Little Echoes spreading 2
From Kentish stones at Lympne's historic keep,
Where cameras roll and modern tensions creep,
The broadcaster delivered, sharp and loud,
A scathing judgment to the listening crowd.
The news of the return, he fiercely claimed,
Had left the royal household deeply blamed;
It landed heavy on the palace floors
Like rotting sacks of spuds behind the doors.
From sources wrapped in strict, protected shade,
He sketched the rift the swift arrival made
A rival camp upon the British soil,
Apart from those who do the daily toil.
He spoke of grifters seeking wealth and fame,
With shifting burdens and a fractured name,
While in the wings, a softer echo sighs
On lucky families under heavier skies.
Little Echoes spreading 1
Behind the gilded gates where history sleeps,
Huge ancient institution secrets keeps.
Yet modern spotlights pierce the palace shade,
To question how its wealth and power were made
Bound to the empires of an older age,
And written on the slave trade's darkest page.
The whispers spoke of skin and unborn heirs,
A shadow cast upon the golden stairs,
ink in Dutch translations sparked the flame,
And public voices rose to shield a name.
Then questions asked of origins and birth,
Denied a British citizen her worth.
The tabloids spun their headlines day by day,
As ancient structures blocked the modern way.
From old exemptions hidden in the past,
To broad exclusions never meant to last,
The crown still wrestles with the words it spoke,
And changes stirring in the winds that woke.
Tell me darling, what’s the time, what’s the time
My Fitbit is out of charge, out of charge
What you say I can’t define, can’t define
Maybe distance is too large, is too large
“Love, I can’t speak from here, speak from here
I can’t tell where I am, where I am
It’s just signs that you hear, that you hear
Hope to send more of them, more of them
Just remind me you love me, you love me
Anytime that will suit you, will suit you
Don’t forget to be with me, be with me
See I am with you too, with you too..”
UNMISTAKABLE ECHOES
sublime
inspiration
makes
possible
&
invigorates
perspective
to
achieve
dynamic
exegesis
clear
simple
imagery
descriptive
figurative
specific
&
sensory
What can I say?
Did I know you wouldn't stay?
Why did you play?
Was our bond just moldable clay?
Why did I get a formal "father",
When I just wanted a "dad" who'd bother?
When I was small, I wished to be big,
Tired of playing this childhood jig.
But once I grew up, I wanted back small,
To escape the shadows that made me feel tall.
My teenage years were drowning in tension,
While they relaxed and lived on a pension.
You demanded so much more,
I asked, "Is there nothing else in store?"
You screamed that you still wanted more!
Was my existence just a tedious chore?
They want the girl to build a home,
Though she was left to weep alone.
Mother sees the rising evil,
But she prefers to love her own
Sweet devil.
If you are
not a leftist
please know
we don't align
For once in
your life
you must
pick a side
Because the
rest of us
can see all
the bold signs
Of a nation
fragmented
by the broken
hands of time.
Your dress dazzling bright, my mind flying high, like a kite.
Beyond the clouds, into the starry night,
To meet the goddess’ might. Though, she just intends to fright.
Even with her pearly white light, her life is naught, but to plight.
However, I myself cannot seem to become her light, in the darkness of night.
Thick cold shadows stretch
as rotting walls attenuate the
terrifying echoes of a scream.
We wake from the past, though not from sleep,
Where scattered images are a curse to keep.
Copyright © 2026 by Crystal David John
I tend to
delete
any unwanted
or unnecessary
comments
sometimes;
I mean
no offense,
it's okay
to be
intense;
but please
let me
write
in peace
and just
try to
be silent
since I
did not
ask
for your
two cents.
Note: I will block the next person who makes weird comments on my poems.
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Contest: EIGHT BY EIGHT Poetry Contest
Date: August 1, 2026
Fog Between Souls
Silent woods now hold wind echoes.
Grey mist veils our cold, frozen path.
Thick fog stands between you and me.
Dodder wrapped around both our souls.
Rootless, it drained all of our hope.
Broken leaves wept right at our feet.
Who stole our sweet love into fog?
Only silence softly answered.
"The next train will arrive shortly."
Amidst the crowd,
We place a final period on one another.
The moment I chance upon a kindred soul,
Unconsciously, I watch your footsteps.
Awakening for a brief instant,
Reflected in the train window,
Her visage—
Was merely the ancient groan of the train.
"Woooong"
The sun is out,
The day is about to unfold,
Yet somewhere deep in my bones,
I am freezing.
My eyes drift to my wrist
Only to find I’ve run out of time.
The edges of the world go soft,
My vision blurs,
And the ground rushes up to meet me.
They say the fall is part of the journey.
They say the echoes are just lessons to embrace.
But as I lie here in the dirt,
I want to know
How?
Written: July 11, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Line Gauthier
****************
Grief stays—slow snowfall seals the silent night,
Time weeps—deep sleep dims every fading light.
Lost love - heart's throb echoes that I can't flee,
Sad years—bleak hymns sink in, griefs I foresee.
Through fading rain, your voice—a soft refrain,
Grief's thief brings back your sweet ache again.
The old bell's echo still lingers in the air,
Not only in museums, but in the lives we share.
Through weathered words and faded ink,
We honor those who dared to dream and dared to think.
Yet freedom is not frozen in the past,
It grows with every year that passes fast.
In every song, each brushstroke that is bright,
New voices carry history into light.
The fireworks bloom where the stars belong,
A modern chorus joins an ancient song.
Remembering where our journey began,
While shaping tomorrow with hopeful hands.
This Fourth of July, may we celebrate both,
The courage of yesterday and the promise of growth.
For liberty only lives when hearts remain free,
Creating a future worthy of history.
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