tattered pages of words will live on after deleted from computer screen
M indfulness soothes ~~ mind and soul
I t sets people free from trapped emotions
N eed for us all to practise it
D o a journal, be thankful everyday ~ for something
F or it is a road map to freedom ~
U nderstanding , to see through new eyes
L earning to tolerate the emotions we feel
N eed to alter our lives ~ altering attidudes
E ndevouring to live in the moment
S eeing to hold infinity in the palm of your hand
S oaring ~ to new heights in life
I confide it all to my journal.
I'm forever trying to understand
my place in this big world.
It's not easy growing up and fitting in.
Truthfully much of life hardly makes any sense.
But still curiosity has the best of me
so my journal and I plug away
and peel back the layers of each day.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
My therapist recommended journaling.
Why not - I've tried everything.
I stopped in the pub, just to have a wee drink.
I smiled at Molly, the bartender, and gave her a wink.
It was late on a drear afternoon
as I read in the paper, "Tonight's a full moon".
I politely asked Molly, "Gimme another",
as in strolled Jekyll, my mercurial soul brother.
That brew made me feel I was turning inside out,
as the hair on my arms began to sprout.
The only thing I could say then was "Sheesh -
woe unto me, sitting here with no leash".
My friend, Dr. Jekyll, said with a wry grin,
"I know the kind of trouble you're in".
It wouldn't be long before I began to trip,
looking for fresh meat or a face I could rip.
I stopped in the pub, just to have a wee drink,
nary expecting to end up in the clink.
Note here in this romantic journal,
Singing of our love eternal,
Infinite love, bliss timeless,
You feel your oats, poet's guess,
Comfort loving in the night,
Surprise, you're a bit of all right,
Is this wisdom or not?
Breathless, true love has not forgot,
Our secret blooms to treasure,
Love is our tender pleasure,
Roses bring our glowing wrinkles,
Grey romance gives us crinkles,
Smiling, once we were so young,
Romance grows, still so much fun.
If this were my journal
I would write of sunshine and blue skies
Endless summer days without clouds or rain
I would write of a world
Where no one grows old or dies
Everyone dances with the stars
And laughs until the flowers sing
If this were my journal
I would write of eternal love
Hearts forever united
There would be only rainbows in my world
All peaceful and silent except for the birds.
Singing their halleluiahs to the Creator
If this were my journal I would write
Of the small house I built for my love
Surrounded by daffodils like a sea of bright yellow
This would be my safe haven
From a world I no longer understood
Is a diary entry 'poetry' per se?
What if it touches engaging the soul
peeling back layers of raw hidden emotion?
What if it bares sharing innermost secrets ~
what if it articulates heart to heart?
Sometimes we'll just blurt out our feelings
avoiding the fancy frivolous packaging
spilling the beans it's not always pretty.
We just say it like it is
black on white unfiltered uncensored
words spewing out without grace or flair
just getting the load off our chest.
So... are diary entries 'poetry'?
Yes if you want them to be
Yes when they go beyond the mundane
Yes when they pull at your heartstrings
in any way you choose ~
Lineku: 3 stanzas of 5-7-5 lines ~ every line either 5 or 7 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Journal
Thank you father God
Every day is a brand new day
Thank you for a roof over our head and food to eat
Thank you that you stand by us when things look bleak
We may let ourselves fall
But your love always comes through
We would not survive if itwas not
For you
Always giving
Always forgiving
We are not worthy
But yet you love us still Amen
Lamentations 3 : 23
His mercy is new
Every morning Amen
He found the journal on the train
Of a young little girl with no name
He sat there reading through her thoughts
Of dragons and Lions in their mighty roars
Or the golden apple that was caught
Each page filled with dreams
Some fairytales with glorious queens
While other thoughts circled around the naive plots
Then he found her wish of becoming an astronaut
The space and the aliens
And the unknown universe and battalions
The growing thought until he dropped the journal
The last page now jingled
Leaving him with a curios mind
Just like a child and the memories that bind
So... today I begin my journal.
Where do I begin?
How do I begin?
Without, within... the confines of a page, like a prison wall the surrounds my thoughts.
"You must color within the lines" I recall my kindergarten teacher instructing us, otherwise we won't graduate and move on to first grade.
And at 58, that merciless and foreboding warning I would for anything trade.
So here, in the ether of my thoughts and the confines of ruled paper all is transformed from lined prison bars to the revelation of an inmate who upon receiving his baptism by the Holy Spirit proclaiming... "thank God for prison... for now, I am truly free!"
And as I stare deep into the fragments of this modern papyrus the lines and spaces that confine me begin to escape and I enter through pupil of the "Magic Eye".
It reveals a new world where I have communion with God... and receive the wisdom I desire.
To journal... is to pray...
Dates and their import
I was raised to revere them
they are true benchmarks
of a mineral rich load
littered with capsules of time
The story of a Criminal Grandma
Not a good one
A crime spree old lady
One that is witty, Grandma Dynamite
An Old lady who robs and steals
She uses dynamite to explode
Stealing from banks
Never saying thanks
Even Police warrants her arrest
Grandma Dynamite has a way to contest
It’s all about steal
She doesn’t conceal
Grandma Dynamite follows through on her robbing desire
It’s dynamite acting like fire
Her voice always says,” STAND BACK”
She has a spreadsheet having a numerous criminal track
Grandma Dynamite might capture one’s heart from the start
Take it from Police, she knows how to make her mark
She gets what she steals
Dynamite becomes the Police ordeal
Grandma Dynamite is known around the world
Grandma Dynamite being a criminal celebrity
Explosions in the aftermath.
Autism is always a hard pill to swallow,
Like planting a bullet on the skull
Drifted from life's wonders
As if I've slipped away.
Stigmatized like a cockroach
And knocked back from footy.
With my body soiled and discoloured
Embarrassed and humiliated on the face.
Mama asked me about school
Hoping it was okay,
Yet its darkness doesn't fade away
Like living in the bull pit of Sam Hill.
Then I get angry and fond of the bottle
Having nothing but doubt and shame,
As if suicide is a way out of the pain
And lifting the pressure off my chest.
My heart is like an open book
That only she can write in it
A journal difficult to open
More like a lock with no key
Yet she opened it easily
My heart never gathered courage
To tell her how I feel inside
Yet I have been in love with her
Before she knew me
My heart is like a dungeon
Holding my feelings hostage
Waiting to be discovered
Pirouetting through
the pages of my mind,
placing inked pathways
elegantly timed
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