My favorite noise is
Splatter
Patter
Splat
The sounds of my victories,
The sound of my battle
Against
Many
Many
People
Who were
Enemies,
Victims,
Targets,
And Others,
Who questioned
ME
Why would anyone
Question
ME?
See,
They Defied
So they
Died
Who else has defied
ME,
ME,
ME,
Or as many other people
Say when
They see
ME,
Death
The one who
Slaughters anyone and everyone
No matter if you think
You can
Evade
ME,
Or
Not
I’ll
Still
Come
For
You
In
The
Night
I'm just an image in a sepia photograph.
I look at you with doleful eyes. You'll never hear me laugh.
I'm a piece of paper, brittle and crinkled,
just like the old man you once saw, wrinkled -
a man now gone, who exists no more.
He's left the world. Put me back in the drawer.
Amidst a gentle, refreshing breeze,
On an autumn day in October,
With the amber sun leaning toward the horizon behind clouds of golden-coral agate hue,
And migratory birds crossing silently toward the south and east—in search of warmth and abundant food.
I pondered deeply — tinged with a touch of sadness and the dark like hues of autumn leaves clinging stubbornly to their branches — the answer to this question:
What we leave behind?
I really do not know for sure.
What I leave behind?
I hope good memories!
Or mixed-up of good and bad which I do not like that much!
Or bad talks and write about me. I dislike that!
Or nothing which not good nor bad at all.
In material sense, I leave some money, home, clothes ;
Papers, books, watches, rings, ancient coins, poems & prose!
The best thing is my fame, from honest people perspective!!
That what I would love to leave behind!
FROM TRUMP HEGSETH TEAM
EXECUTION ON LIVE STREAM
WHAT AN AWFUL SCHEME
To this meadow near we often came to play.
We pushed our cart with mud caked wheels this day.
The contents wrapped in shroud from toe to head.
Grief grasps our hearts, for Prince is dead.
Myra's gift at age four was one fur ball of joy.
A tease, with mouth often dangling a toy.
I watched them play from across the street.
One day Prince whined at me so sweet.
“Can you come over and play?"
Our eyes engaged and never looked away.
With burst of love he launched up to my chin.
Slobbered me with kisses that provoked a loving grin.
That day we formed a bond for life.
This day brought only grief and strife.
When final crumbs of soft damp dirt
covered and tucked him in., it hurt.
Sounds were quiet in the wood.
Myra Mae coaxed me to where she stood.
Blackbirds watched us from the meadow fence.
Sobbing, we embraced and shed our childhood innocence.
Imagine a chamber filled with blackened smoke
Always swirling and churning, making you choke
Each narrow passage heavy cobwebs cling
A deep breath taken is a wasps sting
Tack on a dusty layer so thick
Just like being hit with a brick
Barely a whisp of air to flow throughout
Exhausting is the struggle, without a doubt
Add a vice, jaws clamped tightly around the chest
The beast within devours each morsel with zest
Dining for years before it is seen
A touch too late to repair, no vaccine
This devil within has a ravenous appetite
It has no feelings, no cares, just delight
Slowly consuming tender bits from within
To leave a withered deflated unusable skin
****
Written Oct 7, 2026
To experience an incurable disease.
Biting cold night
Tears on a rose
Her petals turn gray
Death sucks her life away
She stands alone in feeling
No one knows her secret cries
She has shed away her hopes
Her beautiful soul holds memories
Of times sunshine kissed her face
Now darkness swamps her world
On the grave where they have laid her to rest
An Intended syringe
by Frank Daub
There is new intent in words today –
A syringe quality in what they
Say.
Injecting soul-aimed death –
a truer death than before,
When the possibility of Hope
bore
The possibility of escape
through laughter,
An understanding of soft-intended
humor.
A softer spirit in Meaning, then.
Now comes the specter of control,
A meaner chase against the soul.
All Indications point UNREPENTANT.
What did Paul’s letters warn?
Read gentle understanding –
Before eternal Morn.
Silver and rust flash
clash, crash
in the steam-drenched air
Muskets fire, reload, re-fire
deadly pea-shooters
drowned out by cannons’ roar
Blood-stained, smudged tatters of uniforms
soak up a blazing sun
in shimmering mists of collision
Trumpets' blare swallowed in air
fiery tempers, outsized nostrils flare
'bravery's' spelled F-O-O-L-I-S-H out there
Orders barked, flail, fall
flat upon sagging shoulders
of men, like dogs, tongues panting
Still the silver, yet the rust
high above the fray
where 600,000 dead men lay
_______________________________________
Various sources cite total soldiers'
deaths as low as 400,000-something
and as high as 800,000-something.
The most common estimate seems
to be about 620,000 deaths.
We
Never
Quite drew out
A plan or map;
We both just let life
Take us down a river.
Everyone thought us fickle,
Wishy-washy, unfixable,
But we were running free, taking what
We could of our short lives and living them.
The few things we had set in stone - oh,
My brother in all but our names -
Would be eroded away
As soon as we said them
Between each other,
Just memories
Of times where
We felt
Heard.
Death has no bells; he has no arrival ceremony.
He comes to take the lives of all who inhabit the earth.
He is quick and subtle; he stirs a river of tears among the living.
He knows no color or status, no evil or good.
Who has the wisdom to prepare for him, or to whom has it been revealed?
For centuries, mankind has searched far and wide, yet many have never succeeded.
There was a Man who lived and died, who was crucified upon a cross.
Yet He cheated death, rising after three days.
Death! Who in Jesus trembles before you?
For you have a Master to whom you must answer, who is the Christ.
For through death we enter paradise and behold the Savior's face.
Repent, all people, for you have sinned against God and His righteousness.
Turn to Jesus, for in Him is eternal life.
Seek His face, for sweet is His presence.
For easy is the way to unrighteousness,
but straight and narrow is the way to life.
Comment what you think.
If the "Hare" really cared
To give the "Timid Tortoise"
A fair scare, and tapped
The "Tortoise's," tight-lipped shell...
Brother, I'm here to tell ya...there'd be Hell!
And, If the "Timid Tortoise" dared,
Peak a glimpse of the coming dawn,
On the lawn, who would find his head,
On the "Chilly-Willy" chopping block?...
"Hear Ye," "Hear Ye!"..."Hare" today!..."Mock Turtle" soup tomorrow!
I am the child,
that emerges from the womb,
and merges with the light!
I am a speck of dust,
on an endless horizon,
that sinks with the sunset!
I am that quiet calm,
and yet, the broken glass,
that's shattering my scone!
I am the juggernaut,
remiss of any restraint,
that rattles and chafes my bones!
I am a beacon,
against the swelling tide,
I "am" that safe harbor at night!
I am the ghost,
of my past and present,
I am your...whispered delight!
I am the vision,
amid this lustrous illusion,
that binds or blinds my sight!
I am all these things,
encompassed in a closet,
surrounded by whitewashed walls!
I am...all of you,
I am...the stained stitch,
we "are" all one!....w e a v i n g a w o r l d w i d e w e b !
Dear A,
“Do you remember John McLean?” you asked
“He died of an overdose this week past,”
If I remember John McLean? I can see
Him in fractured shadows of memory
Edges curled up with whisky and cigarettes
Our midnight quests for sleaze and side-effects;
While we talked of escape and sought new thrills
Beyond the tollgate and home’s confining hills,
When we searched that night so determinedly
For pills in the nervous light of a pharmacy
Perhaps our adolescent raving dimmed
Some destiny already struggling in him?
Like Eve’s fossil footprints pressed in the dune
On mustard shores along Langebaan lagoon,
All our choices leave their trails, faint remains
Of petrified memory through time-hewn veins
And the blue-black susurrus of his blood
Dried up like Eve’s footprint before the flood.
Ending so sudden, abrupt, unforeseen.
But yes, yes, I do remember John McLean.
Yours sincerely
M.
“A life leaving traces after death . . .
a blessing we extol with every breath.”
__by Poet
So many years ago my parents passed,
each leaving well before considered old.
And so, for them, my sorrow yearned at last
to know that they live on, as scriptures hold.
At their two graves, I stood and wept goodbyes
and then each night prayed long for God to say
that they were safe with Him in Heaven's skies;
please have them show me in their special way.
My prayers were answered by a dream she sent.
Dear Mom, with twinkling eyes, threw me a kiss.
Then, forming hugs with arms embraced, she went
among the clouds, assuring me her bliss.
Years later, when my Dad had passed away,
a rose upon his coffin ended strife;
by chance, within a book was placed to lay
upon some words that proved Eternal Life.
Two loved ones leaving traces after death!
This filled my heart with comfort through the years.
And now, I hold the truths displayed in depth;
so thankful that these answers dried my tears.
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