Cheesecloth Promises,
Wrapped in Empty Intentions...
Folds Flags of Freedom!
Let us enter the Forest Primeval,
in search of that something within.
Stop, listen, and feel the appeal.
This first step is where we begin.
What you hear is not heard by your ears.
The smells are not sensed by your nose.
You see, but not through eyes full of tears.
What you feel is untouched by fingers or toes.
If persistent, you shall discover
what just might be a welcome delight.
For in here live unicorns, a new lover,
trolls, and even dragons to fight.
Whatever it is you desire in life
you can make it appear within,
far away from mundane troubles and strife.
Our Forest Primeval beckons: do come in.
On a more personal note,
seeing the shackles,
self-imposed or by others
always raises the hackles,
yet, with only one oar
in the water,
neither doing their remit,
nor what they oughta,
as a means of avoidance
wherever they go,
catching crabs
whenever they row,
while blindly engaged
in endless negotiations,
with lobbyists, politicos
and their associations,
but, are they remunerated
for mere speech,
as opposed to action,
do they fail to grasp the truth,
or, is reality out of reach?
Our outhouse was attached to the rear of our home.
In times of foul weather, negating any need to roam.
It was all about convenience. Never heated,
permanently air conditioned, and two seated.
It was one of the best and quiet thinking spots.
Because the door lacked a lock or handle slots,
there were occasions when interruptions occurred,
encouraging one to butt out of there inured.
Winter weather could be nasty and cold,
causing meditations to be short, thus quickly unload.
Summer was warm with breezy invasions,
entertaining lingering and tingling sensations.
There was never a need to waste water and flush.
Spreading lime was used to keep nasty fly's from us.
Outside and behind was a sliding door,
Where once a year I was 'encouraged' to explore
and clean our outhouse with pail, rake, and shovel.
A chore that trained me to write poetry and grovel.
This bond of our hearts, so deep and true,
You are mine forever, and I belong to you.
The weather tonight is a beautiful sign,
To finally whisper that your heart is mine.
I have loved you wildly, with all that I hold, Giving you my heart, a story untold.
I am lost, I am crazy, in the warmth of your grace,
My entire lifetime, I want to spend in your embrace.
This bond of our hearts, so deep and true, You are mine forever, and I belong to you.
Yet, your memories burn like a flame in the dark,
Leaving my sleepless nights without a spark. My soul yearns to talk, to hear your voice speak,
Whenever your thoughts make my defenses weak.
Without your presence, I am an unfinished song,
But with you by my side, I finally belong.
I want to live every breath watching over you, Hiding you safely in my heart, away from view.To pour out every secret I've kept inside,
And keep every promise, with nowhere to hide.
Our connection runs deeper than the oceans wide,
Everywhere I look, your face is by my side.But without you now, my world has gone gray,
Come back to me love, and bring back the day.
This bond of our hearts, so deep and true, You are mine forever, and I belong to you.
Always loved by you.
I was with you thick and through
In every lifetime.
In our every moment now,
There's our love's eternal vow.
We have no need of the highland pastures in autumn.
Livestock is brought in; crops are harvested in autumn.
As always, we celebrate with feasting, song and dance in autumn.
Our youth are abandoning traditions such as that in autumn.
Will they not miss Fairy Meadow’s splendor and snow-capped peaks in autumn?
Lahore lures them away from our village; a loss we deeply feel in autumn.
The outside world is changing like the color of our leaves each autumn.
It tries to change us too, yet we still welcome you to our home in autumn.
Our inheritance become stranger to us
The throne of our fathers birth the bastard king
Our palace rose against its people and its environs
Ripping us into pieces, breaking our flesh as the price to our right and inheritance
Grinning at our pain and discomfort, feasting on our flesh and blood in our land
The land that belongs to us.
The land will never forget the taste of our sweat and blood
The land will not recover from the taste of our heroes' flesh
Sons and daughters are trapped in the cage craving for bread and wine but our tears and blood become the price and the currency
It's not negotiable.
We were taunted
We were massacred
We were stabbed
We were oppressed
We were bullied and cheated
Now we're taunted
We're undefeatable, unstoppable, unbreakable in our land
Though our flesh is broken and our blood was shed but our bones and veins are risen to take possession of our archaic palace and our fathers' throne
The labour of our heroes' past has risen
It's the beginning of our journey.
The beginning is begun
We began with the journey.
We will never die again
Yesterday during our meeting
I was freeing my soul from the chains of the night
I was teaching its eyelashes
How to look at you
Look at it, see it flowing between us
Would you call it a wave?
Would you call it a rose? Take it
Crumble it on your lips
IN AND OF OUR INTOXICATED KIDS
The tease of Satan,
Intoxicating their minds;
Its high, downing them:-
They love doing wrong.
Despite all of the trouble,
They just love the high.
We must burst their highs;
Them falling into our grace:
Forgiven and healed:-
Yesterday during our meeting
I was freeing my soul from the chains of the night
I was teaching its eyelashes
How to look at you
Look at it, see it flowing between us
Would you call it a wave?
Would you call it a rose? Take it
Crumble it on your lips
Written: September 22, 2026 for a contest sponsored by: Line Gauthier
**********
Crimson grief coils, a choir sneaks at night,
I’ll stand at your side, unhurried, till first light.
Should stories dissolve as twilight looms,
I hold each word; silence cannot exhume.
Where the twisting road may veer,
I will endure tenaciously, I swear.
A HAIKU TO RESOILING OUR NATION
Seeds of hate cannot
Germinate in soils of love:
Let our soils be so:-
More inspiration from Practical Magic. Love remains the greatest power.
Our magical threads
By Michelle Morris
20/09/2026
This family tree
Not a perfect history
Blessings and curses
Always our reality
An ancient line
Our magical threads
Seeds sown deep
Grown to perfection
The mystery
The stories old
Love torn apart
Curses unfolded
Sisterly love
Family ties
Mothers and fathers
Loved ones who died
This history
We can't repeat
Time to break the curse
To bleed for freedom
Our blood we spill
Combining our hands
Destroying the darkness
Changes time and sands
That hourglass
We just reversed
Love overcame
Our family curse
And you and me
Our love and light
Forever expanded
To win the fight
© Michelle Morris, 2026
Having entered the ‘Age of AI’
our spines to mush have turned
Bridges to common sense burned
our Luddite instincts we’ve let fly
Fear, the dominant emotion
folks ready to drown in the ocean…
The motorcar was to lead to debauchery
a dramatic increase in teenage pregnancy
The computer would replace human beings
life would lose all meaning
The motorcar and the computer we’ve somehow survived
Last I checked, more and more people alive
Perhaps we’ll manage to survive AI too
Come Halloween, don’t forget to say ‘Boo!’
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