I sit high on your bookshelf,
but you can't say I speak for myself.
I'm so bashful and so humble,
all I ever do is mumble.
Other poems reach for the sky.
I look at the ground and sigh,
forever alone, unread and lost
between E. A. Poe and Robert Frost.
Humble sunflower
Humble smile
Smile with grace
Smile with pride
Pride is the devil
Pride is power
Power in showing up
Power in not giving up
Up with the dead
Up with the living
Living with revelation
Living with werewolves
Werewolves are sheep
Werewolves are real
Real silver
Real stars
Stars give guidance
Stars give light
Light up the world
Light shines on money
Money for me
Money for you
You have choices
You can love
Love to fight
Love to fly
Fly through time
Fly without wings
Wings translucent
Wings never sleep
Sleep talk
Sleep walk
Walk on fire
Walk on the moon
Moon landing
Moon crash
Crash against the stars
Crash on man
Man made
Man king
King shame
King David
David defeats Goliath
David the artist
Artist struggles
Artist cry
Cry for joy
Cry for pain
Pain
Joy
A master weaver working infinite looms,
Who spans the endless dark with silver thread,
An architect of stars and quiet rooms,
Who breathed upon the dust to wake the dead.
The steady pulse beneath the ocean’s chest,
The potter’s fingers shaping living clay,
A silent shore where weary orbits rest,
The origin of night and light of day.
Yet between my fragile heart and your boundless grace
Lies a canyon carved by human doubt and space—
A wide expanse no ship could ever cross,
Where earthly wisdom turns to total loss.
To seek your favor and your gentle eye,
I’d lay my stubborn pride down in the dust.
I’d give up every dream beneath the sky,
And place my broken plans in total trust.
I’d walk through silent sands without a word,
And offer up the quiet pain I bear,
Praying that my heartbeat might be heard,
Surrendering my life into your care.
I bring my open hands, my breath, my song,
And lay my heart where it has belonged.
I offer up all that I am, and all I try to do—
Is a yield like mine enough to reach to you?
Chisel this spirit
from its marble cage.
Let the prophets guide it
to a humble place.
If your voice holds no flame, just the echo of night,
A hollow refrain with no spark to ignite,
Then let the stillness rise, let the quiet remain—
For a word without fire is a breath without name...
Then let the stillness rise, let your whispers take flight,
For the dark cannot teach, and the void gives no light...
And if your words burn, but they blaze for your name,
A wildfire of pride that consumes without aim—
Then hush now, my soul, lest you fan your own shame,
For the self-willed are dust, and their embers betray.
Speak not for the sake of the sound in your chest,
But to carry the light that the Heavens have blessed.
For the lips that confess with no hunger, no awe,
Are but shadows that dance on a temple’s cold wall.
Oh, speak with the light or surrender to Grace,
Let the Divine fill the unspoken space.
For the holiest tongues know when to be still,
When silence is worship, when love is the will.
Oh, the Divine fire glows,
Where the humble heart goes,
In the quiet, it shows—
More than speech knows.
The sea has never promised calm,
Nor spared the strong from wind or rain;
It only asks that those who sail
Rise up and try the waves again.
The lighthouse doesn't chase the ships,
Or calm the clouds that gather near;
It simply keeps its lantern lit,
A quiet answer year by year.
I've known a few like that in life,
The ones who never sought applause;
They stood like hope with steady hands,
And loved without a cause.
Long after words were swept away,
Their faithful light remained with me;
A kindness given long ago
Still reached across a restless sea.
Perhaps the brightest lights we find
Were never built for praise or fame;
They simply shine through darkest nights,
And help us do the very same.
Think humble,
No need to mumble,
Try not to stumble,
Have less trouble,
Venture out of your bubble.
Kind acts double,
Fun enable,
Guilt less affordable.
Face now likable,
Smiles more suitable,
Hugs renewable.
Mind stable,
Mistakes limitable,
Mirror charitable.
More than one friend contactable,
Life better than tolerable,
Grudges forgettable.
Revenge unthinkable.
Hold back with knowledge, life plays rough
So your incentive attitude
Won’t stand a chance against the stuff
That means to sound crude
Stay calm, benevolent and easy
As humble as you can
And soon you notice no one sees you
Cause you are one of them
How does it feel, to be well stored
In some collective fate?
Are you quite sure in support
Or do you hesitate ?
Are you surprised to fathom that
Nobody gives a damn
About you, what you intend
To be, apart of lamb,
The little lamb, who lost his mom
And cannot see his dad
In restless search he cries for them
The truth he wouldn’t stand.
The bumble bee
Is a humble bee,
And rarely does she sting
Somberly she flies
Until somebody tries,
To break her little wing
She will turn on you
If you unwisely do,
Such an unnecessary thing
Leave her upon her rose
Rather than step on her toes,
She wants to enjoy the spring
In need of a humbling quiet
More than a bumbling riot,
A hand too close can bring.
She gathers lilies all day long
so men from the city can romance
their graceful pretty ladies ~
meanwhile she'll go home
to cook dinner and she'll be
quite satisfied with her simple life.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Modesty is so great merit and neat value but when humble man
face an arrogant he should show him or her his/her real level
("Crappy Karma Happens Merit Badge", 2010, original oil)
It’s easy to take what you’ve been taught,
Take what you’ve learned,
And think because it is yours
It holds the higher ground.
It’s a basic flaw of being human
This closed mindedness,
And it’s called confirmation bias.
We select for what we want
And we like what we receive
Until something or someone
Comes along to shake us up.
These little earthquakes
Are what make Life worth living.
And from the damaged foundation
We build again,
Bigger, better or smaller, smarter
Change is change
And it’s all good, even when it’s not.
Life is humbling like this,
Building and building, but in the end
Leaving us with nothing,
But also in that inevitable humbling,
A little less secure in our ignorance.
Some would call that
The birth of wisdom.
(3/16/26)
Sweet in my tea
We don’t have much left, you see.
Our depletion
Makes way for deletion.
Sweet thing, we’ve cut all your flowers
To build our towers.
So now all I think
When I pucker my lips to drink,
Is
Humble me
Bumblebee.
A proper British jacket potato
Butter melting like a volcano
Super crisp on the outside
Fluffy and salty on the inside
Topped with melting cheese
Scrumptious and made with expertise
A simple meal but a satisfying staple
Cheap enough so all can sit at the table
Every British child has had these
Always happiness guarantees
The memories of the buttery goodness
The simple nature and pureness
Evoking happier memories
Of simpler times with less disparities
For everyone can enjoy a simple jacket spud
If prayers can be heard, so ought my thoughts;
Some parts of me wish to establish a permanence
while omitting any whisk of a thought;
Persistence relishing in the absence of any consideration of a cost.
More parts of me wish to be of service
to a world with a growing desire of distance;
With a recipe for creating treasures that can never rust nor find the fingers of thieving hands;
leading corrosion away from trust.
A batter for the desire to live within expanding opportunity, sacrificing a self for the growth of an "us."
A foundational stone to a community.
A structure to bear difference
Like the strongest pallbearer's palm.
Yet before anything may ever become.
Please refresh my sights upon the world where my own visions have unwittingly grown tyrannical in efforts to enable of what I hope to be an Eden;
Let it be
And let it be greatly inimitable
for all
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