Written: August 16, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Charles Messina
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Pale gale prevails and trails its glowing flame,
Veil inhales and pales, then orates my name.
Moon's smooth refrain imbues the blushing field,
Boon, swoon, the maxims that the stars revealed.
Night's unveiled beliefs inflate and bound streams,
Bright wisps glow on the line of peaceful dreams.
Reels crush shelter, calming signals align,
Wheels flail to foresee the wondrous design.
We have a day like this
To celebrate workers deeds
What shall we celebrate
When welfares aren't well calibrate
Between the retired and working ages
How great our nation has honoured the sages
If nothing is to be happy of
Lets celebrate our perseverance despite the tough
A time will come when workers will jubilate
When wages will inflate
May be to that of the senators
That's isn't greediness or some stutters
It isn't good when we have workers
As professional competent hawkers
Happy labour/workers day to the world
Be grateful when to us the table swirled
The source of this light
Eyes in wonderment
Inflate for?
Out whose divine height
Child, God in all things
Then sees pour.
You can't halt the falling sand
nor still the clock's relentless hand.
But you can kindle each grain as it falls
to relish each gleam, each joy it recalls.
A good laugh can stretch any hour,
a dance crowns each minute with power.
Rage against the ravages of fading light,
fling wide the shadows calling in the night.
Age is not the thief we fear—
Let its toll, draw us near
to linger longer, hearts together,
drifting softly down like a feather.
You can’t add days to life’s brief rhyme,
but you can inflate each tick of time.
When the dealer stoops low to call the game,
go all in, with eyes bright, a living flame.
Doctor, I'm in trouble deep,
thoughts of infinity disturb my sleep -
and the issues of our nation,
like healthcare and inflation.
The doctor said, "just be chill"
and handed me a bill.
The "you owe" figure did inflate -
in the box, a sideways 8.
I woke up this morning, feeling great.
I thought to myself, I'll self-inflate,
and proceeded to exponentiate.
I sure was the man.
Just as I was hitting my rhythm,
in a gesture of antagonism,
sheriff John Brown took my logarithm.
I was back where I began.
The outcast dove sits alone, apart
From the rest of those who shared the start
Of the journey that has led them here
And left some full of dread and fear
Its bills and coos don't matter now
For the line they choose does not allow
Separation from the flock and roost
Different, and the choice - the noose
That leaves it twisting in the wind
Hanging there without a friend
That wind whose loft brought all along
And fills each lung with life and song
Allows the soul to separate
To fill, to fly, but not inflate
Yes, from the flock, but not the soul
That one lone thing we can control
Left hanging there is what is lost
Relations now the tempest tossed
Suspension left to bear the cost
Of souls refusing to be bossed
Relations never really die
They linger in that endless sky
Surrounding ev'ryone we know...
The air that lives in ev'ry soul
invincibility had been a difficult pastime
the flak vest of insecurity and coverups
had managed to inflate anxieties and fears
to the bursting point of impromptu explosion
the festering boil had to be lanced at any cost
for resentments anger hurt and self-harm to subside
a bullet proof illusion was no longer an option
to call it friendly fire would be an understatement
what started as a splinter soon became a red-hot cudgel
incising the mind soul body complex of delusions
yet no more fully detached from valid emotions
he decided that having feeling was better than amnesia
free state
need resuscitate
can’t hesitate
to evaluate
then elaborate
specious debate
too late
dare dedicate
stilling hate
egos inflate
do perpetuate
inevitable fate
armageddon date
will not wait
lest we consecrate
civil complaint
with new translate
My heart is closed again,
Croaking with but a beat to stay alive.
It is angry, cramped.
It is remorseful,
Now scared of the possibilities,
Of false ties and
Infarct seeping once reflected.
It is drunken,
Longing to say soaking,
To inflate and explode in waves,
Clawing at it’s enclosure.
It is confused,
What are these ties?
The string woven over each other,
Wrapping and complex and unintelligible.
Elder fingers could not have the insight
Into a tale as known as this one.
My heart wants to know who you are,
But it aches still,
As my brain absorbs our string,
And it spits out Morning Glory.
Lately, there's been some
(actually, a lot of) debate
about Canada becoming
an American state.
The POTUS clearly wants to inflate,
with little or no debate,
the number of U.S. states,
as if that'll make America great.
But, Mr. President...
I have a better idea that'll go
in accordance
with your inflated sense
of self-importance.
Instead of annexing Canada, amigo,
the 51st state should be your big ego!
And, as states go
(forgive me if this sounds alarmist),
if Congress approves,
it'll be at least the fifth-largest.
Cocoa tacos and cacao pizza,
fudge fries for sweet crème dipping;
I missed one! Forgive my amnesia;
A jello slide right into gumballs,
just be careful how you ride down;
Children are accosted by its falls;
The root beer float can refill itself,
so stay mindful of your limit;
Cannot be wise to inflate yourself;
Rosy field of strawberry shortcake,
You can eat it but at your own risk;
Berries bite it’s not an easy bake;
Chicken and waffles at every hour
dressed all over in sugared maple;
They won’t sweeten someone sour;
Look up at neon marshmallow moons,
grab ‘em for drinks that glow in the dark;
Stir them with candied edible spoons;
Vanilla mountain with a peach flume,
things missed in Wonka’s chocolate room.
Growling harsh from back they say
Turning souls to ashes she may
I heard the glass split in thousands to tell
The tale of fire, burning hundreds in hell
But the one near the palace on ledge
Holding the candle, light breaking her pledge
For he had the honey wet eyes
Ice cold kiss and mind so wise
She would curl in dark, inflate while he cooks
Grow red while he's frosty and shooks
Burn the pages he hates, build the pot he loves
Keep him warm, he doesn't need those gloves
To see him smile, she would be slow or faster
Only to hear him say "Fire is a good servant, but a bad master"
Without air, even for a single minute,
I would not be able to live, nor survive.
What does the invisible gas have in it?
What keeps me healthy, happy, and alive?
I breathe mysterious stuff that I can't see...
or can I spy, as my lungs deflate, inflate,
indelible impressions of memories
of friends, of loves, in my breath devoid of weight?
Or in the precious, sparkling moment, now,
as the airy breeze is pierced by the sun's warm ray,
gleaming on leaves rustling on every branch and bough,
does a lilting birdsong, this medium convey?
Future dreams, too, are in my respiration,
and while time may bring me breathless to my knees,
Every vision, hope, and aspiration,
May one day become a new youth's memories.
What the paper said
A newspaper I sometimes read is not happy
that billionaires dabble in politics
the paper is partly right; especially if the rich
The person who thinks about it is not liberal.
People who are successful in relative youth
tend to inflate their importance, ask what
do I know how to fill my time in service to my
country, even though they know it is about
themselves and well-being to use their
business acumen to benefit for the state
and at the same time, give them importance
on an international level
Sigh a mogul is not an intellectual, his vision
is narrowed as his business talent that does
not include the mass of people who might
have other interests, say about quality and
social issues that have no visible outcome
but nevertheless benefit those who are of
a modest talent
A billionaire should not brush them off as a
hindrance to their view, life is more than
running a factory and meeting people who
are in awe of the wealth
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