miles away from town
the screen door opened for me
to gentle breeze, letting in summer
escape from those who troubled me
the lake down the slope glistened
stillness and reflection of open land
while I idled and gazed at the sky
in the place I learned to wonder and dream
and each passing cloud I named
in the place learned to wonder and dream
while I idled and gazed at the sky
stillness and reflection of open land
the lake down the slope glistened
escape from those who troubled me
to a gentle breeze, letting in summer
the screen door opened for me
miles away from town
*palindrome form
Ivory recipe box.
Outside,
snow swirls
along the fence line
where December
gathers its courage.
Inside,
her handwriting
still rises
from every card.
I follow
the faded ingredients
like footsteps through weather,
grateful she left a way home.
One nation shall declare death penalty as righteous and just. Not on gender or belonging to the third sex as a crime as disclosed and implemented sometime ago.
The weird part is, it will not be by lethal injection or electrocution... rather by crucifixion.
I experience reality from my own Perspective.
If I had not existed to experience reality from my perspective I would not have experienced it at all.
Who can see if not me?
Who am I if not me?
can we be who we chose to be
Or are we known as who we thought we have been?
who am I if not me?
can I be who I want to be?
am I free or am I me?
Who am I if not I am me?
I am who I experience myself to be?
my experience is dependent on my own perception of reality from my own Perspective.
Autumn, the season of mellow mist
takes over the reins of summer,
washing August dust with September rains,
revealing a palette no other seasons match.
Leaves on trees riot from green to rich rusty hues,
Colour creeps into the garden once more.
Pink rose and blue clematis peek over walls at
the carpet of sedum, cyclamen, violets and pansies
with varied shades of red, white and blues.
In the garden of Wonderland, Alice’s gardeners
are busy painting the pretty peonies, poinsettias,
carnations and Hemerocallis Daylily Autumn Red.
Multicoloured hollyhocks, carnations and cosmos dance
with dahlias and weigelas with the melodious wind.
Red hot pokers, gladioli, and digitalis point
brightly manicured fingers at the celebration of
Chinese lanterns; whilst flowering forsythias and
moon-faced sun flowers look on with yellowed envy.
The garden is a riotous rhapsody of colour.
Thus, nature celebrates the season with buddleias
and feathery asters inviting bees and butterflies
with a feeling that warm days will never cease.
Until November creeps in and the disheartened flowers,
stripped of petals, wilt and shiver into winter’s lap.
Seal of a fallen rose sinks
Sinks and disappears without a dose
Dose of herbs and plants that grow on the ground
Ground that breeds and breaks without a sound
Sound of a soul harrowing in pain
Pain of filched memories of the haunted
Haunted by a ripper in the eyes of its watchers...
(Tailgating poetry)
Poignant grey stain hued,
bleak month spawns limp mood,
ashen mists dispatch,
gold, pink, purple gulf,
illusive bridge tween,
bright easel and gloom
spoiled harvest’s glum cue,
winter squash, squashed bloom,
staple fireside chat,
rank odour repast,
lurch to bland essence.
yet dewdrops shroud faith
Cars file in and pack this field tight,
at dusk the midnight show begins.
Popcorn addicts at the Drive-ins
howl and get wild opening night.
Looking to be fed a fresh fright,
that scene seen before will not do.
A monster comes to the rescue
before you know what’s happening.
No motive can be maddening,
that jump scare was past overdue.
I
Am
The
Word
Dream
Before
Gaining
Momentum
(Naani).
Rat race compete!
Abstract clocks we beat,
Measured by humanity vanishing.
You're old, Father Time.....
Due to the vast amount he ate and the waste he produced,
and the scarcity of visitors interested in watching him,
the zoo administration decided to get rid of the old gorilla
and place him in an isolated cage for the rest of his life.
The sun climbs the glass-faced towers, Mist rises from ploughed paddocks.
Buses exhale diesel into the air, Fresh-turned earth lifts its dark, clean scent.
Coffee and pastries tumble into the street, Dew beads cold along the crushed grass.
My shoes kick paper from the pavement, My boots wake dust from the track.
A siren threads its needle through traffic, A kookaburra cracks the stillness.
Rain blurs the lines of the streets, Rain wakes the sharp smell of earth.
Fences divide the street from home, Fence lines loosen into distance.
At night, the city refuses darkness; At night, the stars reclaim the sky.
I look between the towers for one clear star, I look down the road for one clear light.
Out of my window
I see a robin,
Proud red breasted bird,
He's in my garden
Hopping and chirping,
No care in the world.
Hush in the daylight,
Tranquil in the night,
Time colours the sky,
Different portraits,
Different seasons,
So is my journey.
October 1, 2026,
Nette Onclaud,
Color My World Poetry Contest.
It sort of feels like what’s blurry is real,
roses and death’s-head moths breeding.
Oh magic mirror hanging on the wall,
please rid my mind of contamination.
Thick fog creates distorted verities.
Right becomes left and left is now right.
I must win this fight, confusion is war.
Second guesses, incomplete sentences
on purpose an important bite left out.
In a flat spin with your hands held up,
it sort of feels like what’s blurry is real.
Right becomes left and left is now right,
without a compass I’m completely lost.
Magic mirror allow me to see my path.
Better yet leave my future scrambled,
there’s an addictive quality to chance.
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