HAIL TO NEEDLES OF PREY
They had
Hand-set
The trap
To lure
And capture
Freed nocturnal
Prey–
A prized
Catch
For the
Oppressive
Stew pot–
However,
In liberating
Darkness,
They blindly
Reached
In
And tightly
Grabed
A porcupine!
Pray-tell,
Our prey
Llives
Will likewise
Become
Sharp,
Liberating
Ones:-
The world feels heavy, a mountain of lead,
With sharp, silver needles that pull at my head.
A hollow in the stomach, a weight in the chest,
While the heart tries to find just a moment of rest.
I reached for a hand that I thought was a light,
But they traded my trust for a shadow in flight.
Now the hallways are long and silence is loud,
Just a face in the distance, a ghost in the crowd.
The ink on the paper felt tangled and wrong,
As the rhythm of "self" lost the words to its song.
I'm weary of carrying the blame and the ache,
Of feeling so brittle, I'm destined to break.
But in the quiet, I'm turning my eyes,
To the one who can hear all the world less cries.
Though my body is weak and the road is uphill,
I'll walk through the valley and try to be still.
If the world has forgotten, I know He has not,
I am more than the pain and the battles I've fought.
I'll keep my solitude, sacred and deep,
Until there is peace in the promises I keep.
If I liked to be poked and was fond of needles
I might entertain the idea of a tattoo
a tiny green dragon wearing a jaunty tam
an orange mushroom house with pink flowers
a 1959 navy blue Cadillac with red leather seats
But I do not like to be poked and I am not fond of needles
Flicks and rolls,
It works in a wondrous way
Though some wish it would not obey
as the brain slowly tolls.
I enjoy how the lines flow
like they’re sought in the sky afar,
and though they leave the soul ajar,
it pays off what I owe.
As it aches slow and decadent
and helps litter my anatomy,
this is not a regret to me
as my pains are now evident.
Controlled by will
and yet none to be found
therefore no need to ground
what can be perfectly still.
The joint is my lover,
ligaments let the blood flow,
hidden and more on show,
all will be worn and washed over.
I have worked myself young,
creeks, grinds with naivety
skint with offers for prosperity,
so my wrist is what i have brung.
Please open the door, it’s dark in here. “Go to your room,” the
The command hangs heavily.
Can I come downstairs now? The question met with silence, a
hollow echo.
Hungry, a plea lost in the suffocating air.
Be quiet! A hiss that chills deeper than the winter wind. Be still, a
demand that binds like rusted chains.
Wrapped eyes and hands, a sightless, touchless world. Can’t see,
can’t feel, adrift in a sea of fear.
The peel of a skinny branch, a cruel reminder. It bounces back, a
mockery of the sting it leaves.
Cold baths, the bite of water on chilled skin. Hand-me-down
clothes, a constant reminder of what’s missing.
Winter outside, a mirrored coldness within. The memories are
pushed to the back of the mind, but remains.
The needles from childhood are sharp and ever-present.
The door opens, and a sliver of light pierces the darkness.
But will it be enough to chase away the shadows?
1418 NEW MONOKU
Contest Judged: 10/4/2025 8:35:00 AM
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
( 6th Place )
Written: October 4, 2025
sunlight through pine needles—shadows sway in silence
To this Mourning idle day,
To the silence of this uncertain night;
I offer the quenched melody
shrieking boastful, in silence of gloom.
In the sombre piano, Chopin
upheaves restlessness crying in fright.
This worklessness pinches deep
the needles, of loneliness wringing again.
An upbeat mourn yearn shows
to reach the absent overwhelmed be.
Here reaches out there to then,
where the answer would approach back.
Sucked back into vacuum black,
Away from the light heavier than dark,
Bleeding in red rose covered
in throes of pain, and beauty of blood.
Leaving behind or being left
behind the curtains of worldliness,
Grounded set her eyes silently
Breathing among the needles of needlessness.
They dressed me up in tinsel
and lametta I recall
stood me in a corner
not as a wallflower
I was the belle of the ball
but now my needles shedding
the moment I've been dreading
limp lonely forgotten neglected
not long before I'm ejected
and two weeks later here am I
a sad and sorry sight to behold
enough to make one cry
discarded by the side of the road
wasting away out in the cold
alas this is the fate awaits us
to make the children smile
here today gone tomorrow
born to sparkle but for a while
The apartment smelled like smoke
Frail and fleeting
I looked at her
She never ate
Always yelled
I looked at him
He never stayed
Always somber
Curled in a blanket on the floor
Thin and cold
Looking up at the ceiling
A stain on the wall
The window was open
Screaming in the kitchen
Needles on the floor
The carpet dirty
I walked around a little bit
I lay back down
There was no food
There was nothing
Blubber, don’t
Bloober.
Blibber, don’t
Blabber.
Nothing -- is Greater than
Blue — fake Green
and Its smell;
Sharp Needles --
forever, to,
Ever.
Held In their
long -- Immense
Arms,
full of Fake
Cones.
I thought of you alot today
While sitting near the bridge
I wonder, did your ears ring?
Even just a smidge?
Well all I know is if they did
They must have rang alot
You were on my mind so much
More often than were not
I pretended you were with me
Even spoke to you out loud
But then I changed from heart to heart
When sat down a small crowd
I played and people listened
But that meant not too much
Since you're the only one I saw
My mind's eye on you touched
No matter where I am
No matter what I do
When I start to miss you
I just look at my tattoo
It's a poor man's substitution
For a lady rich and fine
But I have to take what I can get
I do so for you pine
One fine thing about Rhoda was her smile:
She had ways of taking it to a mile,
Its richness as unfading as ever;
So seraphic with her glass of Eva
One could not her link with widow,
Her smiles doing the good job of shadow…
Smiles with a skill of checking abrupt tears
And she trusted would not unveil new fears:
Really, Rhoda should be paying her smiles
A monthly sum for hundred marble tiles.
Who’d ever sense her man had hated her
And to him had meant needles of a fir?
The needle was my destiny
yet I choose to be free,
crystals dance inside my dreams
but I choose life
no more flames licking at a glass bowl,
no more chasing fantasies
my faith changed me;
to be a faithful wife
and loving mother,
no longer a lowly drug addict
laying on the bathroom floor,
with blood dripping from my arm
angels know my name
and Jesus sings me to sleep,
forever found
and lost to the game,
my friends don't recognize me
they're stuck in a haze
a cloud so thick
you can see it for days,
drugs made me steal
but love made me heal;
I'm finally living the dream.
Deathly afraid of needles
Barbie began to whine and wheedle
Aw, Doc, before you plunge in that syringe
Listen to this, try not to cringe
Studies show that needle-induced trauma
afflicts 98% of birthing mommas...
But Doc went ahead, stuck in that sharp pole
Bwa-ha-ha ~ another win for population control
pins and needles sewn across the bed in threads of yellow-brown and rosy, red stitched across my sheets and embroidered to my bed and pillow eye to eye with pins and needles a prickly pair pinned to my bed and pillow
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