The sun contours the cloud’s edges
Like a sky crack. If the sun be my eye,
Could eye be distracted from the surface heaven?
Some seven wispy islands’ masking bedding,
The frictive crashing plates, dying
And reborn downpours, slitted resting
Clouds, tense breasts and tension bringing.
A salmon fillet stretches gelatinously,
Horizon skin cooked by incidental switches,
Minor cloud bump shuffles that arrest
The sky. It lay there scorching
From the daggered strikes, the speaking
Pikes that shatter crackled clouds.
Their lost remains are seeping out of line,
An army shielded, steel of darker, stealing paints.
Valhalla battle cries boast legends, saints
And mages known only to the sky.
The bed is too big.. the air is too small
I stare at my phone waiting for you to call
I still keep a picture of you on my wall
I still wear your hoodie with the sleeves on and all
The distance between us cuts like a fillet
The memories of you.. they start to decay
The scent of your shirt has almost gone away
I haven’t left my bed since you left that Sunday
Still tracing the shadows that live on my ceiling
So numb to this life and devoid of all feeling
Unanswered prayers but I’m still out here kneeling
My heart shatters silently.. is it even healing?
I miss you the same way the stars miss the sky
My soul’s missing pieces but I never knew why
All I hear is ‘get over it and find the next guy’
Telling me to move on but I’d much rather die
Because forgetting you is like forgetting the sun
No one can compete when you’ve already won
There’s no other man who can do what you’ve done
I can’t quit your love, can’t you see you’re the one?
Fresh cream dory with salmon glows
Immersed in spicy nutrient-flows
Stays savory as olive oil shows
Healthy viand against lard-caused woes...
Flavored fishes in scrambled egg delight
Ignite appetite marked by red and green pepper sight
Letting shredded carrot as well as squash to shine bright
Leaving mushroom soup aroma that lingers aright
Enhanced through sweet and sour sauce-sprite
Thankful* for God's blessings midst festive dining flight.
*Ephesians 5:20 Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.
March 15, 2026
1st place, "Time for Dinner: An Entree Acrostic Challenge" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich; judged on 3/22/2026
Borrowed the neighbors chainsaw
Oiled it, sharpened the blades
Never used one before
Except that time I tried to fillet a fish
Had to trim my tree
Each branch trespassed next door
Already ate their criticisms for lunch
Dang! How do you start this thing?
Better read the instructions again
Life erupts from inanimate arbor barber
Usually, this job would be a breeze
Except, I sliced through the limb and...
Severed my left shinbone
The fillet was supposed to be boneless but wasn't.
It caught me off guard, midmeal.
Between bites of slaw and baked potato.
The bone wedged in the top of my whiskered throat.
The palest form of panic set in.
I swallowed hard a few times.
Swigged a root beer.
Everyone's eyes grew wide as I grew dark red.
It finally dislodged on its own merits.
Thank God perch bones are thin.
At times, death arrives out of nowhere.
Sometimes in the form of a freight train.
A bolt of lightning or a yellow perch bone.
poets practicing paucity
fillet frivolous phrases
Young Mary wanted to learn how to cook,
she didn’t like the recipes of the book.
So, chose her favorite food,
she knew that would be so good.
On hand lessons from her mother she took.
She decided to cook crispy fish fry,
went to the kitchen to give it a try.
Pan was red hot, she didn’t care,
fillet got burnt in the flare.
With a sigh she vowed to bake apple pie.
Still living 'bove ground
inside a box, outskirts of town
Begged every day, helped him pay
for coffee, a smoke, a tin of ‘spam filet’
Gave him two quarters every time I drove by
Thought of myself as a ‘generous guy’
Other drivers zoomed past him hand closed
though many were poverty-opposed
Today, I noticed his face seemed drawn
I pulled over, said ‘Get in; What’s going on?’
He tried to talk, words struck in his throat
Instead he spit blood on his old shabby coat
Drove up to the nearest ER
Got him into admissions
When I understood, he’s a public charge
To say 'Sorry' ~ I turned toward a stiff
in the rigor mortis position
The neural spark
is ill-defined, a cloud of unknowing.
Nothing begins anywhere.
The tail of the snake
is its neck.
The body grows out of its closed eyes.
An uncertain vapor trail
sheds hieroglyphic fragments,
they could be words,
or only
the residual cooling of a brief potency,
a fast-evaporating speculation
now only a dilatorily dripping
from its dormant inkwell.
You don't know, you just don't get it,
until it takes shape,
then a flint strikes a low adumbrate sky,
only then does meaning arrive
to burn your tongue.
You, (this is your part),
with have to make changes,
fillet out the serpent's pin-bones,
or words will stick in your mouth.
This is how a poem begins.
This is how a poem begins,
not with a thought or a whisper
but with a sly electric slither.
Eerie Midnight …walking through empty field,
found three strange witches asking me to yield,
abominable they looked,
brewing, following their book!
had no choice but to those creatures I kneeled.
Were there a lizard's leg, toe of a frog
Fillet of a snake, tongue of a dog!
Frightful castle on the hill,
Who lived there …shivered with chill.
Not expecting a polite dialogue!
I screamed, creepy witches signalled to me,
I stumbled in fright, they wouldn't let me free.
A spooky Halloween night,
Witches vanished with dawn light!
Terrifying things didn't want to see.
Cat Café had an extraordinary chef, Raff McRayley
Pick your own fish, he told his customers daily
I can fillet them, fry them, sauté’ them or dry them.
Daddy Cat said, “I just want a taste, I want to try them.”
“I like them raw, said Buck the Cat, swallowing three.
That was expensive! Said the sou chef, Mrs. Bree-Lee.
Daddy cat said, “I thought a taste would be free.”
“it would have been, but by cracky, your son ate three!”
Death by 5 In The Kitchen, The Other Murder
My wife must hate cow...
because she cannot avoid insulting it.
A choice fillet I did purchase.
Served medium rare would be perfect.
But, as for her, I can scarcely concur.
She must absolutely, positively... burn it.
Poor cow.
by, Martin Braun
July 28, 2023
deserted area of the town…
lonely Owl hoots tu-whooo! tu-whit…
premonition of a sinister sight!!!!
Eerie midnight …walking through the field,
find three witches asking me to yield,
around a cauldron abominable they look,
wonder what they're brewing following their book!
Are they concocting lizard's leg, toe of a frog
Fillet of a snake, tongue of a dog!
A frightful castle on top of the hill,
does Macbeth live there …I shiver with chill!
An uncanny mysterious moon shines so bright,
silhouettes of ghosts and goblins wander in sight.
Hear deadly werewolves howling and gnashing teeth,
I dread this menacing night, I hardly can breathe.
I scream in terror, the witches signal to me,
I stumble in sheer panic, they wouldn't let me free.
Ohhh…gosh..what a nightmare! what a terrifying night!
Ghoulish things disappeared with bright morning light!
March 22, 2023
Writing Challenge - "N" words Poetry Contest
Theme: Nightmare
Sponsor: Constance La France
SECOND PLACE
Miss Marple is a famous sleuth
She investigates and gets the truth
Murder intriguing has been committed
Just as well she's quite quick-witted.
Whom does this crime benefit most?
We can rule out our charming host
Victim was found dead in his room
Around his body flowers strewn.
Completely by accident Marple saw
Delivery of flowers at kitchen door
Where busy maid spends her day
All mundane tasks are sent her way.
She might be poor, but that blackguard
Sent flowers with invite scrawled on card!
Never expecting she would not comply
The fillet knife aided his dying sigh.
Flowers she threw in such distress
Then walked away from mortal mess
Bravely she sought Marple's advice
Who said 'she was skating on rather thin ice'.
Enigma surrounds this long closed case
The victim, no gentleman was a disgrace
Home in her cottage, thinking things through
Marple wondered what Poirot would do?
Start Sleuthing
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by:
Natasha L Scragg
17/08/2022
Public Domain image: Agatha Christie 1910
Somewhere in the past of here and now
we started dining on the cow
and now they want us all to stop
but they can’t figure out just how.
There first attack the realm of coin
demands that you call it Sir Loin
for he is served with wine, a toast
unlike the lower caste Rump Roast
The ribs have found a changing niche
from barbecue to nouveau riche
and pity those way too high strung
to savor the juicy silent tongue.
Note all the words of sated praise
from those who’ve dined on rare fillet
and curse all those who let it stay
upon the fire turning gray.
No burgers, cheese, a side of fries
I promise we won’t “Super Size”
No more drooling finger lickin’
Let’ just cut out eatin’ chik’n.
Perhaps the price is way too steep
Perhaps, lets just stop eating sheep.
John G. Lawless
©7/25/2022
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