Looking at my candle in the castle
Wondering the reasons of my hassle
Falling in love with my King in spring
What a foolish thing that stings !
My King, already promised to his queen
Oh, I wish that by you, I’ll be seen
But I’m only a naive yearning jester
I’ll never be gracious and wise like her
The rejection, sadly, is so foreseen
If one day I declare my love for you
Will you know that what I’m telling is true ?
Or will you think it’s another one of my jests ?
Will you be able to digest my loving interest ?
Blowing out my candle
Deciding not to cause an embarrassing scandal
I’ll never tell my love for my dear King
But what we could’ve been will forever be missing
As I memorize these perfect sunsets,
the sky goes from bright red to tangerine.
The world is mine and I have no regrets.
I’ll drag the ocean home in my pockets
a reminder of this bewitching scene,
as I memorize these perfect sunsets.
Enjoying unwinding with tea and sweats,
it’s back to my normal evening routine.
The world is mine and I have no regrets.
I ran carefree throughout all the inlets
a vision brought back by aquamarine,
as I memorize these perfect sunsets.
My hair hangs damp in waterfall ringlets,
I hold a peace I could not have foreseen.
The world is mine and I have no regrets.
Souvenirs mean more than any assets,
flashbacks are a portal to what I’ve seen.
As I memorize these perfect sunsets,
the world is mine and I have no regrets.
no foreseen outlook
workforce today slim pickings
as places close doors
I have nothing bad to say to those who die young
It’s no fault of theirs
For in old age they may have foreseen a life so
Burdensome, so demanding, so tiring and so wizened,
With their cute faces eventually lost to the freshness
Of beauty, raw or enhanced.
Imagine wiry, annoying smuts christened grey hair —weeds
On a gold field!
And with “Don’t eat this, don’t drink that.
They are not good for your age.
The time has passed when they would have done your
Body no harm,” rammed into their youthful ears by
Loquacious physicians.
Oh, God!
No!
They had heard enough!
They had seen enough!
So they decide to bow out early, before
It’s all too late, and rainy.
For them, it’s better too soon, with the gurgling
Blood of youth in them, and sunny, than too late, with the
Crinkling bones of senectitude.
Oh, to Hell with sageness!
You arrived the way breath arrives
without announcement,
without asking,
and made yourself essential.
White as the silence between lockdowns,
you crossed the threshold the way light crosses a room:
not invited,
not refused, simply, completely present.
Cloud-pawed, pink-nosed sovereign,
you chose Chaky's lap the way a river chooses its course,
not by permission but by the quiet insistence of gravity,
of going where the warmth was.
You sat in the window's crosshatched light
and watched the world contract to our four walls as if you had foreseen it,
as if a small white planet had already mapped this orbit,
had always known this was the house it would fall into and call home.
Between lockdown and lockdown,
you were the open door.
Meowlu: small declaration,
the way a candle declares itself not by shouting but by burning
I live here.
I matter.
I stayed.
And so,
because of you,
because even the smallest warmth holds something larger in its light,
so did Chaky.
There was once a black cat called Halloween
Thought his bad luck was certain and foreseen
But he shared the wealth
Kept none for himself
Then rebranded himself as the May Queen
Painting…
artwork
berserk
odd earned
modern
surreal
appeal
bizarre
by far
not banned
unfanned
slash—tore
restored
Symbol…
Based on
Friar John’s
drawing
gnawing
foreseen
cross scene
Christ’s arms
paint psalms
cross floats
gloss boat
Easter
feaster
Colors…
cool tones
browns form
dark sky
eagle eye
bone blends
deepens
blue dream
hue scheme
Technique…
contrast
both vast
pewter
muter
spectrum
none done (perpective never done)
Dalí’s
follies
The volcano's sooty fingers
lunged out to reap
the lush fields we've bled for,
yet in return sowed the ground
with the seedlings of a tomorrow
we could've never foreseen,
as shrouded in morning mist,
dawn dew rests calmly on the leaves.
—Sub Iure Cordis—
If I must choose a furred estate,
I’d be a lion—composed, aware;
Who lingers with deliberate weight,
As though the world conspired the air.
My mane demarcates tempered space,
No vagrant touch, no errant near;
Love sole may consecrate that grace,
And sanction who may venture here.
Yet you—approach; I know your art,
I might concede a tempered view:
A velvet nudge, a yielded heart—
A lion inclines where hearts are true.
For others—pause, observe, depart;
No casual claim, no passing due.
I husband distance into art,
And share my kingdom with a few.
At times I range where shadows lean,
As though I ward some veiled throne;
I watch, unseen yet half-foreseen—
A sovereign most when left alone.
But should you bring no gift, no plea,
No hurried hand, no grand display—
You might, by quiet chance, find me…
Asleep upon your lap. I stay.
The Lesser Matter
There was a human race to save,
Not one race or creed,
For all souls, it was for all,
did our Savior bleed.
For the God of all time and eternity,
Saw the greatest plight,
For our souls, His only cause,
He chose to fight.
Enslavements, genocides, and murders,
for injustices of all kind,
For every cause and case foreseen,
had you and I in mind.
He forsook the royalty of His glory,
to be enclosed in flesh and skin,
Conquered sin and death in the likeness of sinful flesh,
For us to win!
For the radical cause we lift our voices
and fists the same.
Lay down your weapons, for the sake of Christ, in Jesus' name!
For Him, turn neither left or right, to choose a side,
Choose the Lord of Host Most High,
His grace applied.
What does it matter to hate and fight,
mere men are scorned or applaused,
When for the preaching of the gospel of Jesus Christ, is the greatest cause.
Many have forsaken the spiritual battle,
to choose the latter,
to fight, live and even die, for the lesser matter.
That you would pick a fight for part than all of humanity,
A greater weight is more at stake for eternity.
He messed up and created his crisis,
he should have foreseen the outcome.
In his delusion he did not think through
that no one would be around to save him.
AP: 2nd place 2026
Hope holds my wrists,
with ribbons that feel like chains—
gentle,
yet impossible to break.
I pace the bars
made of maybes,
counting instances
of what-if, could-be, and if-only,
each probe a step forward.
I press the soft faces
of my restless dreams
through the bars
of tomorrow's mirrors,
fogging the glass,
yearning with my breathing—
too close to see,
too far away to feel.
Some nights
fear rattles the locks loose,
and some negative whispers
seep into my bones,
but I will not stray.
For hope
is the only captor
I trust—
the one who feeds me light,
even through keyholes,
when all else fails.
I could flee these bounds,
and call it 'Freedom',
but I’d rather remain—
smuggling miracles of hope
foreseen through distant cracks
in midnight’s seems.
I'm a Prisoner.
a Prisoner of Hope!
In what seems, can be?
In the cracks of my being!
I rest upon the shore, waves flowing briskly,
Sipping Margaritas where palm trees glow.
Hollywood Beach, where rhythm's alive,
Cheerful dancers make the bars thrive!
Calamari fried with oceanic spritz
Sunset pouring down on my beach bliss
I'm having Margarita moments in such golden lights!
Floridian hearts fill me with delight!
From Atlanta's roads, I drove one day,
Escaping the city's rat race, getting away,
On to the Hollywood shoreline, where the ocean called,
Then sailing in my dreams to meridionals.
A savory salad of fun, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, full of glee!
Colors of the beach, as wild as I'd foreseen.
To be myself, free of chains, no spies,
Just Floridian skies in premium Atlantic Paradise!
The climax occurs in shape of alarm
Transition takes place from the little sleep
To the resumption of the big one
And in this moment of change… a fight ensues
It's a battle royale between the
Dark recesses of the mind
And the recess of the conscience
Returning to the class room of reality
The body reluctantly follows
On this forced march into daylight
Where the engagement is commencing
And the forces struggle to align
The line of sight looms near
But the outcome isn't clear
Because this contratemps
Is both internal… and eternal
The aftermath leaves one to wonder
Before the forces gath'ring plunder
How could the circumstances gather
Leading to what wakefullness
Can put together in sequence
What led up to a moment… that could not be foreseen
Born an Addict
With life
Given to me—
Flourishing,
With greatness
Within only
A slim chance
Upon birth.
Assuming instead
Identical fairness
Others achieve,
One destined
Years from now.
Born an addict,
Unable to keep
As chaos,
Its certain shadow,
Makes appearance.
Welcome, behold—
These broken,
As foreseen,
Promises.
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