Samara: "Opening the thimbles under the waxing moon, you'll wish it was waning in clock town's too soon."
Samael: "Over the mountain and through the woods to grandmother's house we go, with hand grenades and razor blades high-ho, high-ho, high-ho."
Uraeal: "To be so uncomely by the waxing moon is retarded at best, she picks too many daisies to be wolfish at a fest."
Helel: "Helel, or so I've heard, let's make this short and sour, for the dithery young girl."
Aurora: "Time passes like Time was incarnate let's ask the others here, if folly is so comely."
Gladius: "Moving the orchard like agrarian gregorian fools?" "Who made the large ice-bath beside the stilled moon?"
The Pro: "I came I saw I thwart not, sold out shows are not my conifers."
(Anonymized character) "I still build palaces on the moon, where stairway to heaven crosses the dark side of the moon."
---End of act IV---
In the grip of Time, a silent flow,
From Roman days to Gregorian glow,
A dance of clocks, a crafted frame,
A social construct, a human claim.
In the realm of Time, where moments wane,
A social construct, we seek to gain.
From Roman roads to the Gregorian call,
We build our order, yet stumble and fall.
Power we chase, in the currency of money,
Yet what is it worth if life isn’t sunny?
In the mines of existence, we toil and we sweat,
Digging for precious metals, our value upset.
Education shines like the brightest of gems,
Illuminating paths, breaking down stems.
Yet the heart of the matter lies deeper than gold,
In the minerals of wisdom, true stories unfold.
It's up to us to remember, as we strive and we seek,
That the true worth of our journey is not just the peak.
For in each fleeting moment, through struggle and strife,
Lies the beauty of time, the essence of life.
all calendars types
based on Moon, Sun, and some stars
see for example
Julian and Hebrew
Gregorian Hegira
Mayan Indian
It was a somber cloudy day, sadness weighed heavy on us all. The family gathered to pay final respects. Gregorian chant filled the air as we looked up to heaven. We were burying a good man. He had been a role model, a loving husband and a caring father.
the finality
painfully sinking in
goodbyes surreal
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on May 26, 2025 for CEMETERY contest sponsored by CONSTANCE LA FRANCE - RANKED 2ND
I find delight in poetry and math.
I like to follow intuition's path.
In the beginning, I pick up a scent.
In the end, no one knows what I meant.
There is more to life than meets the eye.
Nature's beauty makes us wonder why.
In math and poetry, I can explore
To find creation's essence and its core.
The symmetry found within a flower
Wields a seductive, enchanting power.
A mathematician or a poet
Makes his sacred goal to truly know it.
Fibonacci's sequence expressed in plants,
Pythagorean tuning, Gregorian chants,
Hyperbolic orbits, traced celestially
Have no need for poetic hyperbole.
Life can be a puzzle or mystery.
This poet/math student's eyes try to see.
I know less than a percent and a half,
While God, upstairs, has Him/Herself a laugh.
In poems, tears flow from my eyes like a fount -
Since you left me, an ocean is the amount -
And I would sure like to live without 'em,
But the math's not done until I count 'em.
The bulk of old borrowed gets by New Year,
The future stands fuzzy still, no more clear,
The mind muddled in doubt
Rings in new, nor old out,
What with the mood polluted with great fear.
______________________________________
Happenings |13.01.2023| Limericks
Poet’s note: Not just the Gregorian year, but even the Julian year is nearly here. But we are not sure if 2023 would be better or worse than 2022. This ditty blames ‘atmosfear’, the atmosphere polluted by fear of continuing war, conflicts, impending recession, and divided world.
entering my net
sing into my tranquil ears ---
Gregorian songs
17 March 2022
Wind whistling through the trees
Reminds me of the tiny piccolo,
High-pitched obbligatos, ranging free
Wind whistling through the trees, blow
The subtle sounds of spring’s arrival.
Wavering tremolo, shimmering limbs
Marked by winter storms for survival,
Voices of ten-thousand sacred hymns
Humming like soft Gregorian chants,
Lingering briefly in the crown’s apse
To gather all its sacred sycophants,
Trembling in rapt reverence, perhaps,
Until the breathy calm reverberates
And moves beyond the sycamore
While I pause alone to contemplate
The crystalline tones, wanting more.
Written March 8, 2022
Death, come not silent as a ghost in the night
Let me hear you in the sound of golden chimes
Gifted archangels all pure and white,
In gleaming robes of transcendent purity
Golden aura surrounding ethereal form,
Chanting voices like Gregorian monks of old
Floating softly on mists of jasmine perfumes,
Their heavenly pauses awaiting the time
To raise the royal diadem of awakening,
Welcoming the wayfaring stranger home.
when I come to Thee
with my outstretched arms receive
wandering lost soul
for I am poor and needy
finding my eternal rest
THIRD PLACE WINNER
written October 8, 2021
especially for “Let’s Mix It Up” poetry contest
sponsored by Constance La France
unrhymed 11-syllable couplet, unrhymed 8-line free verse, tanka 5-7-5-7-7
Time and tides flowing through my tan, bare toes.
Twas a time of sweet peace, flowering boughs.
Spices of love, filled scarlet sunset nights.
Limitless dreams waltzed in our heads with might.
Sundays, love for God, from our fingers glowed.
Snow or heat, we were in Church, faith flowed.
Soft, Latin words, songs in Gregorian.
Time travel, in utter peace, to live in.
Under domed ceilings of bright white and gold.
The incense, the songs, which never grow old!
4/11/2021
~1~
Frankly, the house was crooked
and glum to the bone.
The usual dead bugs and dust,
some flaking rust.
The weight of all this closed-in time
hung heavily on the realters shoulders.
for a while, it made us all
spasmodically mute.
The kitchen was a small grotto
for long deceased gnomes.
The agent led us through other rooms,
where dead spaces roamed like foraging hogs.
Glazed windows let in only shadows
which then retired to expire
into monkish cubbyholes.
Upstairs a gothic renaissance had faltered
after its chained dragon had died of ennui.
Being young and broke, we moved in,
and until we could afford cable,
we learned to love Spam sandwiches,
while studying by candlelight
all the lesser known
Gregorian chants.
~ ...and the yonge sonne, hath in
the Ram his halve course y-ronne... ~
Canterbury Tales, Geoffrey Chaucer
Today is Tuesday, all day
but in the middle of the night
it'll be Wednesday. Will you
be there to greet the new day...
Perhaps you greet the New Year
on January 1, which is a new day too
Do you greet each month, instead
of each day -- in lieu...
The Gregorian calendar's based on
the sun, so why doesn't a new day
start when its race is run; that's how
the lunar calendar views it...
The pale white satellite, or semicircle, or banana
commencing its journey in the early eve
passing its weary friend, a fresh face for twilight
along with a 'hostess of twinklies' to light up the night
a riddle in verse
What is the number of years
Israel roamed the wilderness
if we divide it by ten?
What is the number of ears
on a frog duo warbling so loudly
your head is starting to spin?
What is the number of gears
on an average-size semitruck
minus half of a dozen?
What is the number of beers
found in a guzzler’s six pack
if two of them are missin’?
Riddled number whether in Rome or right here
tells us how often we celebrate Leap Year.
The Gregorian calendar makes it quite clear.
Pope Gregory XIII made ten days disappear.
February 10, 2020
Juliet Ligon's contest: What's in a Number?
O’ ten decem being tenth month of the year, so endearing, Alas. A seasonal transferring removed from Romulus calendar, remembered now as a season of division. Marked by changes in weather, ecology and amount of daylight on earth. My flower December Narcissus encased in a vase slab of Turquoise, Zircon and Tanzanite-what does December symbolize?
final month of Julian and Gregorian Calendars December Is the twelfth and the seventh and last of seven months that has lengths of 31 days in cold praise...
~
O’ ten decem twelve
Solace month of winter’s breath
plants to be dormant
12/16/19
For December or January Haibun Contest Poetry Contest
Haibun poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
The First Day of the Last Month
By Franklin Price
12/01/2019
It's the first day of the last month
Of the last year that's a teen
For the twenty first of centuries
Since Christ was on the scene
This month on the twenty-fifth
We celebrate his holy birth
God sent him here to die for us
His only son, defined our worth
Christ was born in a manger
In a stable for the stock
The shepherds were out in the fields
Attending to their flock
The little town was Bethlehem
With a shining star above
To guide the wise men to that place
Of God's eternal love
Fast forward to his teen age years
Two thousand years ago
The Gregorian calendar, that we use
Tells the world that this is so
He frequented the temples
Taught a wise forgiving god
As the eldest, raised his family
When Joseph's death gave him the nod
Women were attracted
Wanted Jesus in their life
He chose a life of abstinence
Would not take any for his wife
As he was turning twenty
No turning back, he would not bend
We honor, once again his birth
As this year comes to an end
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