Eleven months without physical harm
is a blessing she cradles in her arms.
One more month remains of living unchained.
Soon life might lose the dread that threads alarm.
As his time serving overseas dwindles,
her coerced endurance holds less kindle.
Her thought onslaught is worry fraught and serves
images that swell in her heart and nerves.
She lives aware that one second can swerve
a life into despair no one deserves.
He might die or be maimed at the finish line.
In her mind, September is a landmine.
Fears make wishes to become unaware,
be numb to thirty more days of warfare.
She knows as a premature lamenter,
she wants sleep until the end of September.
august sun; is fire blown to forest tree;
still it holds a girl's hot breath in its green
shade; covers
her shadow; just broke off the dark sky;
red-cold; yellow bite; now leafy whispers
mean stems to boughs; broken leaves to will
under her feet, the death
Fall pulls skin on
no flutter on the girl's russet cheeks;
trees never cry so quiet or twist so low,
little-princess verdant crown thrown.
When September ends, the roses will remember
the warmth that lingered softly in their red;
the afternoon will lose its golden ember,
and summer will retreat from where it tread.
When September ends, the leaves will loosen,
as though the trees have learned the art of grace;
they will release what once they fiercely chosen,
and drift like old regrets from branch to place.
When September ends, what leaves me, too?
A younger face I scarcely recognize,
old dreams that once seemed certain, bright, and new,
and names that now return as ghosts at night.
Yet not all endings carry only loss;
the fallen leaf enriches waiting ground.
The broken heart, though marked by grief and frost,
may hear a quieter awakening sound.
So wake me when September has departed—
not from the sleep of autumn, but from fear;
for life, though leaving much of what I started,
still whispers: Something new is waiting here.
As a caboose is to a train,
September is to the summer.
The train finishes with red,
the summer also finishes with red.
Red from the hot days,
red from the painful sunburns,
red from barbequing over hot coals,
red showing off the long pretty sunsets.
Like a bear sleeping through winter,
I would love to sleep through the summer.
When the hot summer is over,
when September ends you must wake me up
Oh yes,
I want to see the pretty fall colors.
The trees are dressed in golds, oranges and rusts,
the squirrels are having fun playing tag,
as they hide their nuts for the winter.
The very hot weather is gone until next year,
a cool breeze covers me like a soft blanket.
As September says good-bye until next year,
winter will set in with cold winds.
Old sweaters will come out ready to wear,
as a new one or two will be bought.
What a magical time of the year,
holidays with family, friends and food,
celebrating one year out and a new one coming in.
A thousand paths wind up the mountain side,
Each claiming truth to soothe the restless mind,
Yet endless debates leave us short of guide,
When logic leaves the seeking spirit blind.
The holy scrolls are lanterns in the night,
But lanterns fade when morning breaks the sky;
Where reason faints, a deeper, silent light
Takes up the reins to guide the inward eye.
No chart of science, philosopher’s stone
Can plumb the depths where secret pearls reside,
The more we weigh the heavy vast unknown,
The more our doubts grow deeper than the tide.
If God dwells close, what use the pilgrimage?
If not, the journey morphs unto mirage.
_______________________
Reflections | 05.08.2026 | faith, god, path, pilgrimage, philosophy, reason, truth, Sonnet
If the world ends right now,
will seek for the god in the last vow.
Hands shaking, breath thin,
knees to the ground, nowhere else to begin.
As if plants were crying in,
due to humans having skeptical thinking,
cutting roots we don’t understand,
taking without asking, leaving scars on the land.
destroying one or two but the whole life of the livings.
Forests falling silent, rivers forgetting how to sing,
birds with no sky, and children with no spring.
We broke the chain and called it progress,
we broke the world and called it less.
Oh God,
If I get a chance for a last vow,
wanna seek for you in a row.
Not just one prayer and then goodbye,
but line after line, till the stars go dry.
Let me speak, let me stay,
let me mean it, just this one last time.
Old Rumple Stein gathered
the trembling children near
the frosted manor windows
as the full moon rose.
"Listen closely to the
snapping of the twigs out in
the dark estate," he whispered
slyly.
A cursed beast with matted
black fur and jagged yellow
fangs wanders these empty
hallways.
Its long, razor- sharp claws
scrape against the bedroom
doors with a terrible SCREEECH.
You will hear its heavy, wet
breathing right outside your
room before the doorknob
slowly turns.
It hunts the moment the sun
goes down, sniffing the air
for your terror.
The creature let's out a blood-
curdling howl that shakes the
very dust from the ceiling.
Golden, glowing eyes peer
through the keyhole,
watching you hide beneath
your thin blankets.
If it catches your scent, its
drooling jaws open wide to
swallow you whole.
"Do not dare to close your
eyes tonight," Rumple
snickered, "for the werewolf is inside."
HAS SAID 40 TIMES
AND EACH TIME THE DOW JONES CLIMBS
AND IRAN JUST SLIMES
When the world ends
the first thing I will remember
is that I can't take my riches with me
my awards and accolades will all evaporate
every title I had ever held in my lifetime
whether it is being a daughter, a sister,
a tourguide, an ambassador or a leader
will be eradicated like thistles in a garden
but recieving the Crown of Life
and being at home with my Lord
will be my greatest reward
sweeter than anything this world
has ever offered to me
wind gust blew winter away
seed corn hats in little cafe
[Contest: 2026-03-15 Write A Beautiful Shadorma. (Sponsor) Constance La France]
Mourning time.
Grief lets itself in.
Needed? Yes.
Welcomed? No.
It initiates closure.
A beloveds life ends.
Confusion.
Doubts. Questions. What now?
Regrets. Fears.
Silent dread
Of judgement from those without
The complete picture.
Memories
Comfort and soothe me,
The joy they
Brought to life.
Their qualities shining bright
Lighting paths ahead.
I thought you were my prince
Come to save my heart
To change my life
And become my missing part.
But you took my dreams
And tore them apart
You shredded my existence
Right from the start.
I was too blind to see
That you really didn't care
I sacrificed my pride
For your lying snair.
I walked away
With a broken heart
Wondering what I did wrong
To deserve your violent dart.
I learned the hard way
I was too good for you
And I never looked back
When I said we were through.
I have since moved on
And I've buried the past
Facing the shadows
Your abuse has cast.
The healing never ends
When abuse tears you apart
But the freedom you embrace
Is a peaceful start.
She made me of fun
I would have gouged her eye
To serve on her my turn
But doubt it won't break the aspiring tie
Though I thought she was but in fear
Of her doubt in words ladies hear
Yet, my response will never thought to be made
To one who stands not for others in the world
And this tongue of flame could have ceased to flicker
The true nature of my charming heart desire
But since, up from the ages past
No one has ever yet
Withstand the grief of regret
Turned encouraging unless had tried out his best
If what I know is true
Being cajoled will never break my flue
For at my back, I always hear
Age's pennate cart hastening near...
i burned my candle from both ends
and then complained
about the dark.
couldn’t tell night from day—
just a long hallway
with bad lighting
and worse memories.
the clock kept lying.
the mirror too.
through the wall
the magpies talked—
not poetry,
just the usual report:
pain,
someone elses suffering,
rent due,
another body giving up before it should.
I listened
because what else was there to do.
maybe it was madness,
maybe wisdom with a tight fist.
hard to say
when you’ve trimmed the wick
from both ends
and called it living.
I wanted more light
without paying the cost.
that’s the trick
that never works.
now I’m tired.
not heroic tired—
just used up,
like a matchbook
with one good strike left.
so I’ll take a nap.
let the smoke settle.
and when I see you—
keeper of the flame—
don’t lecture me.
you know
I burned bright
because I didn’t know
how not to.
sometimes
that’s all a man has and a good woman can only watch.
17.
Beginning Ends
Monday in Baywalk's orange afternoon
Jay meets Joy due a dish of pork and spoon
Heads talk and name they exchange
Hearts walk and love they arrange
Aware this beginning ends, shines the moon.
-01/05/2007
(Dumarao)
*Topsy-Turvy Limerick Ironic
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