bow wowsing the paper on a winter day
the puppy barked because he had a lot to say
his wife tried to simmer him down with a hey hey hey
He told her to stay out, to stay away
He had a shy bladder and could not pee or poop
If anyone was near, so never in any kind of group
His wife knew he was reading the paper, this doggy Jim
Because he always barked when things distressed him
By Poet "The computer is the delivery room for a new poem."
Pen, ink and paper join forces,
Opening up a wonderful story.
Everyone will enjoy reading,
My dancing words are now a poem.
Safe within these four walls
My new apartment is swell
But, what's that noise next door?
Is that my neighbors doorbell?
I'm attracting nosey eyes
When company comes over
We have to speak in whispers
Or wake up their dog "Grover"
Neighborhood ears await
Even when I take a "Whiz!"
Crepe Paper Apartments
Everyone knows your "Biz!"
sometimes it's hard to be a bard
where hides hidden verse in paper yard
etched in stone or scribed in bars
follow the moon, follow the stars
This issue concerns mail-in-votes
It’s rigged says Dick Tator who gloats
Fair counting is in
Only if I win
And upon me everyone dotes
Gosh! Out of wrapping paper?
I need more gift wrap,
too late to go to the store.
What can I do! Crap!
Cut brown paper bags,
as wrapping for packages.
Add bows and gift tags.
Desultory winds
chimera in throes of doubt
effusive, disconsolate
-clanging in hills stout-
Ductile mind bends sound.
virtuoso of the void—
sweet, zoetic, browned
FAVORITE THINGS Poetry Contest, a Seguidilla
Nette Onclaud
8/16/2025
brown paper packages
While getting the noonday sack,
This storyline goes.
A handpuppet gets too much —
Girl eats with mouth closed,
Then a thermos drops.
In someone's lap, fingertips
Better her heartthrobs.
I love this unravelling!
Tearing loose paper,
cutting sticky tape and string -
what’s this dark vapour?
Package comes from a
“Kaczynski” – wasn’t he the
dreaded Unabomber?
PAPER BOATS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
paper boats float by,
drifting on a summer breeze—
clouds above me dance,
sails of white against the blue,
who sends them racing with me?
Paper.
The howl of the last person to put their pencils in their pencil box.
In this truth, I experience.
Paper within paper.
You could boil it.
And boil everything gone.
And eat the leftover mashed paper.
I have several sparkly pens.
They are just so nice.
If I could write for a few hours at a time…
I would turn off the stove and order take out.
Splashing around in the words.
Laugh and turn the paper into a crumpled ball.
I don’t think anyone really does these things.
The weariness, the scribbles.
Paper strains all water, if it gets dunked in.
I miss my sister.
She likes things like magazines, and books.
And me.
I’m a paper mache girl!
Wild, and made of scraps.
Looks real, so real.
All that paper can be.
When I’m away, I hang a bag
Or two from my front door.
The guy who brings the morning paper
Knows just what it’s for.
He neatly folds The New York Times
And places it inside,
Where it will stay and wait until
My home’s reoccupied.
Today, nine papers filled the bag
And that’s exactly right.
Tomorrow I’ll start reading them,
In order, and I might
Get through at least a couple
(And the crossword puzzles, too)
For, although I know the basic news,
With much, I’m overdue.
I love to read the paper
And in print’s the only way,
So I’m grateful that where I reside,
I’ll never miss a day.
only the one percent will have it—
digits on screens,
coinless gold,
cleaner than blood,
colder than God.
you kept printing your paper,
tossing it like confetti
at a funeral,
your wages wrapped in lies,
your hopes barcoded,
your future encrypted.
you can't eat a dollar bill
and you sure as hell
can't chew a blockchain—
but they’ll tell you to smile
and have more kids
for the labor farms.
keep breeding, they said,
the system needs cogs.
you gave them your teeth
your time
your trembling nights—
and when it all crashes,
you’ll hold your children like currency
and they’ll be worth less
than the lint in your pocket
when no one’s buying
anything but bullets,
and the rich are buying planets.
how is this in your best interest?
you had more than ample warning
and still lit the match.
pleats and folds
a winged makeover ~
sleight of hands
AP: 3rd place 2025
Stuck between the lines,
The only place where I don't get detained by all the crimes.
Silent sins, where everything begins,
The knife that cuts so deep,
They say, “Calm down,” this is not for the weak.
No building holding up the structure,
Everything’s on the ground, already fractured.
Like the shadows on the hills, slowly fading away,
Another color turns to gray.
Like the metal of the chain,
Once shining… now rusts like the wrecks of a train.
The pen waits to write the final lines of the story,
Where pain is written so beautifully,
It almost feels like glory.
Or is it just the hidden truth on the white paper,
Stacked in different layers?
The empty lines erased, never embraced…
The ones that were misplaced,
A silent disaster that quietly escaped.
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