He keeps time
in the front of his hat,
a clock that ticks sideways
and only when it wants to.
The books beneath him
lean like secrets,
each spine a doorway
he’s already wandered through
and rearranged.
He laughs softly,
as if the world
is a riddle he solved
years ago
and misplaced the answer
on purpose.
His silk hat glows
with borrowed moonlight.
His shadow stretches
longer than logic.
And his smile~
that crooked invitation~
suggests that madness
is simply wonder
without its manners.
If there’s a message,
it’s hidden in the ticking:
time isn’t the master
of Wonderland.
It’s just another guest
at the Hatter’s table,
pouring tea
into the wrong cup
and pretending
it meant to.
My aunt complained at “cocktail hour,”
All they served was juice,
The definition of this drink,
Sans alcohol, too loose.
She’s in assisted living now,
At almost 98;
With many neighbors wheelchair-bound,
She simply can’t relate.
Her balance is an issue, though,
And even with her phone,
It’s clear that, though she disagrees,
She shouldn’t be alone.
I can’t imagine being told
That others can decide
That where you’ve lived no longer is
The place where you’ll reside.
It may be necessary; still,
Though safety’s a concern,
The loss of one’s autonomy
Is something I would spurn.
I wander and wander about.
I'm too tired to go to bed.
Distracted at every possible opportunity.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
The Golden Hour
They waited for golden hour with glee,
And some people with gloom.
Juveniles were excited for the first,
minds already drifting elsewhere.
The streets filled with gentle migration-
someone rushing towards their loved ones
And some grudging to solitude.
Yet the night didn't ask who carried joy
And who carried quiet heart.
Cafe blooms with chatters,
while dim room cradle the sound of silence.
The night opens its arm to everyone-
the tired, the eager, the heart broken, the hopeful,
yet each walks into it alone
searching for what the week didn't give.
Time is quintessential of those changes,
Yet none gave thought to it.
They were busy in the life hustle,
well immersed in the endless bustle.
Time moved with silent patience
Unnoticed, yet immense.
As the smoke clears
From your television screen
Your wallet feels light
It makes you want to scream.
To buy a new car
Or to buy a new home
You need lots of money
Deeper in debt and alone.
It is not easy
To navigate this life
You have no savings
And everything is tight.
But it costs more
To survive every day
When will it end?
I’m referring to the pain.
Everything costs more
Groceries or gas
Banks charge more fees
How long will it last?
We common people
Have no say in the world
So we must know our place
And rely on our ‘pearls’.
You’re laughing
And nothing is real
And I am here and you’re not coming
Maybe there was a time I wouldn’t have
My experience has always been joint
But now is different
And as I take my first step
You’re watching
And laughter quiets down
I don’t know what you saw
You didn’t say,
be careful,
don’t do it
You told me,
You’re okay
You’re okay
You’re okay
You’re okay
And now you weren’t watching me
Like a slice through ego
Through laughter,
Through me
I was being seen
Tamarind Candy to Eat
By: Feb Francisca Chaves
In my loneliness heart of our night,
I closed the curtain and blown off the candle light,
Then I stared at the glance of the sky.
As they watching twinkling like a wink of an eye.
As a look up far in the balcony at the pearly moon,
We share our first night of our consummation.
He pull me closer through his arms tightly and I riding me up as moaned.
We making love and I have no shame of it.
He serve me a Tamarind candy to eat.
And we kept doing it as I aroused until the clock of eight.
I want this to stop but he keep clapping on to the top.
He made me calm by brushing my cave and dig a mine.
After that we wrap ourselves a blanket in the bed — sleep.
And rest my head and close my eyes to keep.
Life is my power
Fire is my flesh
In every hour
Essences clash
Burn through the darkness
Into the dream -
Hear me and mark this,
Truth will not seem
Anything pure
Nor anything dark -
Truth will for sure
Be nothing like stark -
Over the ground
And around the lake
Truth coils around
And then stings like a snake.
There is a daylight
When things are true
And there is twilight
When all you knew
Vanishes, fades
And then blends into one -
Into the shades
And away from the sun:
Into oblivion
Into the void
Into obsidian
Chasms. Thus destroyed,
Truth yields to lies
And then soars like a lark
When people's eyes
Are tired of the dark.
I hear death
on approach
as it stops
at my door
Newly
awakened
its rattle
inures
It waits
on the doorstep
my fate
to remand
Reclaiming
life’s promise
the hour
— at hand
**
Veracity Pleading
They’re two sides
to the truth
the telling
and told
When hearing
is questioned
and listener’s
behold
Veracity
pleading
its case
to the wind
Entrapped
in dissension
two meanings
— within
**
Dear sweet email,
sent at a bright and early 5 in the morning
who is greeted by my parents with a groggy groan -
but to me, you are no groan-able sight.
To me, sweet email, you are
a beacon of light, shining and bursting with hope
A white flag, waving high, sent through the barracks
of the endless war between myself and school’s 7am start
declaring a delicious delayed departure
for myself and my sisters.
You grant me the gracious gift
of turning over on my pillow,
setting my alarm to 7, and swiftly getting back to dreaming.
You instill upon my day
A day that cannot be anything but great, grand, perfect
For that day is shortened, and starts at 9.
Oh, two-hour delay, you are as rare as a four-leaf clover
but as welcome as a long-lost friend on my doormat
each time you choose to stop by
you will never be turned away.
they call it the witching hour
so call me a witch
I agree with their creed
to no living thing do harm
it was the male fairy tellers who wanted them to be evil
other women’s eyes popped open today
at this exact time
three a.m.
we are united in our femaleness
united in our willingness to be less, so others can feel more
I sense these other women
my sisters, my neighbors, my friends
we each have our own journeys
our own walk to walk, and yet we are in this together
I send them light and love
feeling they are doing this to me also
three a.m. the witching hour
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The quiet hour leans close, inviting me to see
how even shadows hold a kind of clarity.
A single breath can open the whole world wide~
and grace returns, unbidden, endlessly.
Naked in lilacs, naked in spring.
Uniform in the earth, and of self.
Does life permit time, or do we permit it?
Karma is fast, but love is more eloquent,
and I’d rather spend my time
racing towards a curious idealised secret
versus a daily lived experience.
Meditation asks: "Can I be your refuge?"
I reach out to touch dirt, wet, turned to mud now.
Mud squelches out of joy.
I’ve heard others’ worth or pace compared to dirt,
but isn’t that where the source of all life comes from,
where it all goes?
It’s foolish to believe that there is nothing
while there is consciousness.
Pardon my intrusion on yours;
I only intended to make your day brighter.
Dusk spreads its dark, dusky fingers, dipping slowly into the tranquil indigo water.
Shifting shadows creep between the frothy, white-capped waves on the shore.
The burning metallic gold fades as the scenery turns to lavender and deep violet.
Silhouettes of trees trap the remaining color, storing the final pigments in black.
The earth falls asleep, rocked by the wind and embraced by the coming twilight.
The air turns cool, and the first star emerges to witness the end of the day.
The hour of crucifixion
When the lights will dim low
Where will I be? Who will I be?
When the reaper comes for his soul
When the reaper comes for my soul
Where will my hope be
When there's no life in the ending?
Surviving_Pawn
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