Beneath the amber autumn light,
Where plastic masks were thin and cold,
We wandered in the gathering night,
Back when the neighborhood felt old.
The pillowcases sagged with sweets,
The jack-o'-lanterns burned with lime,
And through the dim, familiar streets,
We walked along the edge of time.
A boombox hummed a shadowy tune,
The VHS was taped and slow,
Under a low, pale October moon—
Forty autumns long ago.
We didn't see the silent thread
That pulled our childhood to the grave,
Or know the voices of the dead
Were echoes of the love we gave.
Now streetlamps flicker, quiet, lone,
The porch light’s gone, the dark is deep;
The ghosts we dressed as turned to bone,
And only memories refuse to sleep.
890.
10 Meron si Jose Radin 10:
Edge Over the Others
Si Jose Radin ay may "Edge Over the Others"
Merong Quality that Matters
Isang dekalidad na Graduate ng UP
Hindi basta-basta, indi maasi-asi
Isang dekalidad na Empleyado
Kahit maliit ang sweldo
Siya ay maaasahan
Nariyan kapag kinakailangan
Sa mga trabaho may ambag na malaki
Salamat sa Dios na Almighty.
-10/10/2025
(Dumarao)
*10 Meron si Jose Radin
A curled pink nail,
tap on navy blue,
garment I wore,
benchmark blazer,
and matching pants,
whilst idly gazing,
at top shelf luxuries,
with lavish design,
a tinctured twang,
“beyond my grasp,”
that felicitous plead,
from ethereal elder,
whose finger points,
to green leaf motif,
breakfast tea box,
tucked between,
medley of brands,
behind shelf label,
“your lofty stature,”
“towering boon,”
her citrine whisper,
my wobbly lurch,
I self adjust now,
before the setting,
of caffeine boost,
in basket mesh,
hug swops usher,
vanishing in lane
I sat on the edge of love
Too afraid to go all in;
Not knowing if I would sink and drown,
Or, instinctively know how to swim.
I stood upon the shoreline
Watching many a fish swim by,
Never working up the courage
To give meeting any of them a try.
When finally, I dove in,
I discovered I was just another guy,
And when living emersed in water
No one notices when you have a cry.
I eventually found my lover,
After venturing into the deep end,
Surprised to have discovered,
She was disguised as my best friend.
I wasted time standing on the sideline,
That could have been spent with my soul mate,
But, better than never diving in,
Is jumping in a little bit late.
So, if you are sitting on the edge of love,
To you I give this advice,
Work up the courage to come on in,
The water in here is nice.
Embrace sweet night the air
Divine the scent of sweet jasmine
Gardens line the streets of Pompeii
Eve's delight wafts on a westward breeze
Only the stars dare compete with the distant rumble
Flashing their pedigree when all seems calm
Naive we be thinking we are safe
Intoxicated with our sleepy dreams
Gargoyles and ghosts meanwhile dance amid a cauldron
Hades from below will soon let out his roar
Tremble Pompeii the night envelops this sudden moment cast in time
AP: 3rd place 2026
POTD August 19, 2026
I ¦¦¦ have a dark side
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ like the moon
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ that never lights up
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ delusions
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
Like ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ a sheet of glass
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ slicing through proximity
¦¦¦ if ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ distant ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ with the dark side
¦¦¦¦¦ like a dejected piece ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦ to reach out ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ behind the doors
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
I leave ¦¦¦ struggling
On the edge ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ tired ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of On Listening To Pink Floyd by Subhash Misra)
I reach the wooded edge
in the held breath before sunrise,
October coolness at my back.
I walk eastward, lifting my gaze
expecting blue light~
but dawn arrives golden and warm,
a quiet mercy on my chilled skin.
The wind carries earth, water, and pine.
Then a rustle. I stop. I listen.
My ancestors walk behind me.
“Be still,” they whisper.
“You are the result of the love of thousands before you.”
Written: July 22, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
************
We sit at this emporium
on the outskirts of the oasis;
I watch you
while your eyes inhabit the moon.
Tell me—what forgotten tide
is tugging at your silence?
mine,
or the phantom
wearing your heartbeat,
as cedar smoke cleaves to your coat?
The night offers
no reply.
Every moonrise
it buttons brief memories, tight as cold stone,
as dew phosphoresces on iron rails
meanwhile,
your discarded book drinks darkness...
Only the window holds our
two reflections, never touching.
So—
I am living on your borrowed light,
gathering myself from evanishing warmth
your gaze forgets to retain—
silver by sepulchral slate piece,
salt whitening the shoreline.
I become a constellation
linking stars and tears,
luminous enough to guide the lost.
Yet still, the silver rim
of your cup remains.
It proves even borrowed moons
leave tides behind,
washing over the stagnant coffee left between us.
The roller left a wet
Textured topography
On the drywall
A fresh
Continent
Of liquid chalk
Under a steady
Unblinking gaze
The gloss begins to warp
The fumes carry
A quiet hum, a frequency
That unlatches the deadbolt of the mind
My eyes
Track
A single, rebellious drip
A slow-motion comet
Cutting through
A matte sky
In the five seconds
It takes
To drop an inch
I have built
A city
In my head
Lived a lifetime
Inside a song
I forgot the title of
And wondered
If the sky
Feels this heavy right before it rains
The perimeter is curing now
Turning dull
At the edges
By the time
This surface
Loses its shine
I will have traveled
Lightyears
And forgotten my way back
There's stillness in the air.
A silence hovers heavy in the distance.
Reigns an uncertainty of what's to come.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
A life on the edge,
Is better than hiding behind a hedge,
Looking down from an imaginary ledge,
With nothing to entice you from the ledge,
Except some bets to hedge,
And the chance of finding
someone with their heart to pledge.
On balance life on the edge,
Is better than hiding behind a hedge,
Always on edge,
With no bets to hedge,
And no chance of finding
someone with their heart to pledge.
Guarding
our bitters
Each wrong
we have suffered
Enshrined
in our memory
Alive
in our souls
Forgiveness
a myth
The weak
will hold onto
Revenge
all the sweeter
Served hot
— and not cold
(Dreamsleep: June, 2026) O/L 5-24-2026
Like Masks
Forget
being clever
abandon
the word
Being cute
more offensive
its pander
absurd
They serve
as a mask
that we cower
behind
To proffer
deception
we harbor
— inside
(Dreamsleep: June, 2026)
Where the sky drifts into the sea
a hush of spirit stirs the air.
A doorway glows in what might be~
where the sky drifts into the sea.
The soul leans close, remembering
a truth too tender to declare.
Where the sky drifts into the sea
a hush of spirit stirs the air.
“My soul is a black maelstrom…” ~ Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet.
Molten lava spews from my eyes.
My mouth feels dry as the scorching desert sand.
Fear, like a heavy boulder, sits on my chest.
My heart is chasing a Chimera.
A pit is forming in my stomach;
My head is riding upon a vortex.
Conflicting thoughts swirl through my mind,
forming a surrealistic whirlpool.
Grim and gloomy feelings shroud my being,
Permeating a fatalistic suspicion of society at large,
Dragging me down the road to depression.
A sense of emptiness is mushrooming within me,
Like the morning miasma blurring the view.
All hands of hope have been withdrawn.
Every moment henceforth
is pregnant with some novel challenges;
Tackling a new task overwhelms me,
and despair prevails over my soul undeterred —
Bogged down by fate,
Tethered to my faith,
And mired in a spiritual quagmire,
I am unable to claw my way back up
to Mount Calvary.
~Prompt 2: "As I slip into the void of this endless black."
~Contest: Venom and Stardust: A Birthday Prompt
~sponsor: Sara Jama.
~Screwed XXIII Poetry Contest by Rob Carmack
On the edge of something
language hadn’t been invented yet
to describe what I was seeing,
the horizon whispered secrets,
color drenched in honey and twilight,
where shadows danced like old friends,
smiles and sighs mingled
in the liquid air.
The sky was a canvas,
not of stars, but of ideas,
shapes that bent and folded
like dreams never quite dreamed,
a tapestry woven with possibility.
I reached out, fingertips grazing
the pulse of something new,
unfurling,
tender like a first breath,
heavy with silence,
swelling with wonder.
Time stretched in soft arcs,
each moment a petal unfurling,
the world a chorus of visions,
where mountains cradled the sun,
and rivers carried laughter
in their swift embrace.
I stood, suspended,
on the cusp of discovery,
heart racing in rhythm
with the melody of the unseen,
the unsaid.
In that space, I was lost
and found,
a witness to the unspoken,
to the edge of language,
waiting to be born.
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