Written August 14, 2026
For The Contest, “Epiphany”
Sponsor, Constance La France
I entered the room and saw them all there-
those twenty-six who were able to show
at our not quite a class reunion, but
a simple luncheon for those who could come.
Our nineteen fifty-seven high school class
graduated sixty-nine years ago!
My heart was pounding to see many friends-
greet them as if it were just yesterday.
While we settled down, waiting to be served,
I glanced around at these faces I knew,
which years had re-sculpted as aging does,
and so pleased to be among them today.
How I and the rest were blessed all these years,
while some passed too young, others, middle-aged,
along with our seniors in nursing homes.
A wave of thankfulness filled up my heart.
This epiphany touched me so that day
as I did recall our class membership-
some two-hundred plus, now all that are left
these twenty-six, and some too far to come.
For egregious war crimes against fellow Australians, on fifty seven counts' injecting bio-hazardous substances, false
Imprisionment, false information terrorisomg a whole
population, creating un-law.' Denying
Recourse to medical records to ascertain
Causes of death, and how funds were
Allocated, just a few events and actions
Here, all the best to Steven Spiers as
He gets his case together, which i feel
Hardly needed, as recent history corroborates all claims that will be brought.)
my reoccurring dream is a nightmare
because I am walking under the concrete underpass
located next to the town square in my hometown
this is a place I have always been scared of
terrifies me, so why am I there?
was I chased here?
the air feels ominous
I hear a twig snap
this is no forest
it is concrete, uphill
the further I go the more terrified I become
I am cornered by my assailant
he throws me down on the ground
I am going to scream so loudly, the entire town will hear me
but no sound comes out
there is only silence
I try again and again
waking up with black pupils
full of fear, scared to death by my scariest dream
a dream I cannot get rid of
a dream that haunts me for fifty-seven years
The dawn breaks soft upon the world,
A hush before the dawn, begins to stir—
Change comes not outward, but from deep within,
A flame rekindled, small and sure.
We cannot sculpt the souls of those we meet,
Nor force their dreams to blossom or to fade,
But we can shine, and in that gentle light,
Show them the beauty courage made.
Praising the labor of another’s hands,
We find our own grow steadier, more kind;
To lift another soul ascend,
And leave no lesser self behind.
Dream vast, and help another dream come true,
For empathy transcends the mortal fragile frame—
It passes through the air like morning dew,
And leaves no heart entirely the same.
No flag, no party, can divide the stars;
The soul is brighter when it loves to see.
Love yourself, and watch the world respond—
A mirror not turned inwardly, reflecting unity.
So lead by being gentle, firm, and free,
For in your change, the world can see,
At fifty seven your doing fine.
In the mountains of Dalarna, Sweden; I grow
There are a few things about me, I thought that you should know
I've been around for a very long time
And "Old Tjikko" is also a nickname of mine
I am the oldest known tree to ever survive
Nine thousand five hundred fifty-seven years- and I'm still alive
Husband and wife Leif Kullman and Lisa Oberg went to explore
That's when they discovered me in two thousand four
They named me after their late dog, "Old Tjikko" was his name
Being the oldest living tree in the world- I've gained my fame
my best friend knows my stories, has my back, laughs with me
He and I share two dogs, they are our babies, Maxie and Maddy
We are silly enough to call ourselves their mommy and daddy
Been together for fifty-seven years, my best friend and me
My best friend misses me when I am gone, which is a rarity.
We are evenly matched in wit and wisdom, in complete parity.
My friend and I both have hazel eyes and dark hair, but I dye mine.
We take turns napping now, because babies want one up all the time.
There are so many reasons that I love my best friend, impossible to choose.
He knows me better than anyone else; can find anything I misplace or lose.
Knows what foods to buy, so he does the grocery shopping.
He also does the laundry, this man is a dynamo who is forever hopping.
We can finish each other’s sentences,
so claim we are redundant all the time.
I guess the best thing about my best friend
is that since 1968 he has been mine.
I was asked, “have you ever been hit on the jaw?”
I replied, on occasion, I’ve hit a fist with my face.
“Looks like scar tissue is the conclusion I draw”
“but I’ll send it to the lab to be sure that’s the case”
Four days later I got a call that had the answer,
I knew it was bad when He wouldn’t tell my wife.
He was quick to the point, “you’ve Parotid gland cancer,”
and about four days later I was under his knife.
In the Sixties the C word usually meant dying,
so I sought the hand of the one I’d long ignored.
The thought of eternal hell became horrifying,
and from desperation I took the hand of the Lord.
I fell down on my knees and started praying,
not asking for a healing but forgiveness that day.
Believing that He would hear what I was saying,
and that my new life path would be His way.
This all came to pass fifty-seven years ago,
at age Twenty-Eight I took the hand of Jesus.
I’ve clutched it tightly not ever letting go,
it took His death on the cross from sin to free us.
Thank you Jesus for blessing/extending my life.
Miracle Man
Wakey, wakey!
The buzz from my advanced THRITY THREE TEN seem to yell
Opened windows slapped aging mango leaves on my face
Monday already? Morning already?
Granny’s creaking chair again!
Savoring with folks of mine the bland toast with juicy old gossip, mom’s warm smile
Welcomed into my everyday worn out NIKE with pain
Unending miles, but starts with a mile.
The bus took forever to come
Even when it came two minutes, fifty-seven seconds earlier,
Latest gossip rent the air, formally strangers banded like long lost brothers
Monday already? Morning already?
Of course, the day went by quietly as usual
The honking of tired vehicles continually pierced my ears
It seems like the beggars made a fortune again
Afternoon ended, the sun is setting.
Inspiration Mode: LOADING
Obviously, this early dinner has become part of us
Worth it though, because I was stolen by a dreamless sleep…
Wakey, wakey!
Morning already?
Fifty-seven years ago, we planted you;
That huge tornado came- yet, you stand true.
_by Poet
Oh, Maple tree- it's seven years
Since a tornado brought me tears
In seeing how your crippled stance
Has left your lifetime up to chance.
But Spring arrived, with happy cheers-
Your leaves still hug each limb that steers
To reach above, like gallant spears
That sway to grasp life's joy and dance!
Oh, Maple tree.
I'm sad, your trunk- it now appears
Lost more of its dark bark veneers.
Perhaps you stage a peaceful trance
To bring me happiness, perchance-
Lightening up my heavy fears?
Oh, Maple tree.
One hour fifty-seven minutes and forty seconds
to remember the life of a husband, a father, a man of faith
who died at the speed of an assassin's bullet,
swifter than the blink of an eye,
and only God knows why.
Three things will last forever
—faith, hope, and love—
and the greatest of these is love.
Yes it's a tragic fact
evil can stop a life,
but evil cannot--
will never--stop love!
my feet are kicking
high in the air
now the scissor step
making an arabesque design
my first and last husband sees this as sexy
everything I say and do has been sexy
since the minute he began coveting me
When I was just a baby of fifteen.
He was an older man.
Also fifteen, but seven months older.
I see him lick his lips.
And the chase begins.
fifty-seven years later.
I bet few couples can say this…
Ten.
Ten years, I've been scared,
fearing the phone's ring.
Twenty.
Twenty years, I was,
learning how goodbye really felt.
Thirty.
Thirty years, I reached,
forty-four days ago.
Forty.
Forty, my brother was,
for fifty-seven days.
That's all he got...
and that feels like all for me.
I'm terrified, I'll admit.
Every knock on the door,
every surprise text or call,
every "hey" I wasn't expecting.
Each corner hides a death,
each day a loss on the table,
Russian Roulette be damned.
The calendar is loaded - play.
So don't call me strong.
I'm petrified, and I'll face the grief,
as I always have,
but I won't face you.
I'm running, without shame,
from contact, from laughter,
from making me feel.
My response, proudly, is to hide.
So call me what you will -
save strong.
That just reminds me -
that I have received no choice.
Thirty-three percent.
A third of my life -
looking over my shoulder.
Which do I run out of first -
fortitude, or friends?
The calendar is loaded...
no choice but to play.
Gumball machine you make me smile an old woman said
With your happy round balls in bright blue, yellow, pink, green and red.
Reminding me of the fifties when I thought everyone was kind.
Poodle skirts a turquoise fifty-seven Chevy, intact families in my mind.
Prayer once a priority, everyone attended some kind of church.
Those who did not were often left in the lurch.
Gumball machine, you remind me of malt shops and such.
Soda jerks and cherry Cokes, and I thank you so very much!
Heaven's Highway
(In Memory Of My Dad)
By Robert Austin Allison
Some folks think I'm joking,
Others say No Way, Come on!
Fifteen years from us,
Is how long you've been gone.
The hours turned into days,
The days turned into years.
It seems like only yesterday,
Your passing brought us to tears.
January 16th (2005) - we said goodbye,
The day God called you from on high.
"Welcome my Son, into Heaven."
At the young age of only fifty seven.
Construction work you did all your life,
You left behind two sons and a wife.
You could not stay for one more day,
God needed you on Heaven's Highway.
Created July 8, 2020
Seventeen, thirty-seven, fifty-seven
Age has no bearing whatsoever
When it comes to a gorgeous young filly
As long as she's breathing, that's all us guys need
When the time we have left gets short
We must use the remaining time
To drink in all the beauty that life has to offer
At the risk of sounding like a dirty old man
Please excuse my verbosity
I'm just trying to explain the working's
Of an old man's mind or ANY man's mind
Gorgeous women were always meant to be
Admired, gawked at and drooled over
Plain and simple... it's why we exist!
So here's to gawking, may I gawk forever
It sends shivers down to my toesies
With each sweetie that prances by
My wiggler starts wiggling
And puffs of smoke streams
Outta my ears
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