a hand held
trembling
parental
instinct
kicks in
as an lifting
to paternal
washes
away
that
darkness,
this world
is bleeding
like the wisdom
of the forgotten
and the demons
take control,
and we wish
we could end this,
wood bark so hallow
like the vulnerability
like the snapping
of little sticks.
We won't allow this,
protect the good-ness
of remaining
planet of scarcity
a risk of swallowing
our so called selfish-ness
to do the righteous
When he rises, our Jesus.
I can't be a disciple
my sins shall burn
for the pain and the hurt,
a snake so worn
will come to senses,
and realization,
I don't belong
to a fireplace,
of such a song,
leave with a haste...
The Furies in all their rage hath not the vengeance in his soul
Which boils like the maelstrom and spills upon the shore
The tide rising higher and higher
til it fills the lowland of their bitter malcontent
If righteous indignation had the power heaven holds
The sea now wormwood should turn crimson in this night
But darkness has this stake alone which knoweth not the Good
And darkness that comes with the noon blots out the strongest light
Til the sun surrenders all the good that comes upon the day
And nothing grows save inky stain where hatred rules the play
Night carried him to me;
longing to stay near
a little while more,
to walk with him,
to feel him within reach.
But the dream ended.
Morning came
and I woke alone.
He has his own life.
People who need him,
laughter and love around him.
I walk alone,
rooms empty, nights quiet,
my heart missing him.
I keep that dream with me…
his hand close to mine,
our hearts threading together
for the smallest of moments.
If the dream must end,
let it end with him close,
two shadows side by side,
a love that lived
though only for a whisper of hours.
A hand in a stream, holds water all day.
But cupped and limited soon slips away.
The tree bears fruit and pleads to be eaten.
Not to be taken and money beaten.
Your property is theft, theft from yourself.
It gives away your inner wealth.
Time doth pass that's all it does.
Past and future, fiction stuff.
Loves hand is outstretched, asking me to walk and talk, making me feel so near.
Love wants me to go and never leave, but love sometimes has to grow and weave.
Love is like a thread and grows and grows till it reaches the stars above, then it shines for all to see, making the light that only true love can make.
Love, your hand is so strong, and I feel you hold mine with all your divine love.
Always and forever, my love, our shining love is bright like a light guiding us through all of this life.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
This is a classic story to share.
About the best grandmother ever
She was the person who truly cared.
Back when I was still a little girl
When nays are not that old
She buys me a wooden slipper.
Together we tend her garden
She's a good storyteller.
We are never bored with her.
She got our back when we needed her.
Every problem we have, she's always there.
She always carries her magic purse.
Inside there are lots of stored memories.
Bobbies pins, gums, receipts and more
Old notes, mirrors, even photos galore
Reading glasses and lipstick all in there.
Our grandmother has a magic wand
That makes us smell delicious air.
Cooking us our favorite meals to share
For every summer all her grandchildren
Will come to her house to gather
Our dinner is always full of laughter.
Everywhere she goes, I'm with her.
All the things that we do together
It is a memory that we'll always remember.
We all grew up with her love and care.
Sharing with every piece of her
The love she gave us is so rare.
In our hearts she stays with us through prayer.
Mama, did you know the precious amethyst shadow hours
I spent beside you, cuddled cosy-close, nestled in blankets of light,
shawled in your red-gold hair? I kissed each tear you cried;
each one a starlight pearl forged from the depths
of your fragile soul. I rocked seashell-shut to each lullaby note
and silently watched as you rocked my cold, empty cradle.
Sometimes you sensed me coiled at your breast -
a small, balled knot of grief. You felt my tiny fingers plucking at you
as tingling shivers. And sometimes I bounced sunshine-free
on your knee, a giggling orb of light.
Little one, once again I felt you here,
entombed in the womb of this eternal everywhere room,
your spirit sifting through my fingers like hourglass sand.
Pain has blanked my mind wraith-white, but I felt
your lips nip the warm rosebuds of my nipples
as I pressed a lullaby to the delicate shell of your ear
and brief blessed seconds spun out like years.
My sentient heart will always hold you, my grip will never slip
as my earthbound hands, human-warm, reach through time
and heather-shadowed ether to love and care for you.
In my town, a sight I pass every day is Ugly the cat.
One eyed UGLY, is strange and most tell him to scat.
Fights have caused a limp and he has just one ear.
He’s a sorrowful looking mess that many people fear.
Some feed him, and I have given him milk to drink.
I doubt anyone has gotten close, sure to be a stink
He’s not the type of cat you’d love or want to own
Poor old Ugly seemed happy to be all alone.
A newcomer to the area took a dislike to the cat
Poured water over it, so it moved from where it sat
It was Winter and the bitter cold he just couldn't stand
The cat was near death, I picked him up with a gentle hand
That sweet cat nestled into my coat and gently purred
That was a sound that from Ugly no-one had heard
I looked down at his unfortunate face, and shed a tear
Don’t worry mate I softly said, I will stay with you here
He looked back and gave a soft meow and slipped away.
I missed him, but "glad he is gone" some would say.
A feeling of regret that I didn't do more, I had inside.
Hung a plaque on the wall. This is where Ugly did reside.
Cigarette Smokers
In a world tainted by pollution and smog you're adding to the problem
Please don't think for a second that electric cigarettes will solve them
Cigarettes wouldn't be half bad if they just took the smoker out
It isn't fair that it kills those who wouldn't put one to their mouth
Parents smoke but would brake out in a rage if their children tried
What if each pack kept up with the growing number who died
Each smoker fails to realize what they smell and look like
The x-rays of their lungs to the doctors must be a horrible sight
They should ask themselves if this nasty habit is worth dying over
Are they recognizing with each puff their calling death much closer
What ingredients makes up the tobacco anyway
I heard rat poison makes up some of it so is that ok
Who's worse, neighborhood drug dealers or the tobacco company
They both make money from the lives they take if you're asking me
2025 Poetry Marathon Mile 16 Contest //Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Contest Judged: 9/18/2025 6:26:00 PM
( 7th Place )
Written: September 12, 2025
She walked through nights no one noticed
feet heavy, heart heavier.
The silence of the world felt overwhelming.
as if kindness had disappeared.
Then, without warning
someone reached for her...
steady, warm, unexpected.
The road behind her remained,
but she could finally move forward.
For nights she had slipped alone
masking grief with pale smiles
hiding pieces of herself -
that no stranger would ever see.
Her legs ached,
her body protested
and still she whispered:
"this journey is mine alone."
She found a quiet strength,
somewhere along the way.
As she moved forward,
she held one quiet truth:
even when the night is long,
even in the darkest times...
kindness finds its path.
A simple act of care can break through
the darkness,
and the light of a new day comes,
no matter how long the night.
When she finally stops,
she lifts her face to the sun
and carries one truth:
between falling and standing,
she found him...
and the light he gave her
will walk with her forever.
By Poet "A mother's love is never ending, always with a gentle hand."
With a gentle hand,
our life starts off being held and rocked.
As we grow and learn,
life will grow with us.
With a gentle hand,
we are told no many times.
Sometimes we learn,
sometime we do not learn.
With a gentle hand,
hopefully we get straightened out.
In life one day we will need to take our baby,
with a gentle hand.
Ignored wounds
do not bleed at once,
but when touched for cure
they ache longer than they should,
reminding us how silence gathers dust
inside the body.
It is not that love is feared,
only that sometimes
its arrival feels unnecessary
like an extra flame
in a room already warm.
Still, a newborn’s breath
teaches another language of affection,
a fragile trust resting
in the hollow of two palms.
Love moves gently,
care bends like grass in wind,
affection lingers in corners
where no one thought to look.
And the hands--
they rise as sky,
they fold as umbrella,
they open as shelter.
One gesture,
a thousand meanings,
all carrying us
a little further away from hurt.
With A Gentle Hand Contest //Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Contest Judged: 9/16/2025 4:35:00 AM
( 9th Place )
Written: September 7, 2025
With a gentle hand,
You balance the world while its feet are still untried…
little fingers twist like seashells
around the promise of tomorrow.
Love is gentle in this place;
it hides within a cradle song,
a steady thrum of trust
leaning into your heart.
Every touch becomes a promise
each embrace a refuge -
showing the fragile ones
that gentleness carries power.
When the lullabies grow silent
your hand remains
carrying tomorrow gently
like sunrise opening the sky.
Is Worth Two
In The Bush.
Unless You
Absolutely
Need ALL Three.
-Gray Squirrel
09-07-2025
It's a far reaching stretch,
Large people has flooded in,
I am not alone,
My father has held my brothers hand pretty strong;
As he makes the path in between
I too am catching up ,
A carnival is yet to come
Huge creatures approached
as we stood in front .
Loud drums and hustling crowd
papa speaks to his friends around ,
But I did see his one hand still held
By that little guy on the ground,
Through a distance ,
there was this white eyed, black teeth shabby clothed crow like guy
Running right at the crowd ,
Wherever he went , people gasped.
And As he was approaching ,
I already took a few steps back
He came right at my brothers face,
And He curled up to my father's legs
leaving everyone awestruck
Then restoring to our places ,
People laughed .
It's a far reaching stretch,
Life is filled with strange people
I am not alone ,
But I too would love
To hold my father's hand .
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