ISSUE EXCHANGE RATE
WITH CANADA TRUMP DOES HATE
SIMPLY MORE RAGE BAIT
I sent the SOS
through the inter-dimensional exchange
a while ago~
years, if you measure it
in Earth’s slow turning.
Somewhere, in a corridor
that folds like origami light,
the message is still traveling,
its pulse thinning
as it crosses the stitched seams
between realities.
They should be arriving
any minute now.
The air quivers~
not with sound,
but with the memory of sound,
as if the universe
is clearing its throat
before speaking.
I stand very still,
watching the shadows
lengthen in directions
shadows were never meant to go.
Something is coming.
Something heard me.
The seconds
lean forward
and listen.
If I sacrifice something
I have given up something
valuable in exchange
for something else better
Father Time keeps the exchange
and he does not barter,
a minute spent is not redeemable,
what’s done is done, kerplop!
Into the river it drops flowing ever on and away
until it joins the Styx and crosses over
to the unknown realm of death
and what comes after.
However, Father says good deeds are favors
on deposit for crossover at the end,
and may be exchanged for treasure
of the immortal kind.
Time can never be regained,
but deeds done unselfishly
without regard for a reward,
are Father Time’s most highly placed.
It drops into your palm at dawn,
Eighty-six thousand, four hundred strong.
No safe to hold it, no bank to lend,
Only this: you must spend, and spend.
A coin of seconds, fleeting and bright,
Spent on the darkness, or spent on the light.
You trade it for laughter, a tear, or a dream,
Slipping away like a silent stream.
You cannot buy back what you spent on the wasted,
Nor reclaim the joy that you already tasted.
It pays for the wisdom, it pays for the pain,
It cannot be hoarded, it cannot remain.
So guard your wallet, this wallet of hours,
Don’t trade it for weeds, but nurture the flowers.
For every heartbeat is a spendable note,
A quiet transaction on which you must vote.
Spend it on love, on growth, or what’s true—
For the currency of time is bought only by you.
Once gone, it is lost, a memory, a sign,
That you spent your life upon the divine.
“Opposites don’t twin in a river.”
-The Poet
There is no similarity between good and evil.
Good is a blooming meadow,
while evil is shrouded in shadows, waiting to plunge into the depths of oblivion.
So why should one be considered for the other?
It is a despicable act with gloomy rewards.
Darkness cannot stand for light,
nor can light defend against darkness.
They do not tell the same stories;
They do not journey together.
They have dissimilar views and summon different weather.
So why should one be sacrificed for the other?
It is an ignoble act with a shameful reward.
Bitterness is a fading glow;
It is a muddy path and a feeble hand.
Sweetness is a rising light;
It is a melodious tune and an unpretentious smile.
So why should the two coexist?
Why should they merge in the same river?
It is a vile act to ask one to occupy the other's space,
a contemptible deed with odious returns.
February 18, 2026.
Life's new cage-managed
City nightmare's
'move, move' shook up nerve current
Fear-rushed, amid
For its old world dream
Time-paused, at peace.
Upswirls, for a smoky town.
Rusty-leaved. Hid.
Been to the London Stock Exchange
opened in 1571 by Elizabeth the Queen
and what's more saw the New York Big Board
the world's largest stock market ever seen
but when I took a trip to Paris
had no clue as to what to do
altho' I was educated in French
(parlez-vous?)
I believe brokers did so to discommode
as when yelling buying or selling
they communicated in Bourse code
The greed of the white man knows no bound
It transcends life, it transcends death
Their eyes gleam with profit
Their mouths salivate at another black death
Prices heightened on a casket
Won't be too long till another black body fills it
Money earned from this purchase
Used to pay their rent
If there is anything left they'll use it to pay for their children's education
They don't see us as human
But they do see us as a money making scheme
They target us and then
Up the prices of our funerals
Their own system to monetize our deaths
Acting is their forte
When they look in our eyes and lie to our faces
Sending condolences our way
But inside brimming with happiness
Not an ounce of sympathy
Not a fibre of empathy
Just pre dug graves and unnecessary funeral bills
To them we are products ready to be exchanged
We see them popping up on random streets
in a neighbourly outreach kind of way.
We don't know who to thank
since no one steps up to claim the credit
but it's the community as a whole
who benefits in many wondrous ways.
The suburbs are delighted to champion
these ecofriendly gifts of sharing ~
not only charming but welcomed pointers that
goodwill and kindness are alive and well.
AP: 2nd place 2025
While the sun was slipping away
You left me
With a gifted moment
A moment that lessened fears
Yet hastened tears
A moment that spoke to me
Yet set you free
A moment that caressed my heart
Yet put apart
A moment that fostered giving
Yet nurtured living
A moment that clarified a decision
Yet cleared my vision
While the sun was slipping away
You left me
With a gifted moment
One day, a trout approached a fly,
and, giving her a hungry eye,
said, "I just came to take a look",
but I must tell you, with a sigh,
that, sadly, some fishes baldly lie,
and this one caught a treble hook.
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.
Just how many babies
Are swapped at birth
With a look alike other
That other being
Some demon or some
Illegal Alien exchange program
Being covertly done
Right under our very noses
In broad daylight
In maternity wards worldwide
I should know
Being born with bi-fid thumbs
And six toes on each foot
Yet, it has to be my sister
She's wicked smart
Perhaps, too smart for her own good
And she has a big head
She’s got to be one
Of course, what’s a little culture shock too
Beings' stranger in a Strangeland
After walking the long long walk
Can’t even talk the strange talk
Seeking asylum from oppression
Seeking the land of Liberty
Feel free to wear their worn-out sandals
They’ll gladly trade for your Michael Jorden Nikes
Then again, maybe the exchange comes later
Some babysitter’s smuggling ring
Except she promises to turn your little rascal
Into an angel, for real
Still criminal but God ordained
Good exchange
Headache to headache
She got his cell phone
He got the other beautiful girl
They'll probably working out
The negotiations and normal talking.
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