"Poetry comes from the highest happiness or the deepest sorrow" -- AP J Abdul
Poetry in it pure gold medallion well refined is choice
Forced on individuals based on circumstances that paint emotional influence
Where its affluence set out the pale ink a voice
And with accurate battle with the mind troubled cent congruence
To bless thy grace that peel off the time's invoice
Poetry is the view that capture wonderful clash with flashlight
Its lyrics are girls' auto tunes that ease her plight
Of beckoned scenario captured for memory lingers on vital reference
Its referents pour out a layout well planned sketch preference
Poets reflect on its life's tempos when he had alight
Poetic Spice Poetry Contest
1/28/2026
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Upon this eve, thy table seeks delight,
A golden disc, from Naples’ fiery womb.
Let mozzarella’s lace in creamy white
Crown crimson sauce from vine’s midsummer bloom.
Tomato pureed, seasoned with loving hands,
Basil, like emeralds strewn ‘cross the round,
A drizzle olive oil from sunlit lands,
And dough, once tossed, now baked to crisp and sound.
Rejoice! Thy order, numbered fifty-three,
Two slices taken, with a gentle smile.
The cost: ten coins and ninety cents to thee,
Paid to the chef within oven’s trial.
So keep this verse, thine invoice writ in rhyme,
For pizza’s pleasure, timeless and sublime.
The feel of anger when you cannot shout,
it can be enough to drive someone mad.
Do you know what I am talking about?
I’m aware fellowship can make you glad.
Finding support within a conjunct pout,
you run catapulting off that launchpad.
Still, it’s easier to unleash your voice,
deprived eats you like an unpaid invoice.
Capsulate, wrenching wore around the nook
Never asked to swing her lips and hardness hook
A scary flood of fumes, fire her tears
And the invoice innocence of her beats
Enormously resonant as the dark dirt
Self-like a famished, fainted convert
Echoes the intensity of despair, she oftenly hides
Yet, quietness and lowliness wove at every side
She the rose’ pearl, mourns with an unbearable bow
Vulnerable Bones, cracked beats, and broken hurls
Yet, the prayer’s mat, where she cures and curls
Heaviness altogether haunts her innerness
But, believe her brilliance, vanishing faintness.
I have forsaken all to be with thee
might those I had created
and
there mothers be secondardary to
my needed
now I may speak of in tenses
that I have curse the
foods of her table as
(wHoop: Hooga;hooga< Ployed!)
with thyn Roosters
as (put, ting: plerb!)
and there Hens
Whoomp: ah Lumpa Whooga!)
Our Wedding
Hour Wedding
Suite Our oh Sayer
Plung: Plung: Pling
The invoice for dah
Clothes from
the Fat-People Store
or the Phat Peoplesz Stow
what ya'll talking bout?
Exploration into The Construction of "Father's Door "
A new concept City. Which with have a townseat named
Mother Apron. The place is beleived to create a manmade waterfall
and a man made volcano
that will house a water treament. A plant to build and sell
Crate and Barrel dwellings
that will suport mid poverish lifestyles.
This promagram is designed to use materails that support warmth and are easily cool
Equipment is half of the national avergae
meaning new compact equipment to regulae. Compact frigs, compact
washer, dryers
Paying hard
the money short
pockets empty
time aborts
A pound of flesh
bills remain
invoice closing
— sealed with pain
(Dreamsleep: December, 2024)
A BLUE PEN IS WHERE IT IS AT.
THE LETTERS CAN NEVER FALL FLAT.
A BALL WILL ROLL WITH THE GREATEST OF EASE
ALL THE WHILE YOU HASTILY SEARCH FOR YOU KEYS.
BLUE INK IS THE "CAT'S MEOW".
DON'T ASK ME WHY OR HOW.
I JUST PREFER IT TO BLACK OVER AND OVER AGAIN
BECAUSE IT FLOWS SO PRISTINELY FROM MY LEFT HAND.
IF I HAD AN OBJECTION
TO CAST MY AFFECTION.
THE INK IS ALWAYS A STAIN
LEAVING CLUES TO WHERE MY HANDS HAVE BANE.
SO IF THERE'S A CHOICE
ON ANY INVOICE.
WRITE IN BLUE INK
BECAUSE BLACK IS FLAT AND THE MISSING LINK.
JAMIE R. ROGERS
One day in January
I borrowed a day
A day from late June
I have to repay
The temperature rising
the sun high above
Birds are returning
as thoughts turn to love
As June then approaches
the bill coming due
With summer winds blowing
and everything new
I reach down in sorrow
obliged as I am
To clear my account
—the snow to begin
(Wayne Pennsylvania: January, 2024)
Owing a debt
you can never repay
Beatitudes leveraged
salvation in play
Moments beholden
to all that’s to come
Providence calling
in voices unsung
Eternally liable
the invoice sublime
Whose terms reverential
the bursar Divine
The wings of an angel
the wings of a dove
In debt to forgiveness
—absolved from above
(Dreamsleep: June, 2023)
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Setting the alarm,
Making the bed,
Feeding the cat,
Or doing the dishes.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Choosing the wrong thing to eat
Closing the door of the fridge,
Cleaning out the garage,
Or putting away the hose.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Writing up an invoice,
Looking for a job,
Putting on the kettle,
Or learning a lesson.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Facing the music,
Forgetting someone's name,
Arriving when the party is over,
Or losing an important paper.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Misquoting a quote,
Forgetting to put out the rubbish,
Putting away the shopping,
Setting the table.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Breaking an umbrella,
Scratching a new vehicle,
Losing a watch,
Or being asked what words begin with X.
Once is never enough when it comes to:
Answering a question with no instead of yes,
Pretending to know the signs of the zodiac,
Finding a way to get from a to Z,
Or finding a reason to stay in bed.
Refuse I to believe A Virtuoso
Is also A Most Dreaded Caposo:
The man dealing with us: Hot Petito,
Three times Award-Winning Maestro
In some quarters “Another Castro!”
Cud simply chewing while faking invoice
That would ring true in the falsest voice…
Petito: Just as he big sums deducts
School Children with Heavy Escorts abducts:
Wonderfully Christ’s Fellowship conducts,
A thousand born-again Christians products…
Right now Petito in wished Trinidad
To kidnap Lovely Lorraine, Dog and Dad
CHRISTMAS VILLANELLE
Come join the birthday, celebrate, rejoice
For One who woke the world to set it free
To sing our carols with uplifted voice
Then with His blessings and with power of choice
Our eyes are opened now that we may see
Come join the birthday, celebrate, rejoice
Unchained from sin and close writ law invoice
We grant to others each their right to be
And sing our carols with uplifted voice
Make Merry drink from cups of fine alloys
No close confinement laid on by decree
We join the birthday, celebrate, rejoice
Though tribulations drew our sails from hoist
Let these dark storms pass on into our lee
And sing our carols with uplifted voice
In time to come we’ll know long waited joys
And we shall lift our hearts with new esprit
So join the birthday, celebrate, rejoice
To sing our carols with uplifted voice
Amazon sent us a hundred and seventeen dollars’ worth of vitamins
For women over fifty; which I most certainly am.
I took them yesterday, and they perked me up.
I thought I was already perky, but I was wrong.
I was flying around as if I had taken speed.
Speedy Gonzales, except in Irish mode.
My red hair is no proof; I dye it this color.
No one has burgundy hair naturally.
But back to the original thought.
Amazon thought it had sent us puppy chow.
The invoice said fifteen dollars’ worth of puppy chow.
My husband called them; they told us to keep the vitamins.
Good thing, as I had taken several of them.
I am still hesitating about the mushroom extract.
I despise mushrooms except morels fried by my mother.
And she is dead, so this is not happening.
Someone else is probably furious
with their fifteen dollars’ worth of puppy chow.
Not my problem.
In debt to the moment,
invoice inscribed…
tomorrow defaulting,
old debits a lie
The hour upon us
whose present awaits,
all payments in cash
—forever rebates
(Dreamsleep: October, 2021)
Curbside are snapshots of revelation
they invoice the passing
as stations upon a cross, or rosary beads
from the corners of hard driven eyes.
We count the faces of onlookers like cars
for they count us not,
or may enter our speeding vehicles
as flashes of sunlight upon glass.
Roadside, is a rotting log
sporting small dainty flowers
amid exhaust fumes.
Roadside, both the living and killed
turn in a part glimpsed mobile
reflecting our own brief leaving.
We move too fast to see it all,
layers return as later onlookers
when the car ticks warm and parked.
There is a strange abashment in speed,
a tomorrow-ness in the momentary watch
of those we pass.
The world becomes a known stranger
met on the tip of hastily thrown spear.
We distracted tourists
drive into the heart of questions.
Mind intones our place in time,
a fresh moment we have yet to arrive at,
one in which
we did not crash and burn in - just yet,
and tomorrow waits
to begin another new odyssey.
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