Outside my window, lightening flashes;
Thunder rattles the glass in the window pain;
Dark clouds have turned the day to night
In anticipation of the coming rain.
I kick off my slippers; roll up my pants legs;
Dancing in the rain is my only goal.
Uptight neighbors watch me with disgust
As the rain now cleanses my soul.
Their prying eyes worry me not
I shed all my clothes showing everything that I’ve got.
Let their shrinks come and take me away.
When the sun returns drying me and my world
The soul cleansing comes to an end
I go back inside with nothing to hide
Waiting for it to rain once again.
NO TITLE
If I was a girl in this modern world, I shoot for this stars the first woman on mars, a doctor a lawyer, a CEO. Education and hard work, my ticket to the show. Nothing could stop me, but that's half the tail. The other half has a different pay scale.
Relentless, pervasive, there's nowhere to hide. If I were a man, I'd blacken that eye. How long can I run? Barely living in fear. What will he do next? I cannot work here. Where can I go? I can not give in. He'll just keep pushing, again and again.
It's the same everyplace. It's not what I saw. Dreams became nightmares, escaping their claws. Head on a swivel. What did I hear? On every last front, year after year. If I want to move up, then I've got to play, if it's not that, there's glass in the way.
We have to do better, If we call ourselves men. this can not go on. It's time to step in. We start with our boys, we take on our kin. Protecting women is what makes us men. don't let them whisper that snyde innuendo. Confront and demean him, toss him out of the window. I don't care what it takes, if it's something you do, Get your boot off her neck. We're coming for you.
It had no eyes, just bulk in the corner, swirling thick as oily
mist, smelling of rot.
I tried to step away but the carpet flowed like quicksand,
digging my heels in as darkness crept upward.
It didn't move, but suddenly the room dropped bone-cold,
crystals dusting the glass in serrated patterns.
I reached for the lamp, but the plug ripped from the socket.
I was left with nothing but the sound of my own pulse.
Suddenly it stirred, slid swiftly toward me soundless and a
chilling weight began to squeeze my throat closed.
I opened my lips to cry out, rip the silence in two but my
lungs filled with nothing but ashen memories.
Black slammed against my lids and my vision went blank.
I waited for it to KILL ME!!!
Then, I woke up.
Be it a mighty strike of lightning
Or the red-hot furnace where
The beauty of glass so exciting
Comes forth from the fire there.
Drawn from the opaque sands
And transformed to clear delights,
We know the source and hands
That create these marvelous sights.
Born of a spark, then fiery blasts
To resplendent works of awe.
Glass, in the hands of the Master
Mirrors man, in the hands of God.
Written: May 21, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Tania Kitchin
Checked with: howmanysyllables.com
3rd place contest winner
***************
dragonflies hover
wings glint as glass in the wind~
pond mirrors the reeds
Broken Rose's
In shadows, whispers linger on
Echoes of love that's gone, now lost in the haze
Hearts collide, like shattered glass in the night
Shadows dance, where love died, leaving only emptiness and endless fight
Silence screams, the night's haunting refrain
Memories haunt, like autumn's bitter pain
Tears fall like dew, on petals crushed and grey
Lost love's ghost, I'll still pursue, in dreams, where shadows play
The night's dark veil, it hides the scars we bear
Love's lost flame, flickers like falling stars, without a prayer
Yet in the dark, a glimmer shines, a bittersweet reminder
Of love's haunting signs, forever etched, like a rose's thorns, in my skin ??
Mother Nature dressed bushes and trees with jackets of ice overnight
Morning arrived as sun shined through like glass in the light
The landscape was so luring and magical to see
All the plants standing on winter's stage eloquently
I thought of all the musicians, what they bring to us all
When their lyrics express pain we feel as we fall
Their courage to sing truth, that maybe we can't speak
Singing on that stage, erasing all that seems so bleak
As I walked on winter's path, ice melted, dripped its tears bare
The healing had begun with jackets off, nothing could compare
I know those brave musicians helped more than they could know
Just as mother nature can create such a dazzling show!
Heidi Sands
2/18/26
(C)opyright
Angels ramble through fire like lilies in blaze,
Blaze defeating their nimbuses like traitors of shame,
Shame grips to their wings like smolder in the air,
Air weighty as distress, yet they upsurge in prayer.
Prayer cascades in the night like stars into darkness,
Darkness cloaks them like manacles, yet they sparkle with nimble,
Nimble delicate as glass in an oven of deceits,
Deceits blister all around them, still blimey persists.
Such is a societal life of a good man
Man living the toxicity of his woman at home
Home supposed to be his heaven.
Poem by Mugisho N.
I was always a lonely child, once upon a time the silence had consumed me
I could only make friends with the rain, the river, and the trees outside my bedroom window at night
I wanted to be like them, the trees, tall and graceful
their elegantly twisted arms reaching high into the sky as if they were pleading for something , I wanted to plead too
To beg for my life
To be seen, heard and understood
I would raise my hands high and press them up against the glass in solidarity , whispering my wish
The stars blinked as if they knew our secret
Me and the trees ,up all night in that cold empty above
Asking the moon
To take us away
Beyond myself my sea sleeps, strange.
It will howl and will call with palms of wind, almost tender.
Sad, forgotten, blue of child, still bleeding.
The days pass, the hands dry like seashells.
The body yields, alive like a wood that burns with cold.
Life grinds me down, hours fall like iron filings.
And yet I find the sea within me, light that sings.
Its beauty, salt of honey, binds itself to eyelids.
It sings me waves that I have never turned back.
Its silence howls, like a wolf of glass in wet desert.
I am the blind lighthouse, illuminating the shiny darkness from blood.
I grow anchors of air, binding the ribs to the empty sky.
The sea within me is liquid sand, a clock burned by frost.
I anoint my longing with the white rust of remembrance.
As I pass, I become sea: the emptiness embraces me.
Paradox: I am the water that burns and the fire that flows.
What I Love – The Midnight Garden
Beneath the silver hush of moonlit air
The garden breathes with jasmine’s secret bloom,
Soft petals tremble, fragrances laid bare,
They weave enchantments in the quiet gloom.
The roses bow, their crimson hearts awake,
While lilies glisten on the mirrored lake.
The stars lean closer, whispering to the earth,
In darkness, blossoms find their truest worth.
What I Hate – The Plastic Tide
Upon the shore, the ocean beats her song,
Yet plastic shards invade her foaming breath,
They choke the waves that carried myths so long,
And stain her womb with fragments born of death.
The dolphins weave through broken glass in pain,
The seabirds starve where poisoned shells remain.
I rage against the greed that drowns the seas,
The world’s own hands unmake her harmonies.
They told me it was medicine.
A cure in a capsule.
A little light in liquid form,
a powder path to paradise.
It whispered like honey,
slid smooth down my veins,
said, “I’ll heal your hurt, hush your hunger,
pull the storm from your skull.”
And it did.
Oh, it did.
The world slowed
colors stretched into forever, and my chest unclenched like a fist finally letting go.
But the bottle had teeth.
The pill had claws.
The powder carried a price tag I couldn’t read at first.
Every high built a higher wall.
Every flight carved a deeper fall.
The nectar that kissed me sweetly at midnight
bit me raw by dawn.
It is love that leaves bruises.
A friend who steals your shoes while you sleep.
A healer who poisons the wound so you’ll crawl back begging for the cure.
They don’t tell you the double-edged truth:
that the elixir doesn’t choose.
It cuts both ways
one side silk, one side steel.
And you,
you are the bleeding in between.
So I stand with the glass in my hand,
heart trembling on the rim.
Asking myself
is it medicine?
Or is it blade?
And the silence answers,
“Both.”
Loser changes name match
The Concernment of People
Cellar Toss verses Mil Mascot
Came about due to the high
Venue prices. Said Peom.
A outlook of fans and media
a Concernment of greed and
Se to dishness, spoke many
Concerned.
Wisdom of Savants and Meres
(Peoples Priorities) Nicknames
that causes concerns. He Lavish
could target critsium from those
who feel to he backlash from there
entertainment interest. The loser shall
wear the name"Big Meanie" due to contractual
Concerns . A ticket buying public pushes the
envelope, a ticket buying public
Wises to raise there glass in honor
not in fear. Real. World issues, concerns
real people not corporate hypocrates
A champion talks championships
A champion doesn't stumble over situations
Unskilled and troubled.
The outcome is defeat not parish!
Loser changes name match
The Concernment of People
Cellar Toss verses Mil Mascot
Came about due to the high
Venue prices. Said Peom.
A outlook of fans and media
a Concernment of greed and
Se to dishness, spoke many
Concerned.
Wisdom of Savants and Meres
(Peoples Priorities) Nicknames
that causes concerns. He Lavish
could target critsium from those
who feel to he backlash from there
entertainment interest. The loser shall
wear the name"Big Meanie" due to contractual
Concerns . A ticket buying public pushes the
envelope, a ticket buying public
Wises to raise there glass in honor
not in fear. Real. World issues, concerns
real people not corporate hypocrates
A champion talks championships
A champion doesn't stumble over situations
Unskilled and troubled.
The outcome is defeat not parish!
Somewhere there’s a
sunflower poking out from
the corner of a concrete
barrier, going unnoticed
by everyone except
myself.
And it makes
me wonder:
They say when
you fall in love with
an artist, you
can never die.
But what
happens when
an artist falls
in love? Do
they continue
capturing futures,
or only retrospective
moments?
Time is an old
concept—or shall
I say, odd?
Because
I see you in soft shadows
and storefront glass, in
wilted flowers I forget to
water, in poems that
end.
I used to paint what
might be, but now I
only trace the edges
of what has been.
They said that love
would make my work
eternal. But no one told
me it would make me
feel so unfinished.
Oh, and
that thing I
asked about
the artist?
You can forget about it.
I think I’m starting
to care less and less
about him.
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