What if I just let go?
An Architect of Ruins: built upon an unpredictable,
Sandstorm. With full knowledge of its consequences.
The contractor's role in assisting with the outcome.
Was the price to pay as tools used to construct the
anchor that is already sinking?
This is the familiar toxicity of a well-known friend.
While displaying their fully furnished turnkey.
Craving stability, but chose the sandstorm.
Like cutting off body parts, then stitching them
together with thorn wires, suggested by the hired
contractor. Who has made it a wreckage, and now grasping in corrosive shattered sandstorm, having,
shown the turnkey project.
Subcontractors are now on the punch list.
Where is the willingness to surrender this pain?
These hands are the only thing that’s binding time.
Of your own undoing.
To stop the bleeding, you must drop the permit.
Improperly furnished with words alike the proper onstage guffawed and remarked, slighted and sent ribbons for acts that blanket at dusk with the manuscript rack, heaving against the pages like a concubine the throes of these pages batches of wine, like those that are deleterious these are cursed the same but they struck from their pages, the unequal dim range.
Bible reading reveals God* to me
builds up my life with divine love
braces spirit from fright's woes
breaks pride and selfishness
bolsters faith to serve
buttresses heart
bids me to
bloom well...
blest!
*2 Timothy 3:16-17 All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: That the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works.
March 21, 2026
3rd place, "A Single Nonet on the theme of a hobby or anything you like..." Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin; judged on 4/5/2026
Find me where the papers thin as these sweet n sour bones, yet scripted as plenty then all the worlds woes, as I plunder the stories stocked to the highs and lows, as I plunge deeper fighting imaginary foes,
Find me where the folklore goes or the mythology section how tales are spun upon rows and rows, even crime and romance can sit me down as they like to go toe to toe, in pop's words "jolly good show",
Find me where history is written continuously till the days of old, sprawled out on plump cushion chairs quite furnished, once birch and cold, I'd forsaken these sacred scrolls as I were only rash and bold,
Find me where seas of knowledge sprinkle spring from books, four seasons experienced not through a screen nor chalk, once living, still living, in our dreams and outlooks, trails by blazers linger between pristine covers
Find me where we said we'd met, no not at the 'met', my dancing nights are over till I feel I'm good enough, well and kept, maybe it would have been different In another setting I regret, reclused in the library, by the bending lake, there I'm forced to forget.
The bend in the path through the autumn woods
Obscures my vision to what lies ahead
Brilliant colors of fall's leaves so good
Beauty that surrounds doesn't stop the dread
What is beyond the road's bend veiled from sight
There's no way I can know for its concealed
'Pon each step God gives me just enough light
Going forward despite my fright eyes peeled
God always supplied my needs plus some wants
He's always furnished enough shining light
I now need His presence to smooth away daunts
And give extra grace to get good insights
The bend in road could be smooth or rocky
Help, Lord, in aging not to be gawky
finis'
I remember when your voice was my mother's,
measured cadences at the mirror, adjusting
my collar, smoothing unruly hair. Now you've
burrowed deeper than her inflection, nested in
the soft matter where I conjugate inadequacy
like a second language, fluent in the grammar
of not enough. You've made a home between
synapses, furnished it with decades of almost,
a museum of moments I should have said
something sharper, stood straighter, been
more. Some nights I hear the echo
of that first voice gentler, trying
to protect me from the world's
sharp edges. But you've honed
yourself on them instead,
become blade
more
than
shield.
ROLLING WITH THE Rs Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud
8/5/25
Special
Tenant wanted
Suitable applicant
Is responsible and behaves
Check marks to bookworms over butterflies
No drama, visitors, or noise
Nice-sized room is furnished
Landlord's hamlet
Special
Life- Aye
My cherished one
set against
a sordid world
My lanes are coerced
just as my feet are formed
My life is a platter
furnished on a plaza
dicing my thoughts
stewing my ordeal
rendering my life
a treasure meal
set before a soulless world
fear fell away from discussion
the inferior postulate
that anothers poetry
hath not free speech
beneath the scope
of obligation
of love
of love the mind
is left, desolate sound
and smut ridden apocalypse
is your pretense to burn
burning earth in chase of heroic confine
subjection, and of war crimes study
you have been charted
from paranormal disdain
congradulatory suffering
is you house furnished?
I am organized.
At my brainstem.
The smells are underground.
Like bricks and her amazing cooking.
She turns her head.
Her hair flickers.
A crumb tumbles.
Beneath it all.
It is cold.
But there’s steam.
From homemade casserole.
I am even more organized than most.
Clumps of dirt in piles.
Organized by date and time.
I am in the basement.
Nothing is furnished.
Just me.
A creaky ceiling.
Pipes that could burst.
And my phone by my side.
It’s 3:45 am.
And no one is calling me upstairs.
Beware your saviours.
But why bother learning now?
Indulge yourselves some dignity, best give up and lie down.
It's what you wanted.
Don't dare ask why or how.
Built empires off your backs you simply furnished them a crown.
One fix the other.
And all you get is broke.
Short-changing you maintains their float so in their debt you drown.
We would like to rent a place in the worst winter months
But it would have to be fenced
As we have two-hundred-pound dogs
And one of them would tear up almost everything
So even though we would rent it furnished
It might be empty when we left
July 19 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Proverbs 22-23
Key Verse – Proverbs 22:4 By humility and the fear of the LORD are riches, and honour, and life.
PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR INSTRUCTING US TO BE HUMBLE
Praise be to God for instructing us to be humble making us:
Spirit-filled
Scripturally framed
Salvation, fully founded
Satisfaction, festively flourishing
Sanctification-fueled, faith-furnished
Proverbs 22:19 Praise be to the Lord for
bracing us to trust against:
Attacks of apathy
Afflictive addiction
Abusive accusing authorities
Apprehensions of accursed appeal
Anxieties arising from arrogant affairs
Proverbs 23:17 Praise be to the Saviour for
warning not to envy sinners, but to:
Rest in His grace
Rejoice in His goodness
Repent from greediness-gain
Remember His generosity’s glow
Rely on His great governance and guidance. Amen!
July 19, 2024
The one I love is standing here
Ahead and to my right, so near
Not near enough, can't ever be
Until the day that she's with me
A poem I can write with ease
To play for her is such a breeze
The bluebird's nest inside my heart?
I keep it clean while we're apart
It's furnished with a comfy bed
A fluffy pillow for her head
One chair for two sits right nearby
Facing towards the western sky
So every day I live I'll get
To sit with her and watch sunsets
I'll be content, just her and I
The bluebird and the guitar fly
She carries me upon her back
I steer her on a preplanned track
Then when we land back at the start
If she looks up she'll see a heart
Freddy Farkle, fumbling forecaster for Forestville,
friggin' fudged Friday forecast....fair?!
first florid felicitous, falling flurries followed,
froze flowers, foiled!
faraway farmhouse, furrowing farmland,
frigid fanny, furious, frustrated,
frumpy, frazzled!
furry forest friends furnished flannel frock,
finding Freddy's fails funny, frivolity,
fortunately frequent fallible forecasts
found Freddy flying faraway,
fallaciously forecasting for fermented folks!
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