I hate the feeling of my tongue on my teeth,
The way my breath hides underneath.
You think a smile is a sign,
To cross my boundaries, blur the line.
You reach for me, one by one;
Until my trust is overrun.
You twist my words into a game,
And somehow I'm the one to blame.
For you it was but a failed attempt,
But to me, it's thoughts I can't repent.
I sit here with a pit in my stomach;
While you move on, still living free.
You were nothing more than a friend to me,
I said that clearly, repeatedly.
You say something strange, I look away.
I change the subject; you laugh and stay.
I trusted you to respect my wishes,
But you turned my silence into permission.
You act as if I owe you touch,
When I never promised you that much.
Even now, I cannot help but think,
I replay each word you made me drink.
My voice is mine, my body too;
I owe no part of me to you.
In a state of despair
We were overrun by dusts
Languishing and in anguish
We longer for the rains
We prayed and we waited
Then the sky changed its
Rhythm from blue to dark
Nimbus clouds
The wind strong as a storm
In little trickles growing into
A barrage of ice and thunders
Alas the rains came wiping
Wiping away every dust
Bringing refreshings to the
Ground and the soul.
(Written on the 2nd of April, 2026)
Going out to express myself.
Feeling the way I am overworked
Tormented by things running through my brain
People telling me that I'm not going to make it
Anger is rushing in my heart.
Depression is pushing to my soul.
Bitterness is overrun in my blood.
My emotions are gaining no control.
I'm just tired everyday and nothing to show for it.
Advancing up is not even an option.
Being overlooked for hard work
Dying for being over appreciated.
My heart is a secret garden Poetry Contest
Silent One
My heart is a secret garden.
Make-believe guards stand sentry at the gate—
vigilant, visceral, ready
to keep out trolls, lurkers, pretenders,
and every donkey-ass from my past life.
Cigarettes, booze, and cheap sex
can wander elsewhere.
This time, my garden filters only purity.
Where pride is planted.
In my last life,
I went through the mill—
a chronic druggie, an alcoholic, a whore—
a plot overrun with weeds
and dirty secrets that still claw at my dreams.
But in this new life,
the core of my being is a wonderland:
fresh, free, first-rate, full-fledged, fever-pitched,
sans the forked tongue.
Baby elephants, unicorns, and pegasi
march six by six
through rows of bougainvillea,
through blossoms and budding life.
An orphaned lion cub is saved,
loosed into the wind—
Born Free, finding a home,
a rhythm,
a new secret taking root.
And when light shines no more,
And laughter, merry crowds,
Bustling taverns and streets
No longer welcomes my songs
Goodbye, bye and bye
Good bard.
After the arrows flew
And the swords had clashed;
When the sunrise dew
Dilutes the blood of the bashed
Goodbye, I grant you rest
Good soldier.
When screaming has stopped
When talking died,
When hearts are questioned
And love wherefore
Goodbye, lovelorn man
Goodbye lover.
Alas, madness overrun
And heart torn apart,
I dare not say
Lest you call me insane
Goodbye, o farewell to thee
My sanity, goodbye.
Oh, just one
flake was soon overrun
until everything was covered white.
I watched the fragile winter scene with great delight;
it was such a beautiful mesmerizing sight.
All night the wintery winds did blow.
To make my morning glow -
pure white snow.
Behold! A garden of rich red roses!
Oh, how it lingers inside of my head.
A vast world unlocked another closes,
parasites now overrun this deathbed.
As the center of us now transposes,
this infestation flourishing will spread.
New take on survival of the fittest,
as flowers lay dying we breed unrest.
Human nature, a mercurial being.
Individualistic, out-of-place souls.
Searching for answers but not truly seeing:
Their beauty within, burning like white-hot coals.
At times, so gentle..with empathy so pure.
Emitting radiance, a kind of allure.
Calling the masses, the meek, to surrender.
Healing hidden shadows, blessed defender.
Human nature, a mercurial being.
Overrun and overcrowd. Stuffed to the gills.
Innocent victims. Run. Terrified. Fleeing.
Maniacal laughter follows, gives chills.
Warmongers, detached. So blinded by their greed.
Were they born to hate? Or do we plant the seed?
Empty hearts in an empty shell. They're feeding.
No love for those they hurt. Left behind, bleeding.
*'What I love-What I Hate' Double Rispetto Poetry Contest
*Sponsored by: Tom Woody
*Entered on: 9/30/25
There ….yonder…
Don’t you see?
Right down the bluff
across from the canopy of trees
past a pool of stagnant waters
overrun by reeds and wild flowers.
Yes, right over there…
is a range of lush rolling hills
as if wrapping blue sky in its folds.
A mantle of lazy mist hovers over the peaks
unsure to linger around or move on.
Hands of teasing breeze sweep
over the leaves tickling them
to giggle and quiver in sheer delight,
and a bunch of bawdy birds playing
tag-and-run between flower-laden boughs.
Sitting far above
on the balcony in your wheelchair
you can feel it all
in your soul
if only you dare to look over there…
Close your eyes and see!
Seek
them all out,
overrun they thrive.
Fields full of hiding places
speak
to the courage of children.
Away from dull eyes
naive dreams
stretch
Ever wonder what happens if one day they switched the Wheels of Fortune into the wheels of memory, with the host announcing, look folks today we play a new game, call it sympathy game, here is how it goes. You each select a name from this list on the screen, it’s Gaza casualty list, and then learn all there is to know about your new identity. Let me give you an example.
Sadeel Ghasan, a 15 year old from the Jenin refugee camp. Her parents came from Al-Kabri overrun in 1948 fearing a massacre.
Sadeel had three siblings, only one left now, Mahmoud 8, old enough to know Sadeel was an angel, excelled in volleyball and marth, that her head was crushed. They’re still collecting pieces of their parents, also killed by tank fire.
So, here’s the game. When I point at you, stand and say I ‘m a Palestinian, my name is Sadeel, I used to have a fair full of hair and am headless now. No, I did not die by natural causes. I now live in someone’s memory, it’s warm and cozy, and am thrilled to know one day they’ll bring the tank commander to justice for his atrocities.
My friends, we have to keep breaking the chains until the gate opens
A thirst for walking shoes tightens ankle bones –
it would be sure enough a miracle
if for at least one morning
I could parachute out of my own inner attic
to make a soft landing into
lighter than air sneakers.
Alas this world is overrun with footnotes,
warnings that we are not to take anything at all
for granted.
Amazing how some days
allot me just enough time
to recall, that I am not yet,
or may never be,
Bonafide.
The spiritual path is rocky and narrow,
agile mountain goats get ahead of us,
as we slog behind
picking up their leavings,
each dropping a footnote an*
that the race we have been losing for years
may be already over.
If (by any chance),
I have any wisdom left to me,
I would vehemently caution all:
for God’s sake
to always read the small print -
*
Night wraps me softly in her arms,
Whispering secrets, weaving charms.
She cradles echoes in my chest,
A quiet breath, a gentle rest.
Her cloak conceals my hidden scars,
Each one a story traced by stars.
She treads with footsteps calm and slow,
Through empty halls where shadows grow.
By day, she hides behind the sun,
But when the world is overrun,
She dons my borrowed, fragile face,
And offers me her silent grace.
Night knows the thorns beneath the rose,
The slipping joy no one else knows.
She listens close to muted pleas,
Embracing pain with quiet ease.
She gleams with memories deep and old,
And holds the dreams I dare not hold.
In her hush, my voice is slight—
A whispered prayer in endless night.
No bitterness within her reign,
Just soft release from aching pain.
She guards my tether, faint but bright—
My faithful friend in darkest night.
"A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world." - Leo Buscaglia
I need not many friends in this my life~
A few will suffice, if they do wonders,
As caring and kind as a loyal wife,
Their presence resounds like distant thunders.
More beauty is found in a single rose
Than in weeds that overrun a garden.
Their sheer numbers often bring many throes,
And for their wrongs, they offer no pardon.
Flee far from my life in your vast number,
Find a place to rest, lost in your slumber.
The day my heart
Was wounded and died,
I was the only one
Who noticed or cried.
No one else seen
The battle it fought
With all the sadness
Your leaving brought.
It happened in
The middle of the night.
My heart tried to
Put up a good fight,
But it was surprised
And completely overrun.
My heart did everything
That could've been done,
But it wasn't enough.
In the end it failed
And into the afterlife
My heart sailed.
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