Fragility Poems

Volcabulary of the Dead

i’m cooking these words on the stove,  
hoping they won’t burn—  
but they burst into flames,  
fierce with laser focus,  
only to be choked on  
when spoon-fed,  
and regurgitated  
when swallowed.  

served like fast food—  
empty calories filling the gaps  
meant to comfort,  
to

The Songbird Still Sings

They said the songbird
her wings twisted and torn
should quiet herself...
that the sky held no place
for the fragile or the worn.

Yet she kept a sky tucked inside her - a 
place untouched by any hand.
At daylight she let her voice rise
and though her body stayed earthbound,
her song lifted past the edge of flight.

The wind slowed to

FRAGILITY

FRAGILITY
Poem written for Body Possession Horror Poetry contest, Micheal Fulkerson, sponsor, 7/22/2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Locusts serenade me as I rock, 
suspended, in the soft embrace of my hammock.
The air is lovely and eerie, 
heavy with the ghost of jasmine.

But then—a change, 
a shudder in the atmosphere,
a flicker, a spark, a pulse of light, getting brighter, 
a fiery arc

We built their prisons from their own blood

Their blood was the poison that would kill them 
Their presence blinding 
That's why they hate them
They come too close and try to touch them 
But they didn't know that we are the sun
That trying to block out the sun
Would become their biggest problem

Actions have consequences 
And we were their karma 
The one thing they

Pale Porcelain

Clad in bright white sapphire
Millions crawl, the exhausted lay to admire
Within its swelling eye thousands desire
At the back I lie, waiting to expire
Scratching the walls without respire
I danced into crossfire
With a soul which yearns to retire
Lips littered with satire
A heart prosecuted to hellfire
Still, my porcelain surface shone as if a luminaire 
Slowly the winds fill

The unbroken glass

Caution around that window, my friend!
What of it now?
It lets you see outside and reflects in.
What of it, then?
Some things once seen must be exhumed.
Why the fuss?
It musn't break for it is strong.
Strength will not cherish it.
It musn't  break for it will cut.
Blood trickles as tears.
It musn't break for it shows truth.
Truth outside will

We are done

Why we stopped explaining racism to you

Because even if it Slapped you in the face
You'd still claim it doesn't exist
So why would we spend our existence
Pandering to your ignorance
I mean we have better things to do like ending racism
The same racism you claim doesn't exist
Even though you've had the privilege
Of never experiencing it
Ain't that ironic
Telling

this fragility of ours

you're playing with a line that must not be crossed
lest it will irreversibly ruin friendship as we know it



AP: Honorable Mention 2025

A Prayer For Life

Life is a flame on trembling thread, 
A whisper held by breath and light, 
Too oft ignored, too lightly said, 
Yet blazing fierce through day and night. 

We walk on glass with heavy feet, 
Unknowing what we crush below —
A moment's joy, a heartbeat sweet, 
A soul we'll never get to know. 

The morning dew,

The Fragility of Beauty

A flower in bloom,
Its petals open wide,
Showing off its bright colours,
And letting out its sweet scent.

It reaches up to the sky,
Trying to touch the sun,
A beautiful and fragile being,
So small and yet so strong.

Butterflies dance around it,
Their wings flapping in the breeze,
To help it grow and blossom,
And bring joy to those who see.

A little flower,
With

In The Chill By My Windowsill I Sit Alone

Oh! How I despise dawn’s blushing optimism
and dried hydrangea blooms sepia skinned and papery thin.
Humdrum hands beat doldrums drum.

Why won’t the summer solstice light this darkness?
A gnawing hollow where my heart should be.
Where cinder clouds float in negative space
memories collect like nesting sparrows beneath eaves.

I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss.
Your death

Poets Declare Life's Fragility

"How fragile is life in nature's forceful wind..."
Dylan Thomas wrote of October gales
and their harsh, buffeting fingers. 
He called them an "autumnal spell."
Autumn...the season when leaves hang trembling.

Christina Rosetti's lines have been well read...
"Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor me.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
the wind is passing by."

Shakespeare spoke to

Love's Fragility

Love is such a fragile sentiment
So oft confused with sex,
So in our daily double dealings
We render it is so indefinable
Like the faint flicker of a candlelight
That is blown out by our despair,
An intimate venue of self-torture.
We add to its impenetrable obscurity
Blowing the flame right out,
Thus our outrageous shadows 
Are silently snuffed out.
Until we accidentally meet

Fragility

A beautiful glass vase
Must be handled with care
Made with love,
Without a blemish or tear.

The glazier takes pride.
As he fashions the glass,
He always tries
To make each one
As perfect as the last.

When the glass is complete,
And out of the glazier's hands
It looks like a treat
As it graciously stands,
On an antique table
That stood in the hall
Dusted carefully,
In case

Fragility of Dream

In the hued sunset hour, 
on the yearning canvas 
I paint your floral face. 
The pink petals of smile  	
configure my dream.	

Ravaged by sandstorm of time,
on dwindling dunes of despair,
future crumbles in debris.
In the dust of dereliction,
I find you fervently morphed 
into mirage of memory.

I then hear the soliloquy of soul,
inspiring me to cross

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