When it’s time to pay alimony
~ spendthrifts discover parsimony
You’ve spent years gathering pieces.
Lessons woven into your hands,
stitched into your voice,
threaded through the way you move.
Still, you hesitate.
As if wisdom needs a witness.
As if truth needs permission.
As if you are waiting for someone
to say, yes, you are allowed.
But no one is coming to grant you authority.
No degree, no title, no nod of approval
will make you more of what you already are.
You know.
You have always known.
And when you finally claim it—
they will know too.
It is a long journey
from the first breath drawn
to the final sigh
our lungs release.
The search is not for a name
but for its meaning
to ask what it is
to stand fully human.
It winds through valleys of doubt
through alleys guilt dare not enter
a path with no shortcuts
only steps into the unknown.
It is not a destination
but a vast, shifting sea
no shore in sight
only thoughts adrift, seeking home.
Tears of the Dragon Poetry
Contest //Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Contest Judged: 8/26/2025 11:56:00 PM
( 6th Place )
Written: August 18, 2025
I stood on the crag where the sea breathed fire,
its winds tearing at the very shape of my name.
The sky was a shattered mirror
each splinter a memory I had tried to leave high and dry,
but still they cut as they fell through me.
In the distance, the dragon turned its head.
Its eyes held storms I had feared all my life.
Its wings-- the weight of every road I never dared to walk.
I thought I’d come here, to vanquish it
But the revelation was, it had come to set me free.
Its roar did not strike me down.
It shredded the silence that had been my prison.
Tears flowed hot and unyielding
spilling the ashes of years into the waiting tide.
The wind rose, not to push me back,
but to carry me forward.
And when the dragon soared away.
Its shadow left no darkness behind.
Only a sky wide enough
for the first flight of my own wings.
I OPENED A DOOR
IN THE UNIVERSE,
MUCH TO MY SUPRISE ,
I STUMBLED UPON
A LONG LOST TRUTH
THAT OPENED , UP MY EYES.
THERE IS MORE ,
THAN ONE DIMENSION.
WHEN IT COMES TO BEING.
THIS IS WHAT ,
I STUMBLED UNPON .
ONLY NOW , I BELIEVE , I AM SEEING.
VISION BEYOND PERCEPTION .
EXISTENCE ,
BEFORE THE DAWN OF TIME.
ONCE CONSIDERED THE OUTER LIMITS ,
NOW EMANATES ,
FROM WITHIN THE MIND.
LIKE AN EXOTHERMIC REACTION ,
THAT RELEASES ENERGY
IN THE FORM OF LIGHT .
THRUSTING US FORWARD ,
INTO THE FUTURE ,
LIKE THE ALTERING OF DAY AND NIGHT.
FASTER , AND FASTER ,
THAN THE SPEED OF LIGHT
REVERSING , ALL DIRECTIONS OF TIME.
MEANING , THE SOUL WAS HERE ,
BEFORE THE BODY
BOTH , CATCHING UP WITH THE MIND.
DELIVERING US
FROM DARKNESS
NOW STANDING IN THE LIGHT,
WE WERE HERE
THE ENTIRETY OF TIME
WE WERE MEARLY OUT OF SIGHT.
Michael E Harris
07122025
After poem for "How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I offered you trust, an open door without locks, My heart lay exposed, vulnerable on the rocks.
You entered with a grin, words sweet as honey, But your exhale was ice, your caress felt phony.
You spoke of my glow, then left me in the dark, Filled my mouth with verse, but your questions missed the mark.
I poured truth in your glass, you gulped it down, Then smashed it to pieces, leaving me with a frown.
Your grin sang me to sleep, your gaze was a trap, You stripped me bare, wrapped in a spiritual wrap.
You cut deep where no looking glass could see, A chuckle laced with poison, from which I could not break free.
You embraced my hush, then made it howl, Left traces in my nights, making me scowl.
Now I walk with whispers you would not claim, Building self-worth from the leftovers of shame.
I grin like embers—cool and exact, I have learned the price of sweetness and tact.
So if you return to sample what is left, You will meet a girl who has swallowed her theft.
I’m on your lap
in a photo I no longer have—
a toddler with a borrowed brush,
my hand caught mid-daub
on your canvas.
It was staged, of course—
your painting for a calendar
on the easel in front of us
like the month you gave me
a tool of your craft
and I mistook it
for permission—
but my brush didn’t
paint like yours.
Sometimes I wonder
if you saw it,
the difference—
or if you just liked
how I held the brush,
intent on nothing more
than becoming you.
I no longer try
to paint like you.
I paint like me—
and I think you'd smile
to see what I’ve done,
though my brush still doesn’t
paint like yours.
Never Safe
I’ve never felt safe, if I may be so bold,
No warm shelter from nights so cold
If walls were strangers, far or near,
This silent place was built from fear.
Their smiles were teasing, sharp and sly,
Their hug a blade, an unspoken lie.
I’ve had to breathe without a sound,
Hid my tears, kept pain unbound.
At night I whispered to the skies,
That storms were gifts, not lullabies.
No answer came—just shadow play,
Ghosts in the light that wouldn’t stay
I held my own hand in darkest time,
Promised myself to rise and climb.
Not for anyone—just for me,
To prove to myself I could be free.
The days were heavy, nights were worse,
A silent cry, a muted curse.
Though never safe, I’ve grown quite strong,
A warrior with a quiet song.
Juicy Couture
Juicy Couture
Dont make ish like this no more
Bring back good fashion
SHEIN is tired
Wool, silk, linens
Put polyester in a fire
The fads have faded
Trends are tired
Give us proper clothes
Our situation is dire
This waste, this consumption
Our society is plagued
This greed, this hunger
Buying through guilt and rage
A human hole
Fill it with stuff
Emotions take hold
Fill it with fluff
No depth
Less dimension
Sorrowfully empty
Riddled with tension
It tugs, it pulls
Waits for your truth
It gnaws, it scream
Be the sleuth
No one can understand
First, you must learn
Self-discovering journey
Then peace you will earn
No hole, only hope
No greed, but gratitude
Find yourself chanting
No woes, but platitudes
Their tales old as time
Hold truth in every rhyme
Follow a life of your design
Don't believe it?
This is the sign.
It’s been a long time since
I’ve ventured into
this new studio of mine—
dust has settled like ashes
on the unshelved books
and the jars of brushes
still packed away in boxes
that intimidate me.
Since I’m already here
I might as well unpack
one carton of my past.
I slit the tape on a box
labeled Miscellaneous,
not knowing what I’ll find.
Inside, a parrot, a toucan,
some triangles and French curves.
And buried deeper —
a chambered nautilus,
a Royal Doulton mare and foal,
and a photo of my daughter
in the beloved red clogs
we bought in Reykjavik—
and which she took to bed with her
each night ‘til she outgrew them —
legs crossed like a diva,
already queen of her small world.
The room watches in stillness
as I lay each relic
in the light like an offering,
and with each one
the unfamiliar space
begins to feel it might really
become my new studio.
Something in me loosens—
and begins to believe it too.
My knees crack as I rise—
it’s not exactly
a resurrection, but it’s
close enough for a Thursday.
I dust off the windowsill,
open another box,
and let the light fall in.
Maybe, just maybe,
I might be home at last.
My head has always been made of glass,
and inside it lives a faint idea of who I am.
She used to be a silhouette,
but even then she wasn’t very defined.
In eighth grade, I believed that she lived in the shadows,
because showing herself felt heavier
than living in the trenches of our own mind.
In a way, she was right.
I was told that the time would come when I’d figure out who I was—
but what use is saying “everything happens for a reason”
if it only makes me sad?
I started to write in my mirror:
words like “I’m funny, I’m thoughtful, and I’m kind.”
And I waited for a big moment,
when I’d realize that I was right.
Then came social media.
It made me feel like people could look into my seemingly see-through mind through a cracked lens and endless filters.
I thought maybe they could help me figure out who I was,
but no flashy moment ever arrived.
It wasn’t until my friend thanked me for giving her a birthday gift
and studying for a class I didn’t take just to help her understand
that I got home to my dusty shelf and whispered into an empty room while looking my mirror in the eye
“Maybe I wasn’t wrong after all”
Today I discovered the sun
Not that the sun was ever invisible
Not that the sun was ever lost
Not that the sun was ever elusive
Not that the sun was ever obscured by an unattainable cost
Today I discovered the sun
When I removed the blinds from my windows
So that the sun could find me
Emergence And Layers
Everyone has layers
Unknown layers… are mysteries of your soul
Peeling back layers brings you closer to your core and soul
Revealing your core shines light on your soul
Your core and soul emerges for others to see and feel
You are known…
Sherry Barton
I want to climb mountains high.
Before they start falling from the sky.
I will pray for every hater.
And be like my creator.
I don’t want to live in regret.
I want to accomplish the goals I set.
And soar beyond the streams.
Where pain is a distant dream.
I want to be one with my creator.
And live like my savior.
Turn down every temptation of sin.
Following Jesus is the only way I win.
Why is Life so hard? Chewing you up and spitting you out.
Searching for meaning, and what life’s all about.
Why do hearts have to be broken?
Why can’t people keep their word that they’ve spoken?
I want to stop asking about so many things.
Be thankful for what I have and just follow my dreams.
Love everyone and look past the things they do.
Be good to myself and others, because that is the only truth.
If God is hateful
explain where love comes from.
If God is your equal,
define the body
and how each piece flows as one,
and recreate it.
If God is betrayal
convince me your life is done,
that you're not just undone,
but unfinished.
If God is pure punishment
explain replenishment,
recuperation
and recovery.
Your discovery of God is not set in stone
and neither is mine.
So give Him some time to show you these rhymes
are more than mere poetry,
not solely words on a page.
Go on and gauge what the 'h' this means for yourself
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