Written: December 05, 2025,
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Night: a single breath, galaxies stalled in its chest,
silence stone-heavy—glass melodies cracking.
Shadows lean softly against the walls,
not menacing, but patient—
listening for the flicker of a hesitant heart.
From a throne carved in gilded stone
They vented vile voices to the katabatic wind,
wailing whispers waft over wintry wear.
I grasp a world engulfed in fire
Every flicker a fragile fantasizing flake,
shrunken before bloom.
Ego prowls like a stray wolf
shattering serenity into jagged shards,
gain drifting toward despotic dominion.
We raise stone altars disguised as bridges—
only to watch them crumble
into dust beneath our crossing.
Buried deep in earth lies a singular root,
a quiet colloquy to a ubiquitous crown—
Life unfolds, shadows brood,
delicate yet enduring, thriving in the gloom.
And the human spirit shines with brilliance.
“What’s it all about, Alfie?”—
Are they hedonistic choices—and the katabatic void they leave?
This cup’s clutter, this timetable of supplejack sighs.
If the moon forgets—will it ever call us back?
Are we meant to have beyond what we bestow?
Or are we required to be seraphim?
We chase glitter, blind to its lamplight and oil.
Alfie, if a fool shows no interest,
Is revenge the clever answer?
And if life belongs only to the strong—
What’s your wager on the sphinx’s ancient rule?
Our aspirations fold like creased napkins—
still clean enough for an evasive guest.
Love? A leftover coat on the wrong hook,
a name spoken softly, reshaped when no one listens.
Hope? A medium-rare object—
warm in the middle, a blush of pink.
Never raw, though.
And relevance? The hum between two clashing chords—
your laughter mocking silence.
“What’s it all about, Alfie?” then…
Perhaps nothing.
Perhaps everything.
Or simply this:
You hesitate—and maybe that’s the answer.
Written: May 26, 2025, for contest by Joseph May
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In the silk-laced dusk, angels softly dwell,
Love and grief entwine, weaving stories to tell.
Two souls once weaved, etched in fading light,
Now torn apart as shadows meet at night.
In this katabatic abyss, I forever fell.
My love, an ember that once burnt bright,
Extinguished by the skimpy hands of night.
Leaving ashes scattered, a spirit grown cold,
A heart dimmed and weary, a love gotten old.
In this hollow space, I strive to be bold.
"The darkened sky stole my tears."
In stillness, I hear your whispering fears
An echo of what was, and that we've lost,
A passion that has faded, a soul that’s frost.
In my lonesome reverie, I weigh the cost.
Written: January 10, 2025
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Wenches of Whimsy and Woe
In the world of the fiddled gruntingly,
where micturitions dance,
and arty yawning plurdled gabbleblotchits,
lurgid bees buzz with mordacious glee.
Eardges justle and grumble,
festering infectious organ squealers,
gnawing at the edges excruciatingly,
Intergalactic highways scream,
echoing in their lavish friars.
Gandersalps gleam in the grim groggy gloom
graceful gliding gallant swarupincrafts majestically soar
whoop, wail, wassail wondrous rowan wood
cormulent chitchat flickers like flames
Elevate the mundane,
let foolishness dissolve into the ether,
In the charm of nostalgia, we find the replevy abyss,
Paraprosdokian twists lift us higher.
Triskaidekaphobia slumbers wrapped in jest.
Schadenfreude influences us as
katabatic whispers from the abyss fade away
callipygian figures emerge,
bringing moments of unexpected joy.
Vessels overflowing with dreams,
countehsee the orbs and clusters
while Guinevere gazes, sly and wise,
clipshank the past, whitebootz to come
Here as we meander in whimsical unfolding
you must take the time to rhyme,
the design is divine and you will find
it aligns with the original minds
of before times when afore lines
were written/signed and mined
for stage binds and weaved vines
intertwined with the twine of dimes
nickels and pennys deepening fines
as greasy grinds gripping wine stines,
snipping lips with widely-eyed shine
sipping moonshine as they dined
behind locked door were blinds
which burglary was a dyne
like a katabatic slope incline.
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