To yield is to merge.
For merging require the act of yielding.
Then in the lanes of speeds.
Part of the right lane worlds.
If you going form right to left.
If you are going from left to right.
For the duty of the right is to merge.
For the duty of the left is to yield.
Therefore merging is also yielding.
To avoid said collisions.
So in which lane are you driving in?
People called me timid
Because I go slowly
Moving step by step
According to the
Rhythms of nature
Because I believe in
The law of balance.
I do my best then relax
I don't try to force things
I always go easy on me
Zechariah 4:6, not by might,
Nor by power, but by thy spirit
Aggression births digression
Digression hinders progression.
Clarity yields results
Self hostility hinder prosperity
You're your own resolution
Endow yourself with worth
Not desperation for results
Be determined with the process
Time is the ultimate guide
Do it according to your pace.
A silent grace sits on the silvered hair,
Lengthening the seasons to drawn out days,
Not only breath glitters in life’s deep stare,
But also treading through the world’s cold maze.
The tender spring blooms will soon surely fade,
And summer heat will in a while cool down,
But wisdom mustered in the serene shade
Will proliferate the world`s knowledge crown.
True longevity resides not in breath,
But in wise words that we share as a sage,
An age-long heritage that defeats death,
A shining spirit stretching beyond age.
Years are but the reflection of our pace,
While legacy lasts across time and space.
Set your pace to grace,
A metamorphosis is taking place,
Changing the view on space,
Breaking the barrier we face,
We evolve the human race,
The chase has begun,
Embrace the new season,
The reason you're here,
Don't run from fear,
That's the clear sign,
You're aligned,
Designing your destination,
Destiny truly a narration,
Use your imagination,
The creation station,
Always in transformation,
As information builds the new,
On top of what you already knew,
The view becoming askew,
Queuing in change,
Rearranging the projection,
To fit the current perception,
The conception of a new way to be,
Seeing you in every body,
Muddy water starts to settle,
As we meddle with what's around,
Learning to ground our vessel,
Nestled safely in place,
Erasing an old way of being,
Seeing the change coming soon,
I've already changed my tune,
An opportunity to set the pace,
With forgiveness and grace.
The Equal Rights Amendment was first proposed in 1923 and passed through the House of Representatives in 1971 and the Senate in 1972. However, it took until 2020 for 38 of the 50 states to ratify it. On January 17th, 2025 then president Joe Biden declared that the ERA had met the requirements for certification to the Constitution. Today, it still has not been certified and not all 50 states have yet to ratify it.
it takes a long time
for Ents to say anything
governments need more
At the drop of a hat,
just like that the calendar turns its last page, wearing thin.
Yet again, it begins.
The town stays the same yet everything’s changed
old hands start to wear new rings.
Years ago, you were born
wardrobe’s been worn
as one door closes, someone else walks in.
Yet again, it begins.
The sun leaves the sky but in the blink of an eye
it’s there again and you’re left questioning why…
children leave the swings for other things
and soon those children start to bare their own,
then face the world all alone.
That new house that becomes a home
with the back garden, now all overgrown
where you once slept, newly a teen
before everything you now have seen
and yet this is no dream.
That kid at school you knew so well
hears the echoes of wedding bells
but before you know it, there comes the rain
you watch them drift away in pain
and just like that, it starts all over again.
As the day creeps slowly into night
you clutch your pen with each word you write
but don’t forget to check the time
before today falls out of your sight.
Since humans surfaced from the slime,
our art has always turned on time,
on measurement, and not on rhyme –
so Solon says (I’m with him):
the heart of art is rhythm.
You want to waltz? You need three-four.
And verse that’s truly free’s a bore!
The drumkit forms rock music’s core,
and Rhapsody in Blue has
wrought classical anew (jazz).
Our architecture, uninspired,
was looking – feeling – somewhat tired.
Then Frank Lloyd Wright, completely wired,
transformed it, not for profit
– have you seen his soffits?
The painter had become a monkey,
just reproducing portraits (clunky)
and soulless seascapes. Things got funky:
what stirred the stiff Sargasso?
A samba called Picasso!
Those Western movies grew so dull,
the steers were ready for a cull:
Italians dispelled the lull,
while Hollywood said, smugly,
“no-one wants good, bad, ugly!”
So, whether you sculpt or you sing,
you groove to The Beatles or Bing,
you think Nat or Elvis is King,
it don’t mean a thing
if it ain’t got that swing!
Everybody can't be
On the front line
Some have to
Stay behind
There will always
Be a new recruit
If there's no good input.
After a tenure
Another emerge
To take over
Everyone one with their agenda
Some to deliver
Others to acquire.
Some bleed
For the glory
Others sweat for it
And few get without stress
Everyone got their grace and pace
As they unveil new stage.
Living in harmony with nature.
The sun sets after a long day.
I gladly mimic its rhythm.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 3rd place 2025
The sun, a weary coin, drops into the ocean’s slot,
spending the last bright hours of the day.
The sky is a bruised peach, painted with strokes of amethyst and crimson,
a canvas where light and shadow fight their final, silent war.
My feet, two small boats, navigate the concrete river,
following the current of the street, while the air cools to a velvet cloak.
Each step is a turning page in the day’s long story,
the shadows stretching like yawning cats in my wake.
Buildings become silhouettes, monuments to the day’s retreat,
their windows igniting with the first, shy lamps, stars returning to an earthly sky.
The wind whispers secrets through the dry grass,
a language understood only by the coming night.
A streetlamp flickers awake, a sudden, artificial moon,
casting its pale, thespian glow on the stage below.
And I, the lone player, walk my path,
a pilgrim on the edge of two worlds: one of light, one of velvet dark.
Home is the anchor in this drifting sea of evening,
a quiet harbor where the soul can drop its sails.
As the last ember of sunlight winks out,
I find my door, and the day is done, the metaphor complete.
I am grateful for understanding
one of the basic truths of the human race…
How every person…
just like every flower
blooms at their own pace.
Race starts, runs fast.
Horse darts, comes last.
A partly cloudy day befalls the stage;
Actors from left to night remain a page.
time never slows down
she’s constant like syllables
she keeps a schedule
tick tick tick tick
precise and clean
steady and predictable
time never speeds up
driving at a steady pace
both hands ready
Gone are the five weekdays
Clearing hectic schedules and long to-do lists
They've become a distant memory
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
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