Enigmatic entropy endeavours the devouring of my depressive tendencies
In the form of an effaced anonymity
Pledging a tender hand to thwart the destruction of my anatomy
Distraught estrangement of in-autonomous tailing tellings
Shall cast this faceless stranger astray
Beyond the smooth syllables of an identifying name
For these hounds that thrash in the thick of sleep
And so do weep of singularity in accompanying company
Shall chase, shall gnaw at the face, the hand that feeds the freer frailty of freedom
And chaff this chance of a chance to escape
These samsaras of silence for the requiem of a dallied day
Dancing and dashing and prancing and thrashing
In the estranged fixation of this strange savior
That wilt know not of my inner ills, beyond the disfigurement of mine own outer mutilation
K.M.P
18//9//26
I vaticinate through cypress
prognosticator of folklore
brewing indwelling woodcraft
dasyure and platypus
our unvalued birthright
gnaw at cassiterite
sunburn on cycadophyta
an acherontic turmoil
you , ceres
lent nonlexical rhyme
reform this crisis !
always
evermore
peaceably
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 17–23, 2026)
Songs are heard at twilight;
They gnaw at the mind
And pierce the soul.
Rhythms from the mirror summon,
Soon beckoning with revelation.
A door opens,
And mystery transforms into a pathway.
You are pulled, led, and guided,
Emerging as a different version of yourself.
The mirror reveals the hidden treasures of the night.
July 3, 2026
Nette Onclaud,
Finish In Ten Poetry Contest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Midnight's breath howls~
frozen teeth gnaw at the eaves.
The cedar groans,
bowing like a penitent monk
to the blizzard's white wrath.
For years he had thought
that God belonged to a secret society
one he could never be part of,
notwithstanding, he imagined himself a mystic,
In the prime of life, as sometimes happens,
rats began to gnaw at anchor ropes,
he began to drift away from his true self.
He became that most deluded of all beings –
a follower and a seeker.
Fortunately for his sanity,
he became a weaver of words,
a thought painter, an image maker,
a sort of poet.
His work was to be this enactment
upon a Scrabble board
a stage where sacred symbols were wrought
from alphabet salads.
If he were speaking now
he would tell you
that though he picked the letters.
and arranged the words
he is certain sure that any concept of
God-game game he played
always pointed back at himself,
and so, he found his truth again.>center>
Head buried beneath the wind
hung-up
grasping an overhang
hugging
the thin bones of wiry tussocks
At the moor's edge
where the cliffs-drop
rocky teeth
gnaw at the sky
a jutting ledge
raises it hackles
fingers scrabble
skinned toes curl
wet boots creak
Turn an ankle here
and you may fall
unleashed
Cling
Do not
enter your mind
where whipped dogs cower
A wall patched with lies
keeps the cracks from widening
but mementos fall
books, portraits, medals, and gifts—
gravity claims all relics
curtains shroud the crimes
centuries of stifled screams
glass betrays the hush
even the floorboards confess—
house itself is culpable
clothes, ties, hats, combs, wigs—
the trinkets of faded grace
heaped upon the street
flames burn their false finery—
pretense collapses to ash
palaces demolished
cubes enforce obedience
bankers on the run
food scraps sucked from rubbish binds—
can't stop the way of progress
rebellion outlawed
truth is now rule of edict
ugliness is king
screens implode in blinding flash
we gnaw at our own silence
mother will not come
her arms obliterated
father shamed and named
we crawl with pitiful bleats—
orphans of our own making
## The Feast
They gather in the shadowed corners of my mind,
A ravenous horde, their forms undefined.
Not flesh and bone, but whispers sharp and cold,
They gnaw at peace, and stories left untold.
Doubt, the gaunt hound, with eyes that never blink,
He sniffs at joy, and leaves a bitter stink.
Anxiety, the spider, spins her silken snare,
Trapping my breath, and tangling in my hair.
Despair, the serpent, coils around my heart,
Squeezing the hope, tearing my world apart.
He hisses low, of worthlessness and pain,
A constant echo in the pouring rain.
They feast on dreams, and visions bright and bold,
Leaving behind a wasteland, barren, cold.
They steal my voice, and paralyze my hand,
Leaving me lost within this desolate land.
But even in the darkness, a flicker starts to grow,
A tiny ember, refusing to let go.
It’s the will to fight, the strength to rise and stand,
To reclaim my mind, to take back my own land.
For though they feast, they cannot truly win,
The human spirit burns, a fire from within.
And one day soon, I’ll banish them from sight,
And bathe my soul in healing, golden light.
There are days when the water exhales softly,
its glass surface holding the light like a promise,
and my boat -
once battered and splintered -
glides steady,
sails catching the wind
at just the moment I need them to.
The storms don’t forget me.
They linger at the edges of the horizon,
a dark smudge
where sky and sea bleed into each other.
I’ve stopped cursing their coming.
The waves still have teeth -
they gnaw at my bow,
leave me clinging to salt-soaked wood,
the tremor of survival
shaking through my hands.
But the wind -
I trust it now.
The calm was never meant to stay.
The storm will rise again,
roaring through me,
dragging me beneath its weight.
But I’ve learned to sail through it,
tilting my sails just so,
carrying the strain, not fighting it -
cutting through the water’s fury,
and moving forward,
even when it’s just an inch at a time.
The sea is vast, endless,
its horizon unwritten.
But for now,
the calm is enough.
And when the storm returns,
I will sail through that, too.
Take away my pain, my relentless thoughts,
That gnaw at the edges of my peace,
The whisper of anxiety that lingers,
Even in the quiet moments of rest.
In dreams, I find no refuge,
Just shadows of worry that stir the night,
Confusion blurring the line
Between what is real and what is imagined.
Surround me not with this ceaseless ache,
This burden I carry, heavy on my shoulders.
While some wear their pain openly,
Others hide it well behind a brave facade.
They tell me I’m strong, that I always find light
In the midst of darkness, that I rise above.
Yet, they cannot see the tears I shed alone,
The endless struggle with thoughts that invade.
I’ve sought reasons for my suffering,
Hoping to find solace in the struggle.
But in the depths of pain, I crave only relief,
A chance to heal, to escape this relentless weight.
Sometimes, in the hurt, I glimpse a fragile beauty,
Like a tattoo a fleeting mark of endurance, etched in pain.
I yearn for tomorrow’s promise of peace,
For healing, oh healing, to take away this pain.
Monsters?
What are monsters?
Are they the things that lurk in the darkest places where you can barely see them?
Or monsters?
The ones that walk among us taking form as people we may or may not be familiar with?
Do you wanna know who the true monsters are?
Our very own thoughts that gnaw at us like a predator to its prey.
Heightening our darkest fears and biggest insecurities.
Making us feel less than what we're actually worth,
The thoughts that strip away our identity as we strive for what's considered "normal".
The same thoughts that heighten our fear and paranoia of what the world considers "monsters",
So much that we don't even realize that our mind is the deadliest monster of them all.
And by the time we've realized it's far too late, for the monster has consumed us
Plaguing our every thought and action.
Now we're no longer scared of the monsters around us but instead of the monster within.
You are always on my mind
Like a virus eating away my soul
The more I try to get you
Out and be free the more
You gnaw at my resistance
Tormenting me day and night
I try gently to ease you out
I try violently to oust you
From my veins
But every effort bounces back
Why are you so cruel to me?
You swore you love me no more
You claim we had nothing going on
Please free me and let me go
Refrain from killing me slowly
We are winded and on the ropes. Backwater banjo boys
strum against us. Clouds feed upon a shoaling light.
A bad day for going out or staying in.
A time to be sleepless. We must live timidly,
or push deeper into a glaring daylight
toward the drugged dreams of the wide-eyed,
go shopping in the poorer parts of town
seek thrifty ways to survive among the striving,
give all our prayers to the birds; then eat them.
Some say they have heard the sky flap away
but many stuff fingers in their ringing ears
and gainsay both the seen and unseen.
There is no sanctuary in night's lean pantry,
the ransacked are laid bare.
Many pick the pockets of the anxious
rattle catch-penny cans on shoe-strings.
Misgivings trespass, tumble ever inward until
reason becomes the reason to flee.
Paltry inklings gnaw at ever longer nights,
and we wonder what ‘tipping point’ tipped
what lid flipped; what line was crossed
as an ever louder twanging strums on?
I am a cute little pussy cat
I love to lie on my mama’s cot
I always chase the ugly rat
That comes to gnaw at my master’s hat
I wear a striped coat of fur
When I relax, my tail I stir
You know it is milk, I prefer
You can hear me sing a refrain- ‘purr’?
On my face I have pointed whiskers
But nothing as those of the tuskers
Sharp are my ears, that I catch all whispers
I have claws as piercing as pincers
Everywhere I freely wander
When I am at rest I always ponder
When pulled down from the border
I land on my legs, a real wonder
By nature I am very cool
But don’t take me to be a fool
Some see me as a ball of wool
Fish often makes my mouth drool
I am everybody’s darling pet
Those who see me give a gentle pat
None can hate me, I shall bet
At night I wander like a bat
I have a pair of gleaming eyes
They are of the shade of blue skies
When I meow, each rat in terror flies
Among cats and mice, there’s no compromise
June.4. 2022
~Placed Second~
Personification- Pets Talking Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
I am a little tabby pussy cat, my master dearly calls me 'Paulette'
I chase the ugly rat that comes to gnaw at my master's hat
On my face I have pointed whiskers, but nothing as those of the tuskers
With ears sharp I catch all whispers, have claws as piercing as pincers
I am my master’s pet, he often pats me calling me 'cute little Paulette'
But my master’s jealous dog, 'Tiger' is my enemy , that I always forget
Once, in pitch darkness, as I was roaming freely, saw a pair of gleaming eyes
Never knew, 'Tiger' would jump upon me in ambush and attack me fierce
Badly hurt, when I meowed aloud, my master came flying like a bullet
In anguish he cried, “What harm has been done to you, my poor Paulette?”
Poetry Contest- Paulette-1
Sponsor - Julia Ward
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