The fog comes/on little cat feet.//
It sits looking/over harbor and city/
on silent haunches/and then moves on.
~Carl Sandburg
Arrival of fog was something
more catty with claws extended
it gripped the town with damp dreadful
shivering so even church bells
refused to ring and shopkeepers
closed their normally friendly doors
against the sudden misery
of a day gone terribly wrong.
The Christian who preaches
death and destruction, End
Times, is little better than the
Tyrant who says, do as the
state says, or suffer the consequences --
we are no good to heaven if we
arrive there for fear of damnation.
No sane father, beyond the years
of a child’s early development, wants his child
to fear him. Love but not fear. Love
and fear cannot coexist. Sin wants
us to fear. Love does not. Dropping
bombs or dropping damnation are one
in the same. It is man’s way, and not
the way of our nurturing God. Love
is the Light and Way of a harmonic
universe....
The departure is all I know.
Its familiarity is embedded in the sadistic comedy of my consciousness.
Its affection is engraved in the intimate deception of my own searing flesh.
Its practice plays on a loop in the fond erraticism of my haste.
The malice kisses my tears as it spits salt into my sores.
The isolation tends to my methodical mourn of a mockery.
The reassurance of my ruin strokes my hair; a reminder of my rational wreckage.
The impulsive denial of my fate lingers in the darkness of my preordained doom.
The doom of my dread.
The doom of my denial.
The doom of my destiny.
The deliberate descent into the dusk holds me hostage.
The eerie malevolent vines of its malign wrap around my vindictive matter.
It squeezes until I drip with the decay of my own skin-swallowing dejection.
The white of its teeth gleam at me, gasping in my reluctant pleas of sojourn.
The rot fuses with the warmth of my blood and the salt of my sweat.
This is the end I yearned for.
This is the termination I yearned for.
This is the finale I yearned for.
Calculated.
Segregated.
Anticipated.
The doom of my departure.
An ancient, desiccated
pharaoh awakened within
the subterranean labyrinth
of his limestone sepulcher,
Tattered, resin- soaked
bandages unfurled like
skeletal fingers from his
withered, emaciated frame.
A hollow, sarcophagus- born
shriek echoed through the
claustrophobic, dust- choked
corridors of the tomb.
Intruders trembled as the
reanimated monarch
exhaled a foul, millennial
breath of decay.
The curse of the scarab-
engraved scarification
manifested, binding the
tomb- raiders in paralyzed
terror.
His empty, shadowed
sockets burned with a
malevolent, incandescent
hunger for vengeance.
Grizzled, mummified hands
reached out to drag the
trespassers into the stygian
darkness.
The heavy stone sarcophagus
lid slammed shut, sealing their
horrific, suffocating fate.
Now, fresh blood seeped
through the ancient linen,
feeding the eternal, undead
king.
The labyrinth reclaimed its
silence, guarding the pharaoh's
newly fortified, immortal slumber.
A dictionary of tragedies, My next step deeper in vain than my last.
Whats the point of running, if I run in a circle back to my past.
Every new path I take, a new mistake I cant unmake,
A demon in all past lives, so now I burn myself at your stake.
I'll stop breathing, because you said you loved the colour blue,
I paint on and on until my fingers fall apart, but the red blood still shows through.
Happiness doesn't repel me, I suffer to hunt it away,
Without pain who am I? In the burning fire I find my way.
My agony is art that I'd rather die than stop making,
Ill patch myself up, but not so much that id stop breaking.
I walk into a storm, board a boat already drowning
I rip the open the stitches, Trying to salvage the sting.
Beauty doesn't come from within, it stems from my veins torn,
Scarlet, wine, maroon, in blood my prophecy scorned
By: Khomotso Makitla
Wake up and smell the morning mist.
Though the morning offers sunshine and butterflies,
some bring sorrow mourning, I’m mourning.
A lion that hunts its own shadow dies of hunger.
This must be a gift,
being able to fit all my problems in a sealed jar.
Indeed, bottling my pain felt like the best decision
all my emotions numb and dull.
But be careful… I’m fragile.
One crack in the jar,
and screams will echo through the world,
painting it with pain.
Rain, rain, go away
that’s what I tell my tears.
Why do I feel fear, though I’m fearless?
Is my courage just a phase,
a feeling afraid of being caged?
I’m to blame
I paved the way for pain to leave its mark.
I cry a lot,
screaming my lungs out, begging for help.
But I’m a quokka
I smile though my heart is bleeding.
And my knees are proof
that in prayer, I lean.
Even though my life’s rhythm
is out of sync.
Deep ache in my heart lies
A sorrowful shade spreads in all nooks of my room
Hot tears rise
The sun shines bright
Still my life is filled with deep gloom
Upright,
My plight
Vouchsafed to doom`s
Blight
Deep ache in my heart lies
Still my life is filled with deep gloom
Blight
She saw everything in shades of black
Nothing seemed to touch her bitter heart
A dark cloud followed above her head
She wouldn’t or couldn’t crack a smile
Permanent shadows overtook her mind
Her so-called friends avoided her
She envied everyone’s good fortune
Bad luck and misfortune were on her tail
She let on that she couldn’t understand
But we all recognized a magnet’s power
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Do the eyes see, or does the mind perceive
What shadows creep warily upon the eve
What forgotten past horde our gainful years
What winged doom bearers rouse our darkest fears
While doubts fester in the fields of the failed legionnaire
And fallen angels flock about thy desperate prayer
Know, aback the world dreaming dragon, I'll be there
Arisen from the dust and decay of The One's, promise broken
I am all that, of which mean, "power", awoken
The wailing grief of shadows fallen where darkness dare
Cleaved in twain by the righteous sword's gleaming glare
Nigh falls the last darkling felled to the abysmal deep
Goeth now from fretful slumbers to restful sleep
For, nor even death himself may reap
thy mortal soul
Whilst I stand guardian; the sacred fold
Dark Horse run.
Truth can stun
Please don't shun.
Father's son.
Foes surround
Mists confound
One last sound
Black Hawk down.
Soul on fire
Quench desire
Won't pay your price
Soul on ice.
Smear my name
crying shame
cleanse the stain
off track train.
Scandal loose
Can't have truce
Grab at Spruce
jump caboose.
No eagles’ nest,
No place to rest.
Gave my best—
Failed the test.
Atlas shrugged
World unplugged
Blood red sun
Dark Horse run.
The system is failing us
We thought we were protected
Now we see how vulnerable we are
There is no going back
We're falling fast and there's no net
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
How much prescience
did you leave behind
futures left unfelt
How much transience
were you denied
with aces left undealt
How many doors
stayed closed and shut
no matter how hard you knocked
How many chances
did you waste
— as you slaved before the clock
(Dreamsleep: October, 2025)
Written: September 30, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand
*****
fate spins
sin wins
Over fourteen years ago pop culture told us
We’d only have twelve years to survive
Due to the existential threat of climate change.
Today I see a new prediction
That within two years AI will go rogue
And humanity will be extinct within the decade.
And it reminds me again, people may be wrong,
But you never know, and yet can never go wrong,
To not worry, be happy and live for today.
(8/12/25)
Contest: vibrations from a verso
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: 24th July, 2025
Placement: third
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
A dark cloak wraps the sky
Draped in deep gloom
Blind to starlight's bright glare
Fear grips each ghost
Running helter skelter
Their time of doom
Lies ahead in the night
Fear at each post!
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