Today I wish to discuss the discus
first flung in faraway Greco track and field events
as is it has no use whatsoever
yet serves its purpose to all intents
as an oblate spheroid weight
and altho' as you may know
a javelin one would hurl
a discus you should throw
I step into a room of smiles
whose eyes hurl darts at me
What’s concealed
never revealed
Shaking inside
I wade cautiously upstream
One piercing look ~
vanished, my self-esteem
late october fall winds hurl
scarlet leaves in scattered whirls
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
This poem was entered in Julia Ward's contest but I've decided not to write for her.
At the footbridge I pause for one last glance
at naysayers who never gave me a chance.
River rushes in a roar, stronger than my rage,
my anger uncontrolled like the aggression of old age.
I am leaving behind a life gone wrong.
No longer happy where I don't belong.
I have to cross the river to be rid of my woes
and escape the cruel biddies, those jealous foes.
A smile touches my lips once over the footbridge,
I stare longingly at the mountains beyond the ridge.
A deep breath taken, and then two more,
calming me while the river continues to roar.
Behind me shrill voices screaming my name.
I grow tired of hearing them taunt me with shame.
My rankling increases as they hurl stones.
I turn to curse them, those bitter old crones.
With two pointed fingers, an evil spell I cast.
At the footbridge, I watch them breathe their last.
7/18/2016
I went to the fair to see a girl
We both got sick on the tilt-a-whirl
The bearded lady I saw
It was my mother-in-law
My stomach was weak so she made me hurl
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