It is raining outside! I gaze at the photograph
of my mother!... a young child!... playing in the rain!
Her long, jet-black hair is dripping
onto her dress!... the embroidered flowers are drinking it in.
Barefoot in that captured moment of running—
one foot touches the earth on tiptoe,
the other is in the air!... she balances there, carefree.
Her small hands, like tender tree shoots—
one reaches forward as if following someone,
the other trails behind as if beckoning someone.
The sun shines upon her rosy cheeks;
stars and the moon swim within her eyes.
Outside, the rain has stopped! Through the windowpane
I see blooming flowers dancing in the breeze,
I hear the rustling of trees,
I see the sun’s rose at dusk, at dawn,
and night’s soft, ebony scarf
embroidered with stars and the moon;
I see my mother!... out there!... calling to me!
Through the windowpane… the rain is dripping!
Mild day
yellow bells bloom
banishing winter gloom
sweet harbinger of coming spring.
Gentle wind bids bronze chimes to sway and ring
branches still bare but teem with life
songbirds perch; squirrels play
Outside, I’ll stay~~
mild day.
Too hot.
outside.
Fry egg,
sidewalk.
Big hawk,
dry mouth.
Yes rains
coming.
How hot,
too hot.
Fall is,
waiting.
Hooray!!!
Outside
is wide
Let’s do
things new
Bring snack;
let’s pack
Daytime -
rock climb.
Hear moves
of hooves:
horseback
click-clack
Backpack;
kayak!
Rest soon;
see moon
Stars bright
at night
Campfire
desire:
s’mores
outdoors.
Night spent
in tent
Night hums
Dawn comes -
new day
to play!
If you don’t have a yard
Or a terrace or deck,
(And, if moving, I’d strongly
Suggest that you check)
Just make sure there’s a park
Or a riverwalk, so
When you’re feeling cooped up,
You’ll have someplace to go.
For a window is not
Quite like being outside,
Where the air (fresh or not)
Somehow seems to provide
A connection to life,
Which I find that I need
To boost up my morale
(And for me’s guaranteed).
Yet I have to admit,
One exception I’ve got,
Will come later this week –
I’ll stay in when it’s hot!
Inside the outside of everything
Colors conform to retreat
I seek not what is lost or gained
I only seek the truth or fiction
Inside the Outside of all
I stumble against the wall of remorse
And in the distance of morning or nightide
I see the truth as gospel or not
Colors bleed into morning or night
Like the dharma of dawn reborn
I see the raven flying or hanging
On a rope-ladder to the moon and back
I am dead but hopeful of life
In all the usual places or not
I am dead and only now
glimpse the truth
writhes bones, skeletally abrasive,
impinging upon warm bodies,
closing in, shadows stalk,
root system of sinister,
disrupted by intense light
figures in white, outside
of temporal, embrace blue
of his shoulders -
roots of sacrifice, present.
led through the forest;
dead wood parted ways
like Moses’ Red Sea, which
can’t hold water when
the King of kings leads.
What does it take to live inside
Is there a shelter it provides?
In case it does, what shall I find
That’ll make me change my tortured mind
Presumably I’m not that kind
Like others do, I go outside
To change my sight I need to hide
From that notorious inside
But then my time goes running wild
It runs downstairs and climbs too high
Till I’m not able to define
What’s what, whose voice I hear inside.
Always thinking ahead,
as opportunity seldom knocks,
I'm still and always will be
pushing the envelope outside the box.
As what goes up must come down,
if I may have my way and say today,
airlines should sell seats by the pound,
the more you weigh, the more you pay.
History has shown (we've always known),
when American Indians he's among,
all the better to speak out of both sides of mouth,
white man speak with forked tongue.
As stress brings on distress,
employ mind over matter,
and dispense with the former,
to prevent the latter.
If God created mankind in his own image,
as some are straight and others gay,
was God therefore bisexual
or merely dabbling in shades of grey?
A well-balanced world would be bereft,
it can't be all right as nothing would be left,
and almost lost in obscurity,
its axial tilt of 23.44°,
is also known as 'obliquity'.
so glad we are outside
I heard something coming from my dog’s throat
not once or twice but four times
he has thrown up some gunky gooey mucus-like stuff
four piles of it
something slimy and foul
I am so glad we are outside
my other dog races over to eat it
My home outside of home lies within the words
My best friend sends me at 10 o'clock at night
Their words grounding me to this earth
Better than gravity ever could
My home outside of home lies in music
That softens the tears in my eyes when
The world becomes waves
That will never not try to drown me
My home outside of home lies in an untitled document
Filled with words I will never find the courage
To say out loud
My home outside of home lies in Pinterest boards
And girls with waists so thin and faces so breathtaking
That the words my mom has told me since I was five--
"Beauty is supposed to come from within"--
Suddenly become words and nothing more
My home outside of home lies in the conversations
I have with my elder brother when the sky
Has been brushed with pinks and purples
And everything in between
My home outside of home reeks of toxicity
It has smothered me in so many coats of acid
My lungs don't even burn anymore
To the younger version of me.
Step out of your hidden place.
You've been hiding your whole life.
Wired all wrong from the trauma.
Exposed to the elements of chaos.
Never seen stability grow around you.
Never witness how happiness bloom inside.
Never felt what love can do for you.
Wished you could feel warmth of the sun.
Instead of your cold outlook of life.
I'm Sorry your role models left you behind.
I am here to pull you out of this hell.
We'll escape from all of this together.
Breaking down these decompositions.
Divided by curses and hopelessness.
Subtract the demons and stigmas off us.
The torch has been lit to guide us out.
We don't have to live in darkness anymore.
Here's my hand; let's run away together.
Sunshine through my window beckoning to play
AP: 3rd place 2026
As
spirit
acting on
organic form,
our formless presence,
with fulcrum void-centric,
entwining thus with oneness,
wayward ego takes a back seat,
employed when needed, otherwise not,
whence we become the flame that has no name.
Love, light and bliss is our soul’s state innate,
which we reclaim when thoughts are at rest,
meaning we’re poised in surrender,
that we may receive God’s grace,
as a benign bliss burn,
transforming all cells,
from deep within,
magnetised
as pure
light.
I question my existence
Year after year,
Month after month,
Week after week,
Day after day
It all feels the same.
The same four walls,
The same quiet echoes,
The same small footsteps
Running through my days.
Don’t get me wrong
I love my children.
I love them with everything in me.
But somewhere between
Becoming a mom
And becoming a wife,
I misplaced myself.
The girl I used to be
Feels like a distant memory,
A name I barely recognize.
So who am I
Outside these four walls?
Outside of “Mom”?
Outside of “Wife”?
When the noise fades
And the house falls still
Who is left standing?
Because lately,
I’m not sure
I know her at all.
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