Two souls destined to bloom as one
Though the world harshly set them apart,
The wind whistles gentle smiles -
And wove their love across miles.
Five winters, five springs, a blink on screen,
With broken dreams yet love sparkles bright,
No wave nor furnace could consume-
Divine love, built on grace, sublime and true.
Sweetest love, gentlest love the hour is here
Amidst the beauty, cherry blossom in symphony-
Snowy flake upon our head a perfect harmony,
A heavenly wedding on earth we embrace.
Love knows no boundaries nor horizon,
When two souls keep their hearts true.
Oh,
how
tragically
sad
it was
to look
at
the
local news
that day;
with my
coffee mug
in hand
after a
lovely night
with a
good book,
and then
I learned
that
a wooden cross
was burnt
up
at a park
before
my people
on our
shared
glorious
urban
city streets,
while uprooted
trees
and debris
fought
harshly
in the wind.
Written: August 12, 2026 for the PoetrySoup Poetry Wheel Contest.
Poetry Wheel Challenge:
Theme: Ocean
Emotion: Angry
Color: Gold
Season: Harvest
Form: Villanelle
Object: Lantern
Verb: Break
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold,
A lighthouse hangs where harvest darkness falls;
Autumn rising tides break in, harshly cold.
It clutches the coast, vexing to be told,
While amber arcs scale as a blazing wall;
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold.
The lantern shakes, its little flame grown bold,
As blackened clouds descend beyond the squall;
Autumn rising tides rush in, harshly cold.
Midnight mist is sumptuous to behold,
And shattered shells sit speckled by the fall;
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold.
Yet thru tempest, the lamp is still in hold,
A shimmering star shines against the pall;
Autumn rising tides rush in, harshly cold.
No storm retains the flame from growing old;
No sea can silence every distant call;
Frantic ocean crashes through glowing gold,
Autumn rising tides rush in, harshly cold.
drowning
rain falls harshly
gutters overflowing
water shoots out of old spouting
rainstorm
Date: 04.08.2026
A tree once was I...
Let me tell you why
you'll remember me
till eternity...
I once was so strong
To this earth, belonged
Cherished and rooted
Old and reputed
Then came a day blue
I was cut in two
They clamped me harshly
Made me smooth, bark-free
I was at a loss
Turned into a Cross
He carried me slow
We became a show
Then Simon was called
Me, he slowly hauled
Up Golgotha Mount
A harsh, rough surmount
Jesus, Son of God
Behind me did plod
Me, planted again
But He bore all pain
Cross of Calvary
Christ was hung on me
I never did think
I'd have a God-link
This is my story
Used for God's glory
I'll be remembered
For I surrendered.
{This Week's Poetry Challenge: Tree's Perspective}
Voice in my head,
I hear you when I'm sleeping and when walking,
but why must you do all this talking?
Do you really think it's right
to keep me up through the gloomy night?
And anyway, who the heck are you
to talk to me the way you do?
Are you a figment of my unconscious mind,
speaking to me so harshly and so unkind?
If you're the voices of my father or my mother,
I'd just as soon you pipe down or smother -
or perhaps, you, who have, me, harassed,
are voices from history, long past.
You speak to me in verbal hieroglyphs -
King Tut told you to tell me "jump off a cliff"?
I'm not impressed by your childish parlor stunts -
you know it's not polite to all speak at once -
like a bunch of inmates, fueling a riot.
Hear ME, voices - give me peace and quiet.
In seas of early green where sunshine gleams
And Central Texas winds it's rugged ways,
Our bluebonnets bloom from quiet dreams
And paint the Spring in rich, recurring rays.
They bend before a harshly shining sun
Yet seldom yield to drought or chilling cold;
When winter's bitter northern blasts are done
Their royal blue bright petals will unfold.
So, too, the hearts that claim this sacred land
Beat firm and true as troubling tempests blow.
In proud fealty the steadfast people stand,
United by the hallowed bonds they know.
No bitter storm can make their honor yield;
They stay as true as blossoms in the field.
A haunting hallway of portraits,
introspections of who I once was,
multiple players in various roles,
is the true person here? Can one find the woman
intended to be before life harshly assaulted me?
A parody or a performance or, perhaps, a caricature,
a study in twisting realities,
does a genuine being manifest here?
Suddenly shattered glass reveals
the scarred reflection that truly is me.
Nette Onclaud, sponsor
Finish In Ten Contest
Date of poem - June 30, 2026
The moment your feet lose their grip
On the boulders which uproot life
Remember I'm only conversations away.
The back of your mind is my quartz-filled palace
Alone, with nobody else to critique
You are the canvas which I want to make perfect.
Harshly, I'm sure, but isn't it loving?
To push you until your fingers fracture
And leave you longing for recognition?
Anxiety is my name, but it sounds too formal
Just call me the footnote man of your thoughts
I'm here to dissect everything like a science project
Carress my chin whenever you feel you are lonely
Sure, it's your fault, but I'll keep you company
But here I am, machine of your success
Gather children, and hear this story, oh so sad,
which viewed, another way, might make you glad.
My mouth spoke harshly, or perhaps it was a blunder,
so, I turned it to a smile, and I sent it to "down under".
Indeed, I sent it on a mission to Australia,
and it told me with a toothy grin, "I will not fail 'ya".
I tell you this, because there are not many smiles,
known to travel almost eight-thousand miles.
I shed a tear, until cheerfully, it sang,
"Don't worry, I'll come back to you like a boomerang",
and off it went, without conveyance, or map to chart its course.
It had no train or plane or boat or bus or horse.
I shudder, as I think of the trouble it went through.
One day, I'll tell you all about the koala and kangaroo.
That's the story of the smile that started as a frown
and went down under to turn itself upside down.
I see you in sleep, beauty fills my dreams
A peace you bring, but only in my...
My heart moves with thoughts of you
Oh, my heart yearns for the truth to be
But it only comes when I see you in my dreams
Never so pure a love I felt, but yours is not mine
For your heart has been tormented harshly over time
Though I try to ease your mind
I fear your heart will never be mine
Oh, why I ponder, would a heart be shown to me
One that I fear can never be mine
My only hope is that in time
My heart can share in love, a heart so dear to me.
For now, I fear, the only love that can be
Words may conceal intentions
Eyes often reveal right emotions
When reading a text, satisfy not with its literal terms
Go beyond the orbit to perceive what it affirms
Overwhelmed not with compliments
Their response in your absence matters
Don't reckon the people who display flaunt
Count your men when you’re in want
Never rely on other’s words to know what you are
Your conscience speaks better
Don’t infer that enemies always stand in front of
At times, they stand beside you
All who speak harshly are not bad
All who keep silence are not so good
Smeared smiles fail to erase the miles of differences
Greetings with inhibitions not be the loving treats
Yonder hills appear smooth and grey
Reality shows the grave difference
Putting two and two together to draw inferences
May not always be probable in life
"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;
What is essential is invisible to the eye."
Placed : 3rd
They sit like crows on the telephone wire,
balancing their hunger on a single rumor.
The air between them is fat filled with death,
words slick as rain on a nasty windshield.
They don’t mean harm—at first—
just the small thrill of opening a secret’s door.
But soon, the room fills with your name,
the syllables tasting like fire and smoke on their tongues.
When they talk about others, they stitch you in—
your face rising from the fabric of their chatter,
your laugh mistaken, your sorrow guessed.
They feed on the echo, never the truth.
And you—listening—feel their beaks graze your skin harshly.
Circling the drain my world’s changing,
trying to salvage the best parts.
Naiveté and those soft hearts,
they slide down disintegrating.
The hardest fist is now banging,
this is how sour becomes sweet tarts.
Circling the drain,
a potent aroma’s stinging.
Dingy is how all the growth starts,
everything’s fresh after cleaning.
With focus you’re harshly scrubbing,
circling the drain.
Each time I’ve loved, the wound ran deep,
A crimson truth I could not keep.
So now my heart, in self-defence,
Builds iron walls, immense, intense.
When someone stirs that fragile flame,
I whisper harshly, call my name,
And drag myself from passion’s shore,
To guard the ache I’ve felt before.
I scold the spark, I dim the light,
I shun the warmth, embrace the night.
Oh, what a maze of love and pain,
Where loss feels certain, joy feels vain.
Am I my foe? It seems I am—
I wound myself before you can.
And still, from every scar I bear,
A strange, fierce love grows stronger there.
Shall I once more embrace the fall,
And risk the shatter, lose it all?
For even if my heart should break,
It’s mine to lose, my choice to make.
And now I wonder, endlessly—
If meant to be… must still be free?
In playful hands of fate we sway,
Like toys upon her woven way.
In dreams that haunt and softly gleam,
Such visions stir—a waking dream.
Oh, destiny, if you are kind,
Let me slip through thy sleeping mind,
To see if there, the scene I see,
Plays out within the reverie.
Archangel, if your grace allows,
Unfold this truth beneath your vows.
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