By your words you wounded my soul
Creating a hole that was long ago whole
There is no solution, no redemption
Ignoring temptation, I’ll choose separation
I want to take my distance
Despite my heart’s hard resistance
To be freed of this deed, it’s a need
You’re a weed I have to get rid of to succeed
But if you come back and talk to me
I fear I won’t have the strength to flee
I’ll beg you to never insist
‘Cause I’ll never be able to resist
When luck and fortune flee from my own soul,
and then disaster overwhelms my hope,
and hunger consumes the meal in my bowl,
and poverty and debt hinder my scope,
then I wish myself more rich in spirit,
in wisdom and character more complete,
with God's forgiveness now to inherit,
and grace in place of ruin and defeat.
But I reflect on our time spent together,
that spring we made love under a domed sky
(those happy days seemed to live on forever).
Despair now gone, I sing and let joy fly.
As you now live on in my sonnet's measure,
may all men find in you time's endless treasure.
Written: July 11, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Line Gauthier
****************
Grief stays—slow snowfall seals the silent night,
Time weeps—deep sleep dims every fading light.
Lost love - heart's throb echoes that I can't flee,
Sad years—bleak hymns sink in, griefs I foresee.
Through fading rain, your voice—a soft refrain,
Grief's thief brings back your sweet ache again.
When battle knocks upon a child
and he hides beneath the trembling wall,
fear plants its flag inside his name
and silence becomes his shadow.
For life is not a river crossed
with folded hands and lowered eyes;
the sky respects the stubborn bird
that flies against the storm.
A boy becomes a man one day
not merely by the count of years,
but by the wounds he dares to face
and the tears he refuses to waste.
The brave are not strangers to fear;
their hearts still shake like fragile leaves,
yet they rise when destiny calls
and answer thunder with footsteps.
O child of the red earth,
when hardship stands before your door,
do not surrender your spirit
to the cold comfort of retreat.
Stand.
Even if your voice quivers.
Fight.
Even if your knees grow weak.
For the one who confronts his battle
may fall and rise again with honour,
but the one who runs forever
becomes a prisoner of his own fear.
Your majesty, our Mwami,
Where is your Mwamihood?
As the greatest hero of our land,
You let our people suffer,
Trading our future in the shadows,
Like a nation lost to darkness.
And so you flee to distant shores,
Abandoning our struggling souls.
Your majesty, our Mwami,
Where is the honor you once knew
Today is out of order.
I just want to flee,
everything is biting me like a big yellow bee.
The day started off with mold on my brie,
then I lost my only house key.
Under the bed looking for my shoe on one knee,
my pants went wet with pee.
Please just set me free,
this is my one and only plea.
Come and see,
the big bright red and pink bee.
She is sitting on a flower of yellow with glee,
eating crackers with warm brie.
Look the angelic butterfly is on one knee,
is she making a plea?
Come and see,
the orange grasshopper is pouring rose tea.
For you and for me,
in China flowered cups under the oak tree.
This fun dream I do not want to flee,
but I really need to pee.
"My soul is the peaceful spiritual gem inside me, needing peace from time to time from this crazy world." By Poet
My soul is the peaceful spiritual gem inside me,
lack of peace comes sounding like a huge buzzing bee.
These rumbling sounds makes my body want to flee,
flee to a peaceful life and not for all the glee.
I know when my soul is in need of rest,
as I put it gently back into my chest.
This crazy world has me all stressed,
now my soul needs to pass the peace test.
Even when body and soul are dressed,
quietness and prayer will fill me with new zest.
I fear the hounds - ever they chase;
I must keep my pace or risk their overtake.
I fear the hounds, their hurtling pursuit;
I must watch my path to avoid rock and root.
I fear the hounds - ever they follow;
My feet must not fail me if I’m to make it to the morrow.
I hear the hounds, frantic as they bay,
My life the spoils they scrabble to claim.
I hear the hounds, and I wish to just rest;
I’m so weary of fleeing and giving my best.
I hear the hounds, and the temptation is great;
I slow my pace, and my end I embrace.
I see the hounds, and my blood runs cold;
They snarl with triumph and sprint to take hold.
I see the hounds - love of pride, love of me,
The easy path, wide and sloping in gentle degrees.
I see the hounds, and myself I revile:
Am I truly that tired, or just lacking the will for self-denial?
I flee the hounds; I lengthen my stride -
I’ll give them no easy victory tonight.
I flee the hounds - oh, they howl in rage;
They were just within reach of snaring their prey.
I flee the hounds through the brambles I run,
With faith that I’ll rest with the return of the Son.
Flee the scene
before the dawn
frames the escape.
Treat with plenty of faith
& you can suspend belief,
like the irony
in how it takes a cynic
to persuade.
Poetic contracts speak
for a Man,
and a lord,
between a grave;
wonders death doesn’t come
when you’re aware of some strings,
even when waves roll back,
they tend to more often break
solely to come back again
and continue to take.
A power
to turn entire coasts
into the oceans deep.
A power
of breaking chains,
and setting free
the wings of angels
and their screams,
by tossing their guarded
and posts
into the tides
of the seas.
You’re not fleeing the scene
you’re redirecting,
and setting a stage.
Think again…
or, for once
and breathe.
Remember
of the unintended shadows
fallen in between
the ideas,
the words,
and the worlds of things.
You’re only claiming
of what you can’t see
of what we can’t know.
Anything can rise out.
Anything can become again.
That’s the curse of hope
that can never leave.
Let it go
And let it be.
What a sham,
I’m still fleeing the scene.
My kitchen will hold the key,
love like warm oven brie.
Too many cooks here so flee,
this is my holiday plea.
Only one needed cook bee,
with dinner and hot tea.
The broth must not taste like the sea,
but with a touch of glee.
Me in three was a dream,
when I started out young and free.
He went down on one knee,
a box with a ring oh no with a key.
The key to his heart was his plea,
would I stay or flee?
We had some hot tea,
watching out over the blue sea.
We would wed under the pretty big pink tree,
now with baby we are three.
Dissonance in me awakens
Feelings faint and badly shaken
by hearts - come clean - that are now achin'
no thanks to my prevarications …
Women: Sense a man’s unease
~ Flee from him and his disease
The spiritual gem inside me,
sometimes sounds like a huge buzzing bee.
This rumbling sound makes me want to flee,
flee to peace and not for glee.
I know when my soul needs to rest,
as I put it back into my chest.
This crazy world has it dressed,
now my soul needs to pass the test.
Even when we are both all stressed,
quietness and prayer will fill us with new zest.
"Yellow is a bright and fun color to enjoy." By Poet
Yellow is my husband's favorite color,
my fun surprise was going to cost more than a dollar.
We were dating and he was coming to see me,
I was dressing in all yellow looking like a big bee.
When he got off the airplane,
he said - you look breathless not like a plain Jane.
I knew I was not going to flee,
as he got down on one knee.
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