be daring, be bold, be yourself always
be fearless in everything you do
throw yourself into your own truth
brazenly blaze a new way
listen to your voices
imagination
party hearty
reinvent
create
play
sweet aroma of orange tea brought the fuzzy worm in from the cold
“would you like a bit of chocolate cake?” this inquiry never gets old
she has to put on reading glasses, to see the words in the book
the story is about Peter Pan, Wendy, and her favorite, Captain Hook
She settles down in a gold recliner, forming her own cozy restful nook
In my own nation
I ran for a shelter.
I was the only support
of my family.
I went from city to city
to earn some money.
I slept on roads.
I bore the cold nights on my skin,
I bore the scorching sun on my skin,
and I was abused.
In my own nation
I was treated like a foreigner,
like a poor labourer.
But to make a home,
to give shelter to the ones I love,
I turned my blood into sweat
and let it vanish into the air.
Finally, I built a home
on the land where my forefathers
had lived for centuries.
Then one day they came.
They bulldozed the home
I had built on the land of my own nation.
Now, once again,
my family and I are without shelter
in my own nation,
sleeping on the road,
crying for a roof
tonight,
and the next night.
I was told
it is a crime
to make a home
on the land of my own nation.
You are the artist, you're the poet.
AP: 2nd place 2026
The Journey
Exploring thy purpose
Understanding testimony
Miracle encountered
Assurance in believe
Heaven’s Vibe
Analyzing capability
Having no Doubt
The world wouldn’t understand
Beyond the world’s conscious
Created through excellence
Faith within
Seas pure and true
Walking in pursue
Distance seen
Miles to gain
Preparation derived
Waters reflect
Destiny a waits
Spoken Voice
Heaven’s words.
Hymns we hum are our own version.
We cast aside the ancient,
dogmatic liturgy,
For the hymns we hum are our
own version,
Symphonies forged in the
crucible of autonomy.
No longer chanting the
antodisestablishmentarian
strains,
We orchestrate an unyielding,
revolutionary resonance.
Every breath breathes a
nonconformist hallelujah,
An uncompromised,
multidimensional manifestation
of faith,
Dismantling the
institutionalized, authoritarian
altars.
We sanctity the beautifully
unconventional spirit,
Our voices rising in glorious,
independent ascension.
Bite-size contest #152
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Words flowing from the heart in my chest:
Do we dare pursue another quest?
Why must we idolize excess?
What if we buy the best?
Learn to eat less?
Eliminate the rest?
I don't like to brag, but I've seen it all
The virginal Springs, the legends of Fall
Where whispering pines, meet towering peaks
And raging rivers, raise babbling creeks
A fresh forest glade, festooned with fauna
Hot bubbling waters, nature's own sauna
Swam the Tasman Sea, hiked along the Nile
Even met a wretch, walking "his" green mile
Once I played the Met, and jammed with the Stones
Then won a big bet, while rolling the bones
Met the self-righteous, who claims to be right
And basked with the meek, who shines a true light
From Rome's Rotunda and Phlegraean Fields
To Chinese lanterns and Japanese shields
Sailed the Seven Seas, been around the Horn
Watched a nation die, watched a nation born.
I've seen followers and leaders of men
I've met the Pope, forgiving my sin
Saw too many rich, degrading the poor
I've stood at Hell's gate, passed through Heaven's door
I've traveled the moon, the stars in the sky
I've charmed the Devil, making Angels cry
Like I said before, I don't like to brag
Here's a toast to ME, waving my own flag!
.
i were
we for
were
thuh most part
yeah
me and
mineself
i
were
mind'n mannerz
mine
when she bent
o
o
ohver yer honor
judge
')>
Experiences: Do they act entirely on their own?
Have you ever gone from gridlock to marveling at why?
A song can make you start to cry,
Or why an axiom someone spoke last year
Can fill a quiet room with panic?
You think you've shifted along and grown,
So do a group act without reservation on their
Own?
They perch like dust on an old armchair,
Unseen until you catch them there,
A sudden compulsion to walk away,
A bad habit from a minor day-
It feels like an individual takes over,
Like an old habit luring us under.
They bump your elbow when you write.
They keep you up, jammed into the after hours.
They strive to tell you who you are,
By guiding back at every imperfection.
It's easy to feel like a commuter liable.
In an uncaged train of old, dense thought.
But a memory can't take a single pace,
It's just a bond your body reserved,
They drive the motor vehicle when you drop
The wheel,
And ditto the things you used to sense.
Some have a voice, but you grip the passkey.
They're just a part of you, not who you have to be.
When luck and fortune flee from my own soul,
and then disaster overwhelms my hope,
and hunger consumes the meal in my bowl,
and poverty and debt hinder my scope,
then I wish myself more rich in spirit,
in wisdom and character more complete,
with God's forgiveness now to inherit,
and grace in place of ruin and defeat.
But I reflect on our time spent together,
that spring we made love under a domed sky
(those happy days seemed to live on forever).
Despair now gone, I sing and let joy fly.
As you now live on in my sonnet's measure,
may all men find in you time's endless treasure.
MY OWN KIND OF BLUES CAME IN THE EVENING NEWS
SADDESS FILLS MY SOUL FOR NO REASON I'M TOLD
QUIET NOW WIPE THOSE TEARS AS MY EYES CLEARS
THE WETNESS POURS MORE AND MORE ON THIS FLOOR
OF GRIEF BENEATH ME I WEEP SO PROFOUNDLY
AS LAUGHTER COVERS THE SUN TASTING THE WARM
SUBLE AIR NO ONE WILLING TO SHARE IT
FOR I CAN NOT BREATH FOR SUCH A PAIN
I LIE HEAR 80 YEARS MY SENIOR AS I DIE TODAY
FROM A HORRID DEATH OF LOVING TOO MUCH
AND NOW THAT THE FUNERAL IS THROUGH
IT'S RIGHT IN MY FACE HE DON'T LOVE YOU
SUCH A SILLY LITTLE THING HERE LOOKING AT ME
WAITING AND WANDERING HOW GREEDY IS SHE
FOR I TAKE NOTHING AND INHERIT YOUR PAIN
I SWALLOW THE CRIES HIDDEN DOWN YOUR SPINE
AS I CRY FOR US BOTH AS I REAP WHAT'S SEWN
HERE IN THE DEBTS OF PITY HOW CAN I LIVE
IN SUCH AN EMPTY CITY I WHERE OLD SHOES USED
JUST SITTING HERE WEEPING WITH THE BLUES
WRITTEN BY YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN 5-20-2004
2610 PROVIDENCE STREET FORT MYERS FLORIDA
COPING WITH TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY
my mouth has a mind of her own
she is not assertive, she is aggressive
It is her way or the freeway
She is opinionated beyond the norm
I am well aware of the danger she puts me in
Broken teeth are proof I have gone to extreme measures
Trying to keep her clamped down
and under wraps
Sarcastic and loud, she can get me into all kinds of trouble
Which is why I no longer drink
another explanation for the broken teeth
a gold streamer hangs
as young dove takes first flight
leaving empty nest
I was not born to walk the line,
I was born to redraw the map.
Where others waited for the light,
I learned to shine in the dark.
They said the road was already made,
I chose the forest instead.
They followed footprints in the sand,
I followed the voice in my head.
The world may not remember the crowd,
It remembers the ones who dared.
Not the one who feared the fall,
But the one who learned to fly.
So build your road where none exists,
Write your name across the sky.
The future belongs to those
Who dare to create, not imitate.
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