world in much askew
sheeple treading timidly
contests of mankind
In the cheer chat, where joy should unite,
A ten-year-old girl causes drama day and night
She calls me a brat, a jerk, selfish and ugly too,
But she's the one acting out, it's true.
She says she wants to push me off a cliff,
Her words so harsh, they make my spirit stiff.
As I debate my life's worth, feeling so low,
She tells me to end it, her cruelty on show.
I cry for hours, feeling so torn,
But then my bestie, she keeps me warm.
She tells me to stay, to stand strong and tall,
With her love and support, I won't fall.
I'll rise above her hurtful game,
And find my strength, reclaim my name.
For with true friends by my side,
I'll face the storm and turn the tide.
autumn colours fill my eyes
leaves' transient beauty before their inevitable demise
goodbye ~ no regret or drama
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Sitting here with the wind,
as it swats at my hair.
The sun dancing with clouds,
with them our part will share.
The interplay of light,
that decries nature's sway.
Holds too the lost secrets,
of a more godly day.
From afar came the gods,
to plant the seeds of time.
Where desire can be king,
and a common man shine.
History will point out,
the man with iron will.
Who comes with a mission,
for a god to fulfill.
The ancient dark drama,
where a man has to choose.
from having everything,
when his life he must lose!
They left Southampton with a coal fire down below,
Olympic class of the White Star Line, little did they know.
Irish-built in Belfast, one iceberg was all it took as,
with insufficient lifeboats, the whole wide world it shook.
Departing Queenstown, compartments not all watertight,
unsinkable or so they said, until that tragic night...
(almost a six-day cruise).
She was poorly equipped and, as all good Captains do
(tho' that is not his due), Edward Smith
(and fifteen hundred souls or more)
went down with the ship.
And the band played on as the ship was going down,
were they blind (drunk?), out of their minds,
they were all about to drown.
Some thought 'Bravery,' others, 'Stupidity,'
(altho' cold as ice), I can say, quite categorically,
I would have jumped ship if it were me.
Tho' it's a deep subject, rock-bottom at very best,
the play on Broadway (take a bow) you won't see,
of lost lives and broken hearts
is... 'The Titanic, In Two Parts'.
(“Splendid Isolation Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)
Not My Battle
It’s not my battle
Not my hill to die on
Or claim as king.
I’d rather just sit peacefully
On some lonely mountain
Enjoying the sounds of silence.
Sure I can see the dust rise
And hear occasional horns blow
Of the little battles raging far below.
But it’s not my battle
Nor hill to die on,
At least not on this fine day…
(8/9/25)
cities bubbling with their stories
life playing out with all its drama
characters come and go
behind every curtain falls a hero
at other times a villain
the city recycles bit parts for show biz
in one continuous stage production
AP: 3rd place 2025
Submitted on June 19, 2025 for contest 1391 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - Honorable Mention
You are never too small to make a difference, carries a powerful message, emphasizing that individual actions, regardless of scale, can have a significant impact—The Warriors
when size does matter
to be a warrioress~
leave the Drama Q
u n
e e
I planned futures with you,
but your happiness came first.
When anger calls, you shut off
I must stay composed,
must communicate,
must hold it all together.
Smile. Talk nice.
The bare minimum is not enough.
Imagine giving your life
to someone who would build with you,
then leave when joy runs dry.
Words once meant something.
Vows weren’t meant to break.
I could climb mountains,
cross oceans,
fly the world
still, not enough.
So take this version of me:
hollow, nonchalant, unsubscribed.
If attention is currency,
I will devalue myself
crash the market.
If you sow wind
You reap storm
Play your drama.
Quiet porch and a lazy chair,
sitting for a while is a song.
A blue collar stereotype.
Highlights visible from the air,
bold italics will show up strong.
Iconic, working that pinstripe.
Dusk saunters in devil may care,
sizzling whatever could go wrong?
Tipple a taste of this peace pipe.
Like a view of the county fair,
the big girl rides go all night long.
Such fine architectural hype.
I have built my diorama,
a caricature of drama.
Self-transformation through karma includes a load of drama.
I should have bought a larger and deeper diorama.
When a crises fully shook me, I feared my ink had dried,
forced gone by the new brain managing my mind from inside.
To outrun the blues, my muse likely fashioned good-bye shoes.
Grieving my muse, I cried recalling decades we'd penned through.
I sought their return through all ways I knew stirred their core.
I read poems, played songs they loved, walked the ocean shore.
Four months passed with no sign from my muse or ink evident.
Next, I looked through my family pics and felt some sentiment …
So, I stared at pics of Dad and Bro, and well sensed my muse mush.
Their deaths years back, made muse wish to compose and ink to flush..
When them hate
Don't work
They start
Creating scene
Seeking others attention
Either for applause
Or to ruin another person reputation.
Acting selfishly
Creating scenarios
We the villains
Them the victor
Telling what's not true
Disunity them agendas.
Their messages
Disunited many
Setting the city ablaze
Many were scapegoat
Leaving them traumatized
Hurting another unknowingly
Without empathy or sympathy
Alas, None a born sinner.
They called me a coward, said my words would hide,
Too timid to face the storm, I’d run and confide.
My thoughts were shadows, secrets bound tight,
In the echoes of silence, I fought my own fight.
They wanted bold thunder, unyielding and loud,
To speak like the lightning, piercing the cloud.
But my voice trembled, a flickering flame,
Afraid of the sparks that might tarnish my name.
I carried my truths in whispers, not roars,
Let them drift behind unguarded doors.
Perhaps it was fear; perhaps it was care,
To speak of the absent felt too much to bear.
Still, they threw their stones, their judgment like chains,
Mocking my struggles, dismissing my pains.
But courage, I’ve learned, wears many a guise
It’s not always in voices, but in how one tries.
So call me a coward if that’s how you feel,
But my wounds are my own, and they’ve yet to heal.
I’ll find my voice when the moment is true,
And when I do speak, I’ll be ready for you.
Written By: D. Collins 1/2/25
As I reach my prime in my mid-sixties.
I have a vow in dragging no drama with me.
I want my heels kicked up on a sandy beach.
Getting real F'd up on umbrella drinks.
Taking a long walk to get my exercise.
Having to back up because of rising tide.
Leaving my footprint in the just cooled sand.
Wearing damn near nothing but a headband.
If you bring drama you cannot come with me.
I'm retiring to some water that is drama-free.
I will scour my toes with fine, white sand.
But drama is forbidden in Darrell's Promised Land.
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