I see myself far out of reach
on a south seas tropical island beach
piña colada close at hand
playing drums in Bright Eye Band
who knows where the cash all falls
with bills and rent the money's spent
who knows 'xactly where it went
and I picture me behind the wheel
of a sharp new shiny automobile
radio blasting the top is down
cruising to the hot spots all over town
who knows where the funds all go
it don't take long the money's done
who knows where it's gone
who knows where the money goes
it slips through my fingers away it rolls
there's never enough and my pockets have holes
Grid lock
traffic backed up for millennium
Rabbit holes in every lane
both ways.
No getting around them
102 degrees -hot tar dripping into pink lungs.
Buckle up and ramble on my good son.
Seams are coming undone
steamed into oblivion.
I ride a flat tired star
no time to jack anything up
I hear not a single harp.
No working parts left
flesh -metal -bone beside the burning road
time to dismount and hop along my good toad.
A million and one rabbit holes to go
I no longer hear those hazy harps of gold.
I have paint stains on my blue shirt
my jeans have holes in both knees
I look like I am homeless
said the old man into the breeze
the breeze gave a hearty laugh
you’re right in style, honey
Let me show you a fashion graph
knee hole jeans cost real money
Pray for wayward doves heading out west.
For the single parent trying to do what's best.
Did anyone ever pray for those
with yellow stars sewn to sunken chests.
Predators simply see goodness as softness.
Something to be prodded, poked and diddled with.
Nibbled away 'til it becomes a black hole of mayhem and mischief.
Gift the young a firm and gentle hand.
The wisdom of age, how to engage
and the guts to debride out the bad.
Teach them the value of things
how to earn respect void of demand.
Keep them tight to the caring wing
until they can discern nightmare from dream
or a greasy, red beaked buzzard
from a silver songbird stream.
The heart of night, where gravity prevails;
A force unseen, yet felt in trembling bones;
Awake, where time folds in upon itself;
A silent hunger, swallowing unwary stars.
No light escapes the shadow’s grasp;
The singularity, dense, unmeasured, deep.
A true enigma, the cosmos’ fatal wound;
Around its edge, a spiral dance of dust;
Bright rage of atoms caught, yet never freed;
An endless whirlpool—aching, cold, and vast;
Where space and fate entwine in a mystery.
What lies beyond the rim, no mind ever knows;
Horizons closed to dreams or mere mortal eyes;
The laws of nature loosened, warped, and bent;
Where even light must bow and lose its way.
Yet in this dark, creation finds its place;
The birth of stars, the death of ancient suns;
All time compressed to echoes, beats, and sighs;
A story written, the Universe’s book of the dead.
Cosmic Death Poetry Contest
2/2/2026
Sponsored by: Seth Pina
Sometimes my son is calm
Sometimes he is ballistic
I can tell you where it’s from
The doctors say he is autistic
He hums all day long
Even in the middle of the night
His arms and legs are so damn strong
Because he likes to fight
He screams at loud sounds
And he likes to eat raw noodles
He sniffs like a bloodhound
And he cuts the hair off poodles
He pisses in the bed
And he likes to play with string
He has bruises on his head
Because he runs into everything
He’s intelligent with computers
And he has common sense
He can’t recite his ABCs
Because it was never meant
My son is aware of himself
And he knows he’s not a girl
He doesn’t try to be no one else
He’s created his own little world
The doctors have given him medicine
That causes him mighty falls
But his autism is all forgiven
Except when he punches holes in the walls
A secret folds within the Sky—
No mortal hand can part—
It swallows Suns without a sound,
And drinks the Light from Heart—
A velvet Thief of Radiance—
It steals what Stars confide—
And whispers to the Universe,
What cannot be denied—
The Dark—becomes a Kingdom vast,
Where Time forgets to go—
And Gravity, a patient Host,
Conducts a silent show—
I wonder—if beyond that Veil,
God hides His Shadow—low—
You were supposed to hug me.
You were supposed to make me feel like a princess.
Where was the comfort, loving and protective father?
The sweet fatherly surprises for birthdays or comforting after a breakup.
Instead, we were saddled with awkward hugs and your bad temper.
I used to think you were the Hulk when mad: scary and unpredictable.
I remember the holes hidden behind pictures from your fists.
You put your head in the sand over and over, ignoring everything, letting everyone run amuck.
Time and time again, you would choose someone else over us, pushing us off to the sidelines.
I still remember the day I officially left.
Screaming in my face, close enough I could smell the coffee lingering on your breath.
I begged you to hit me because I could feel your anger rolling off your body, even though you never had.
Years roll by, and I rarely remember the hard times.
Now, I have inherited your numbness.
The holes were plain
For all to see, clear as day
Like every word pressed from tight lips
Heavy, weighed down with lead.
Yet we chose to believe
Clinging to words for relief
Some of us danced
Caught in the endless trance.
Half a decade passed in a blink
Now we question what we heard
Were those words ever true
Or just echoes from years before?
Their efforts now feel hollow
Trying to patch sails with holes
Drifting lost on restless seas
Like a mind caught between drunk and sober.
bomb shelters abloom
uranium-enriched dreams
hives cratered by drones
Why do some coins purposefully have holes punched in the middle?
To save copper, silver and gold?
Guess again.
So you can hang them on Christmas trees
Or around dog’s necks on their collars?
Maybe
They were actually made this way
So you could string them together and keep track of them
The sad thing is,
It would make things easier for a snatch and grab robber
I dream in tensors, sleep in curves,
A fabric bent by mass that swerves—
Space and time, a unified song,
Where gravity has whispered long.
A point—no width, no height, no breadth,
A singularity spells time’s death.
But in the depths, a passage hides,
Through quantum seams, where dark divides.
A wormhole yawns, its throat aglow,
Two mouths that neither age nor know
The clocks we trust—what if they lie?
And stars are tunnels in the sky?
Where would it lead, this bridge we name,
From here to there, through flame or frame?
Perhaps to you, or somewhere free—
A loop in space, where I might be
Not bound by now, but yet—to be.
Howard thought holes in his jeans was fashionably in style
He tore them all down the pants leg, wearing a smile
His mother told him he could not leave the house on his horse
Unless he wore long underwear, and he did it of course
He was glad he did, for these holes were in the wrong places
He had torn the holes in his jeans in some mighty weird spaces
Someone said how lovely the orange was showing through
Come see me tomorrow he told her, I’ll be wearing blue
The Stars.
They are like holes in the deep of darkness,
Through which our little hope escapes,
The hope that helps us survive...
In a world full of irony.
Poking holes,
In the shadows,
A tiny light starts to grow.
Darkness,
Running from its Glow.
Its a slow process,
There is no contest
Light dawns on darkness,
adding to its conquest.
There to reveal,
To show whats real.
Illuminating the Fear,
Hiding anywhere.
So we can be Aware,
That it's there.
And rise above,
Shining Bright,
Love wins its fight.
Poking holes in the shadows,
Brightening tomorrows,
Lightening the sorrows.
Spreading as it goes.
Sharing what it Knows,
Bestowing wisdom,
To all in it's Kingdom.
Seeking all who come.
Doesn't matter what you've done.
Who you have become
You are the daughter,
You are the son.
You are Forgiven,
Start living on purpose.
Your Light, Your Service.
Poking holes in the shadows,
Spreading as it grows,
Feel that brilliant glow,
Poking holes in your shadows.
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