By Poet.... "Haven hide me safe and sound. Far away from this cruel world. Give me peace of mind and body."
The story of my haven,
as I ran from the huge raven.
Was I living in a cave-in?
Life's pictures have been hung with a cloth pin.
The huge raven represents life,
the cave-in represents midlife.
Where did life go?
Time had no flow,
no more glow.
All the time I was low,
I just wanted to live and to grow.
Hiding in my safe haven covered with snow,
I now watch TV and a new game show.
Go ahead and be yourself.
Some will call it a midlife crisis.
Hopefully it's just a phase.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
(“Particle in the Wave”, 2018, original encaustic)
How many midlife crises is it gonna take
To make it to maturity?
Like how a finite segment of a line
Can always be halved ad infinitum,
One’s life is always just halfway done,
And so we are always prone to midlife correction.
Bring it on we say,
As the floor falls out yet again,
But everyone knows everyone wishes
The floor would hold.
(4/1/26)
Amanda, my dearest sister
Bitterness is not a good look on you
Can you not put the past behind?
Don't think for one moment that I don't support you
(Even if I come across as indifferent at times)
Face it, the path to progress is letting go
Getting rid of all that negative emotion
Happiness never visits the heart that harbours grudges
I know, it's easy for me to say but
Jealousy will just destroy you
Kill you from the inside
Leave you gasping for oxygen
Murdered by the pressure of being let down
New horizons lie just around the corner
Open door, if you'd just try the handle
Push it wide, walk on through, and don't look back
Qualities you have to offer
Riches that any future partner will cherish
Sever those ties, holding you to ransom
Throw yourself free, dive deep into
Unknown waters, swim for your liberty
Value yourself as
We value you, unconditionally and as for
Xander? Honestly,
You can do so much better, re-find your
Zest, your love for life, your love for you.
I want my little Sis back.
Love you.
Beware the midlife crisis:
It takes you by surprise
after your 40th existential rise.
There is no remedy
to cure this dralody.
All you can do
is feel blue
and pout
day in and day out.
They say that life begins at forty
but they are wrong
because not everyone
starts looking for fun
in the birthday song.
while dancing
and prancing
on the road from Trinity
to some infinity.
Running from what is really hurting you -while trying to find what takes the hurt away
Dazed and confused
Lost in the mire
Everyday
My hearts on fire
Why did I have to
Look at you
We were doing great things
Headed for glory
Then u decided
To relive old stories
Why aren’t we
Enough for you
All I ever wanted
Was just to be good
And I really have been
But it doesn’t matter
That I’m really true
Coz s will say
Anything
To bring you down
And that’s the ‘truth’
That follows u round
My life is a
What the ?
Every literal thing
Misconstrued
Everything I say, want
Or think to do
My whole existence
Doing what I’m told
Is this what life is
When u be good
Look at the humans
Doing head things
I could never comprehend
Or occur to me
They do those things
With no consequence
How do they sleep at night
With rainbow dreams
Those are things
They say about me
That’s what you get
When you be good
Are my motives questionable
Maybe even disagreeable
Knowing they will be unforgettable
Therefore, under the magnifying glass examine
A male hippopotamus lost so much weight
He felt he was the bull most likely
To stay out late
With flamboyant, embellished cows
He was no longer
A defender of his character
Living in abandon
His life needed to be abolished
His old life he needed to follow
Acknowledge his achievements
His electric reputation
Don't you think it's curious
His now disorganization
Competitive drive
Relocated
South
The optimist said that fifty years is half your life,
but the audience surely knows
that men don't live much longer than
the heyday of their town's proud factory
or the life span of an empire in the modern age.
Fifty-five years down a blind path cluttered with bombshells,
every wrong foot a heaving blast,
brickbats, not lemons rain down on
my tiny comic parasol till
I am left here holding only bent and rusty bones.
This is the part where the optimist will spin a yarn
about weaving a tapestry
from the ragged bits remaining,
the breathless crowd expecting the hero
to run their happy gauntlet again and again,
till the last clod falls.
Midlife crisis
Is this just
A midlife crisis
Or am I doing
what I like
for I just went
and purchased myself
a brand new motorbike
is this just
a midlife crisis
or am I just insane
for just last week
I went and jumped
Out of an aeroplane
Is this just
A midlife crisis
Climbing up this hill
Not at all
I told myself
I’m just looking
For jack ,or jill
Is this just
A midlife crisis
As I go dancing
Every night
Not at all
I told myself
It brings me much delight
Is this just
A midlife crisis
As I drive my car
So fast
Not at all
I told myself
I couldn’t afford it
In the past
When you hit
The midlife hour
Some may say
Your sappy
But who care’s
What the others think
Just do what makes you happy
I winged with the doves
in my unbounded boyhood.
Those rainbows and the contrails
still stay in the soul.
I sweated several times
but that never lost me sleep.
Now anxieties sprout
in the sweat.
I lose me
in the parching forebodings.
Conditioned by the symptoms,
both heard and read,
I die again,
of heart attack this time.
I remember
a swarm of fireflies
decorating my dark spring.
My midlife fruits
(flowered in the torrid weather)
have ripened.
I glimpse an infinite emptiness
in the waning light.
Even the dreams transform
strangely,
sometimes with the presence
of the departed.
Something somewhere
will remain on nothing.
First published in The Literary Hatchet
midlife crisis
her biological clock
starts ticking
Bewildered in crossroad of crisis midlife
steel wool clouds loom in porcelain sky
Confused and wearied in stubborn strife
autumn leaves chased in wild winds fly
Unmerciful corrosion honing voids deep
contort soft green tendrils into hard wood
Evaporated twilight tears no longer weep
in stream of subconscious, all understood.
blemish and freckles all wrinkled within
yet in seal of love cuddled relations attach
Weeds align rosy bush, both smile and grin
desire of fancy blings, grow in greeny patch
No surprise of a palette of nebula rainbow
In signature of autopilot, many years to go.
Life is a whirlpool
It drives you to the bottom no matter how hard your try to get away.
Life is a thunderstorm
It weighs you down and strikes down the proud.
Life is a blizzard
It is freezing cold and eventually buries you.
Life is a desert
It burns and offers little relief.
Life is quicksand
It traps you and leaves you no escape.
Who can truly give me refuge and comfort?
When will God be merciful and give me a turning point?
Have I been pierce enough?
Have not my tears flooded enough oceans?
Why must I live when each day pierces me?
Why must all I have sown be left to the crows?
When, O Lord, when will I enjoy a harvest?
When will I be satisfied with a full cup and overflowing chalice?
On my way to work today,
It struck me out of the blue,
There’re lots of things I haven’t done,
There’re things I need to do,
I need to bungee jump from off a bridge,
And leap right out of a plane,
I need to speed around in a sportsman’s car,
Then cover myself in Champagne,
And I really need to get a tattoo,
And go to the gym to get strong,
And cut away all these little grey strands,
To help me feel I belong,
Then moisturize my cheeks and nose,
Remove the wrinkles around my eye,
As I drive right through my midlife crisis,
Now my life has just gone by.
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