Candlelights.”)
there's little sunshine these days,
and despair blows like a cold wind.
It rains, and rains, and rains.
state of affairs go from bad to worse.
Innocent souls perish in a war-torn nation.
the fog of hopelessness hangs in the air
for a downtrodden struggling to survive
in the mean, unforgiving streets.
a child's life hangs in the balance;
accidentally struck by rat-a-tat of gunfire.
what is going on in the world?
all birds, but the mourning dove...
keep silent in the meadow.
the praying mantis has seen better days;
It's arms folded in hope that
tomorrow is a brighter, better day.
I'm searching the skies for a ray of light,
But all I find are thick clouds creating night.
I believe there is a silver lining behind the grey,
I wish I could find it today.
I breathe the air and it feels thin,
I need to fight though it seems impossible to win.
Even in the dark I need to hold on tight,
Hoping one day I will find the light.
sounds of violin crying out in the dark
desperate for one solitary ray of moonlight
string along all lost souls who stray in the night
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
The darkest of mornings,
Light creeping slowly, very slowly,
Round the edges of my world,
As the day begins.
All day a half light struggles to make an impact
But loses the battle
And dusk takes over far too soon,
And this shortest of days
Descends into darkness.
This day has been a study in greys and black,
Skies dark, moods black, thoughts gloomy
How much longer?
And then in the evening,
A careful judgement of when to draw the curtains
And lower the blinds
A longing to shut out the dark
But a reluctance to admit the light has finally gone.
And so I turn to those pretenders,
Low lights and candlelight
Which mimic the sun
And bring some comfort and relief.
I am glad I know the light will come back,
That the light will always comes back,
Imperceptibly, longed for and waited for,
And so I close the curtains later every day
And hope - no I believe.
sunlight whispers
hope for the dark sky
hot as hell
for my black umbrella
but still lightens my path
melancholy days approach;
escape where? In naked woods?
where do winds wail around
the hilly slopes?
where ash, maple, and oak abound?
I see a dazzling blaze,
a kindling world,
as fires leap everywhere
all over the hemispheres,
where fatal booby traps are sprung,
where bombs fall without respite.
now, where can I escape?
Suddenly, night fell, and everything was quiet;
from somewhere, a bird sang.
I remembered Robert Browning’s words.
“God is in Heaven, all’s right with the world.”*
(from Pippa passes by Robert Browning)
Meaning hangs on a wing
and briefly holds together,
tipping on some fine edge,
a feathers weight from oblivion.
Take this evening, a sunset
settling upon the water, the fleck
of a small boat with its solitary figure
floating the still, birds flying overhead,
each a part of a moment
sliced from a second.
Mere coincidence, a chance picture
put together by a confluence of things
in a corner of a vast cosmos.
The birds trailing their cries
in long threads across the sky
seem to hymn a lament,
the dark slowly closing over
the world like a large eyelid
before the coming of night
and the onset of sleep.
There is nothing but a sublime
myth to keep the soul awake,
to make of what is passing
into something permanent,
meaning kept afloat on that
small, distant image of a boat
set upon a blessed sea,
it's existence flickering in
and out of a pale beam
of hope.
grey drapes the colour of my realm
thick heavy fog pervades over
my thoughts that wander
to where I do not know
i cannot see
in bursts of silence
i gasp for air
a stagnant emptiness
is all i find
it boils it rages
and yet i feel it true
that with tomorrow
blue skies may come again
AP: 2nd place 2024, Front Page Pick 2024
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