Take me to the high desert where the Sierras touch the sky.
Beside my tent an ice cold creek hastily rushes by.
Above me a thousand stars mesmerize the eye.
The jagged mountains come alive as the sun rises in my eye,
Casting a reddish glow on the earth below a golden sky.
Out of nowhere a roadrunner comically passes by.
The Alabama Hills beckon from a dusty trail close by.
Two crows call noisily from a tree and look me in the eye.
After a lengthy conversation, they fly off in a cloudless sky.
I marvel at the sunset, below a crimson sky, captured by my camera's photographic eye.
I bootstrap bobcat , was hastily enlisting a badmouth bystander to hound the tiddley hippies into fiendish fluster ?
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 7–13, 2026)
Pyramid of Peace Poetry
Ink Empress: Sponsor
This poem is an attempt to describe
Marital connection. I hope to some
Extent success in so doing.
There is no me without you.
There is no you without me.
That's what holy matrimony
Is doing to and for us, because
For more than 54 years, we are
Two mortals becoming one.
I own your signature, and I feel
Your fingers around my soul like
A massage machine to comfort me,
And like a washing machine cleansing me.
Like two fists of 8 fingers tucked away
By 2 thumbs, I feel safe and protected.
Like everything else in space and time,
Our relationship was not made in a day,
Nor our maturity reached hastily.
Your signature, presence, touch, and your
Presentation of me is my seal of approval.
People have said that I appear best when
You are by my side. I believe it to be true.
I know that there truely is no me without you.
It is a reality signed, sealed, and delivered.
April rain comes hastily,
unexpectedly, like the fleeing rogues of
flaming, crackling farms, clattering on the
roofs of waylaid shelters on
the roads of banishment —
uncompromised,
singing light songs from a
heavy-storming sky band, grey and grieving.
Follow in the footsteps of April rain —
so light, so infrequent, and cautious,
though it rains down thin spikes of
frazzled water, young and ravenous,
for the initiation of roaming soils.
I snuck into the party with an ID hastily made
and stumbled, out of step, into the poetry parade.
In this beautiful country club, I'm surrounded by my betters.
I wave my kindergarten rhymes to show the men of letters.
In the echo of the learned men who came this way before me
I hear the patterned minuets, that if followed, lead to glory.
I chafe in those traveled ruts and I long for something varied
and I hope to spark a unique verse, between school and the cemetery.
.
.
A song for this:
Time by Tom Waits
The scent of the sea cannot be kept,
it’s designed to burst and to be free.
With this sudden awareness I wept.
Waves with intensity quickly snapped,
ocean spray coated my face with glee.
The scent of the sea cannot be kept.
Try for a bottle fate won’t be trapped,
you can’t stop what comes naturally.
With this sudden awareness I wept.
It’s something I know I must accept,
salt lingers in my thoughts heavily.
The scent of the sea cannot be kept.
Tendrils tickled me as a breeze crept
guiding my spirit where it should be.
With this sudden awareness I wept.
Unable to change where I stepped,
I ran off but was caught hastily.
The scent of the sea cannot be kept,
with this sudden awareness I wept.
Lessons learned from my grandmother
Have served me well over the years.
One lesson was about 'haste and pace'.
She'd say, "Go in a haste; come in a pace".
I'd ask, "Was she being poetic, or was she
Wanting us to be more energetic?" I have
Since Concluded that our grandma was
Teaching us about a life of balance.
Make haste if at times you must.
Make a fuss and kick up dust.
But when the dust has settled,
And the race is on the line,
Have a simple understanding
About time and space.
Finish with a plan in a pace;
Finishing, not hastily, but gracefully.
hastily the holes patched
as the governor's parade passes -
at dusk, cracks yawn again.
Contest: All That Glass
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
060826
If the content is good,
It is worthy to be shared.
Hastily, it will be consumed.
Very desirable, I long for more.
Is it bitter or sweet?
Is it weak or strong?
Is it a 'to die for' treat,
Or cause for retreat?
A life of 'question' is a glass half empty,
A wagging head on dead-end street.
A day of sunsets without sunrises.
Time is merely wasting away;
Little hope, no vision.
A life of purpose is half full,
Actively in pursuit of its mission,
Time and content fill the journey,
And fulfillment pours forth.
I try to avoid them in the crisp morning light,
but I hastily sink into their mud-caked bottoms.
I sink to my knees in their inevitable stratum.
One after another, beyond memory or thought,
swirling pools of consciousness unspoken.
Parallel immersive mythos together and unbroken.
Heavy here, my trudge from pond to pond,
egoless consciousness watches with detachment.
My fledgling demanding acts are persistent.
My emotions are unwitting and hand-crafted.
These ponds of my making create schemas
from hormones and perceptual appraisals.
I plod through stages of deepening awareness.
From weeping to laughter, I feel each nuanced valence.
Though I try to resist them again and again,
these are my schemas, my reckoned inventions.
Like a roaming wolf or a squirrel poised in a tree,
these emotional appraisals are my intentions.
These spontaneously self-organizing feelings
are my defenses, and my epiphanies of universal marvel
as egoless consciousness awaits, unspoken.
We have come a long way —
you and I —
sauntering along paths of tales,
narrow, slippery, serpentine, endless.
We crouch at spider-ways,
through the fustiness of late-rising dawn,
feeling the rapid beats of a stolen heart and the
entanglement by an unending network of
webs and encroaching thorns.
Cockroach feelers we rely on to guide us
through the length of seaside lichgates.
Life is one Hell of a place, we agree.
It’s a cup of cliché we drink on daily basis—
like hastily brewed coffee at the city’s rush hour.
But, like the radio, it has a tuning fork —
and with it, one operates on frequencies
mute and clear, wavy, far and distant.
It’s a challenge.
Remember Michelangelo
lying supine on ramshackle 16th century scaffolds
and painting the Sistine Chapel for four long years,
his fragile back hurting, his paint brush screaming,
his pots of paint on tilt . . .
Now, that’s some labour!
And with restive paints of stress dripping,
Dripping, and streaming and sweating down on the
broad canvas several feet below, staining
the usefulness of enchanting woods . . . !
Oh, I hate the putrefaction of desolate souls.
216.
Only God Can Stop the Storm
I set aboard across the sea
One morning high to hunt some food
But soon the sky became cloudy
Earlier thought the weather's good
Then hard zephyr passed over me
While at the middle waters deep
Descend the sail so hastily
Must shore return – row, row, row keep
But miles away the land to see
Flashed lightning, roared thunder, poured rain
On my small boat so heavily
Returning safe seems to be vain
Alongwith me my family
Father, mother and lone sister
We cried for help from somebody
But we alone who are in there
So I invoke the Almighty
To stop the storm once and for all
Great, kind and merciful is Thee
To heed my most desparate call.
-07/20/2013
Being so much alone
While a pretty figure appears
Thought you had find a crown
Hunt to cement partial fears
Between together
Or gone forever
And to never give a thought to be as we are
Choose to be in love
Fears to cease the shame of rejection
Better being told and turn a mere laugh
Than get burnt a cookie via affection
Useless is a vow
To which you do not bow
And meet up no matter how
Reality of the heaven
The confusion of the earth
Tugs the dream to share in even
Renting the reason to kiss noble breath
Jug the love
Move hastily in wave
And tie no reason counts gold to enslave
Dictation of being
Designation of mind's views
Do not guarantee foreseeing
Yet free off visiting the blues
When love is true
All your partners' faults enough a clue
For both to become anew
44.
My 3rd Leaf
Plucked thee hastily
Hoped no one saw me
A platform décor
With two others more
We call it “palma”!
Whoever placed it
Surely got profit
Public property
University
CapSU-Main domain
Two-day Seminar
Which may bring us far
A Textbook Writing
Aiming for something
These coming school years
Room for conference
Bird's eye of audience –
Right…but not there born
Just there to adorn
It needs the sun soon
Day whispered to me
Opportunity
I can write a book
Pleasure I might hook
This day's a calling!
-06/03/2011
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection
We got used to the pains
While waiting for the gains
Because we know
There are raining days
And also sunny days
All days create memories
Some bring melody and some agony.
We always pay the tithes
While looking for greater heights
Because we know
There's a price for everything
Steadily walking on tide
Where there's no place to hide
Hoping for the best to come.
Even when we're tired
No sign of achievements
We don't sit back and fold our hands
To get there, you have to start first
If you truly want it, you have to work for it
Consistency and perseverance are the keys
Because nothing good comes easily
Like an old saying; Rome wasn't built in a day
So don't live hastily, patient is a key.
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