There once was a man named Gray
He loves drinks on a tray
He was very drunk
And hit a big trunk
He could not even pray
Silent and colder
November is grey
dying leaves fall down
summer shades fading
grey branches sharpen
mixed leaf mounds sparkle
Long.the mist had swaddled the woods
In rails of crystal white and gray -
Till dusk swiveled like a fleeting view:
Vanishing with the threadlike view
Oak treelines stood quiet along old woods ;
Of edges rough in deepened gray;
Trickles changed into ghastly gray
To usher winter's skeletal view ,
Pale nightglow pouring 'round bare woods.
Woods in gray...enshrouded by this blank view.
Kitty's and the wettish people's water is what wet Gray Sins deserves!
Gray thinks God accept what Gray accept, Gray's too goddamn mentality.
My heart ever palpitating at raw memories
of a promise buried in the sands of time
while life goes on in its many shades of dusk.
Ghosted by the vague recollection of a distant daydream,
the heartbeat pregnant still with a glimmer of hope,
the remnant murmur stranded on a forgotten beach.
AP: 1st place 2026
Gray Sins or dirty socks both have the same wind, nose or beak, imposing!
He smells the ..... You been told you been told you been told, he smells the socks!
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ wind ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ rose ¦¦¦¦
Cold rain ¦¦¦¦¦ sweet grass ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ clouds like ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Grey skies ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Nought warm ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ was,
Nought ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ hair ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ phantom, forlorn,
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ghost ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ face ¦¦¦¦
Cold wind ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ voice ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ tears ¦¦¦¦¦ my heart ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ with ¦¦¦
Silence ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of November by William Cullen Bryant)
He could not run with the big cats, sure he should have stayed in his own porch!
mixes good with evil, truth with false, reality with illusion.
much better for him to get a prostate care instead of silly posts!
What daybreak promises
afternoon fades away
Dusk's a gray candle
at the departure of day
Look out the next morn
on a sunrise so grand
Alas, by the twilight
see something less than
The Purple Frog jumps
Into dancing drops in pond—
Music of gray clouds.
This old lighthouse wants to say,
about the cold clouds of gray.
When it rained all night and day,
with the keeper wanting to pray.
Then the sun would come out to play,
making the blue sea a pretty highway.
This old lighthouse saw many ships,
some sailed by and some smashed like a souffle.
Sailing by were many birds of prey,
telling the old lighthouse it was like a cast away.
Old lighthouse even on Christmas day,
I can not getaway.
For the old lighthouse and keeper was it judgment day?
Why did the keeper want to stay?
Why not just run away?
The keeper knew he could not leave ~ no way,
telling God they both were not a runway.
Gray returns
The world turns
The door closes
If pain could turn into smoke
The sky would go out
The sun would lose its charm
With no light to guide us
If pain could turn into smoke
The blue would fade
All life would turn to embers
In this thirst to cry
No wise person on the path
Running from end to end
Better to walk alone
Than to pay this price
If pain could turn into smoke
The sky would go out
The sun would lose its charm
With no light to guide us
If pain could turn into smoke
The blue would fade
All life would turn to embers
In this thirst to cry
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