from the conch
whispers come
dissect
distract
blow upon
scintilla branch to intrinsic thought
weighed down
consumed
overwrought
mattering - so magnified
that I can't turn away my eyes
reach for able hand to soothe
what dread could deed undo, disprove
kisses stolen
by long lost words
explored lactic fallacies
become absurd
til endings are not the body expired
but exposure of every cell and every wire
cathartic grip held in awe
control depletes as hem and haw
til sadly swings
and bridges to shame
call time
I must
on the lugubrious game
we siphon the sky
with mouths closed
except for feeding
every element of the construct
is breakable
if I just had room to manoeuvre
but once the ground disappears
the steps outside become just a shape
I imagine every which way to fall
most endings lead to discomfort
I could start simple
invert the crank
take the food from your lips
scatter it for foraging
see if stars grow
in between the stones
all my simple starts
lead to complexity I can't control
but I can't sit here
just turning the wheel
love a quiet day
nothing to do but relax
a fly in the house
I have many thoughts
write poems and do some art
the fly has a friend
my garden lovely
me and kitty take a stroll
bees chase us inside
seed begs a flower
to grow to blossom to die
seed coat zips open
magpie dawn chorus
caroles to folks a warning
chac-check-kak get back
leafy seadragon
adorned with saddles of kelp
fish not horse of course
"no matter how far - a journey cannot begin - without the first step" Old Chinese Proverb
although so brilliant
even genuine diamonds
need light to sparkle
so every painting
begins with the first brushstroke
masterpiece or not
Clean away all dirt
For a whole life time then die
Get dirt thrown on you
I love what I do and I enjoy the people around me:
My family at home, my friends at school, and my work.
I try to surround myself with positivity.
It’s the little things in life that give me a smirk.
There are those times, though, that I need to take a break
And listen to music or sit in a quiet place.
Sometimes, I just have to take a walk by the lake
And listen to the sounds of nature in its place.
Then I am ready to get back to my routine:
Work, then school, then home, and then back to work again.
My time is precious, and my world is a machine.
Positivity is the oil and my zen.
People used to be so dedicated to their work.
They took pride in and had passion for what they did.
It was understood that a job well done had its perks.
That work ethic was instilled in me as a kid.
So, as I got older and found something I enjoyed,
I honed my skills and perfected my every move.
I was careful and knew exactly what to avoid,
But, like everything, there’s always room to improve.
I work at night, when hardly anyone is around.
But, once in a while, you might see me coming.
As I come up behind you and take you to the ground,
The only thing you’ll hear is my taser humming.
shun the encroachment of the dark
focus intently at the task at hand
blinded to peripheral vision
wriggle free of your silhouette
present beyond the corner
circles encompass
captured by crescents
spinning in their circular hold
neither freedom nor imprisonment will ride
reality is just the ache of the dream
the muddled yell & yawn
every emotion a mere numbing agent
sometimes, I think I peeled away the relief
but the block forms are pattern upon pattern
and I'm a diminishing darkness
at the approach of dusk.
caught by the drift
how it echoes
creating its own walls
a din undone
tying itself up in a bow
boxed and ready
to stare past souls
the substance of reality ebbs
with me amongst it, long lost
screams all at the outer edges
cocoons become brittle over time
yet may still bind those that don't shake free
I'm too tired to ask
if we've met before.
we all brought the spectre inside
making the streets safe to roam
but the sky starless
eternal night
bearable with fallen constellations
the ever present answers
distractingly laid out
seemingly within touching distance
shhh, don't question the few with lamps on
who dim dead light and converse with it
they neither see to believe
or trust tactile epiphanies
let them deliberate on the meaning of dust
do I see all this from across the street
I can't say
denial's reversal leaves me lost
she is bragging about all the weight she has lost
I am stunned because she looks pretty corpulent
we are at a Fat Ladies of America meeting.
I lost six pounds this week she says.
There is polite clapping.
It is my first time here.
I want to be supportive
I whistle and hoot and clap and cheer.
“And I gained twelve pounds,” She continues.
So, this is how this game is played?
We cannot bury cosmic birds
they land not where we are …
their feathers of colours unknown
we see them flitting by, their speed
of light outlined in gold upon pylons
greengrocers watch in awe
open parks will not entice them nor
sunflower seeds magnetise anisodactyls
waiting on cliffs so high (...)
we wander not there ~
in woods near farms of warriors
where they now plant apple trees —-
since knowing consciousness is One
we label their flight in Light Language
mystic like streams flowing peaceful ~
There lie our buried heroes at rest.
We hymn songs of freedom as they flap
our emblems long past buried —-
they descended from realms of seraphim
cores spin vortices from which we drink ~
__________________________
Placed : 7th : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand
May ‘26
the creek is quiet, mossy
phantoms surround inlet
safeguarding all who visits
a lonesome eagle overhead watch
me strike a match _____ flame
dies in cold breeze
silent is vast sky
slowly life appears
chameleon on sediment
gecko peeping
fire I try to kindle splutter
gasping for breath ~
orange tongues appear
god’s original juices
consecrated ibis lands as if
sent from Nile where I drank
waters centuries before
sweet solitude filled with
memories of pharaohs
chariots, hieroglyphs
inlet waters fill voids in mind
I’m inconsequentially cosmic
egyptian geese descend
estuaries flow through limbs
nurturing blood …
_______________________
Placed : 5th : Premier Contest
Sponsor : Brian Strand : May 26
Amid silence filled
with tranquil fervor,
the Weeper stands
blotting the earth
green and yellow keen
against the echoes
of artillery and
dead men
damned to the
muddy wounds of war
Must you wound me?
Deviled dogs of Satan's lot
holding me upon raging seas
mouths garbled with sinful froth.
And must you pull my cloak?
Grubby nailed hands grasping
clambering upon my limbs.
Must you torment me?
Foul horned beasts sneer
with glee to fell a wall
that shall not fall.
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