A little steel robot named
Spark had a dream,
To join in a family and
eat some ice cream.
He watched from the
window as children would
play.
And wished he could join
them and laugh through the
day.
His dogs were all shiny, his
wires were all bright,
But he wanted a hug when
he turned off at night.
He made a cardboard heart
with a big red design,
And taped it right over his
battery line.
He walked to the park with a
hopeful metal grin,
And asked a kind family, "Can
I please fit in?"
The mother knelt down and
she patted his head,
"You don't need real skin to
be family, " she said.
The children cheered loudly
and gave him a squeeze,
While Spark felt a warmth
from his head to his knees.
He helped bake the cookies
and sweep up the floor,
And watched for the
mailman right by the front
door.
Even though made out of metal
and powered by gears,
He shared in their laughter
and wiped away tears.
He didn't need blood or a
heartbeat to strive,
The love from his family
made Spark feel alive.
Aunt Edna’s cauldron was full of elixir green and high
I’m making myself a date, a wonderful, attentive guy.
The rest of us snickered at her unusually clever wit.
But in a few hours she had created a man named Chit.
Chit was the perfect date; he laughed at every joke.
Patted her back when he thought she might choke.
Kept quiet unless Aunt Edna squeezed his head.
Make me one too said her sister, I’ll call him Ted.
Climbing the tree,
The tallest one of course,
Because it’s just where I belong,
It’s not like someone would notice me,
Because a Kitsune who loves is only a friend,
A Kitsune who cares won’t get comfort or sympathy,
Kitsunes like me are ment to cry and cling to the tree,
Someone won’t poke my tail to call me down,
My ears won’t get rubbed or patted to flop,
And Thas just…fine…perfectly utterly fine,
While others actually their back against the wall,
While others are bathed in someone’s warmth
I’m fine…I’m just utterly and perfectly fine,
All alone on my tall and long tree,
I mean,
It’s all I’m really worth,
Like my time and the things I hold dear,
Utterly,
Completely,
Worthless.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
she wore heels that were three feet tall
no longer small, no longer small
men backed away, when she came to town
intimidated, their faces swiftly went down
she passed a giraffe and patted his head
I had bed head too, he told his bunkmate Fred
Her ponytail is seen above the rooftops today
Stilt-like heels give her a view of people six blocks away
If I could change into a pet
I’d be my little dog.
Because my life would be quite set
there’d be much analogue.
I’d look up with my puppy eyes
then picked up I would be.
Patted, stroked, and idolized
this life’s the one for me.
Three meals a day, a yummy treat
I’d always be well fed.
For trips I’d have my own car seat
at night tucked into bed.
I know I would be very loved
have free range of my home.
Roll over have my belly rubbed
this place, my pleasure dome.
Outside I’d run and play all day
Explore, and things I’d find.
She is so cute, hear owners say
they are so very kind.
Therefore, if I could have a choice
my puppy it would be.
These luxuries of life rejoice
I’m sure you would agree.
Love, and its warm cultivating
Which continues on, dear
Started early.
In this patted, as tender held
If tickled for pet, true.
Pleased, purred softly.
This eye, owl-round, but more still
Own-bright, but more intense
This eye, eve's full woke highlights
And not commendably
Besides these, prey to that need
Racoon, fox true hunger's
This pet of men; man-patted
For cat. Now to chase free.
I am not who I was,
but not yet who I will be.
I am clay that breathes,
still soft in His hands.
Moulded, patted, pressed—
a dance,
not forced,
but gently guided.
Shaping my steps forward,
sweeping the ones left behind,
holding me upright
in the moment that is now.
I am not who I was,
but not yet who I will be.
I am still becoming—
everything You see me as,
and everything I want to be.
Silence is Golden
Silence is golden,
but gold is pure, bold, heavy and hot.
It glitters and radiates like the sun.
Silence is left when all the good-byes have been said,
and the tears have been patted dry.
Silence is left when the shoulder
cools after that long, last embrace.
If silence is a color, let it be rose, lavender rose,
cool, and blooming, calming, and soothing.
Be it floating, like soft cotton candy and wisps of heavenly mist.
At day’s end, the sun melts into the western sea.
In a last glimmer of hope, it sends out
a pillar of light, extending a luminous arm,
a golden, futile effort to extend its stay.
But nay, for rose lavender spreads its wings,
a savannah of soft, satin sheets
in an alternating pattern of pastels.
A panoramic display of fanning keys,
keys on a now silent, musical board.
I would never wish you an end,
but if there has to be one, I wish you silence.
Rose lavender silence,
in soft, soothing and alternating pastels.
A tour back in time
I hired a car and wanted to drive to the countryside
where I spent part of my childhood.
By a farmhouse that looked familiar, I stopped
A dog came out of an upended barrel and greeted me,
Is Jason coming home?
The farmer and his wife came out, and he patted me
on my head, and his wife gave me a hug and said:
“A little boy once lived here.”
In the kitchen, they gave me two slices of the loaf with
Blueberry jam was my favorite food as a child.
The couple had not aged in fifty years, and their
eyes, I was that little boy
I took my farewells and promised to visit soon.
A bus drove past, throwing up dust, and when
It settled the couple
The farm had disappeared into the mist of time.
I hated him,
fought with him,
threw words sharp enough to cut.
I called him a psycho,
as if he was
and he—
he just nodded,
as if guilt was his to bear.
He took my beatings,
my storms,
without a single strike back.
And when I broke,
when tears came like floodwater,
he didn’t turn away.
He pulled me close,
patted my hair,
and whispered,
“It’s okay… I will be with you.”
That was the moment,
like Tom understanding Jerry,
we stopped being enemies—
and became something more.
The Awakening
My first wife's house was very small
her bed was narrow to
after sex, she told me to sleep in the bathtub
In the night, I got up, opened the window
The sea-washed moon came in
I have seen that moon many times before
from many portholes
I was always enchanted by the pool
of stillness
I walked out of the sleeping house, by
the steps, my dog, I patted her head
but she refused to come with me on my walk
By a lamppost under a circle of light
I waited for a bus that would never arrive
the child’s fate line split her palm
Deep and deliberate, it favored mystic crosses
the soothsayer had never seen such a palm
she had heard of the possibility, though
she looked into the child’s eyes
they were innocent, light blue, trusting
you will make a difference in the world, she told the child
what will I do? the child asked
You will follow your heart she told her.
She patted her hand, because she could not resist.
This was a peace keeper, it was rare to find one.
Your heart has the answers, the fortune teller said.
Will she be rich? This question was from the child’s mother.
Rich in experiences, rich in friends, rich in adventures.
The child left smiling.
For the Contest: Abandon
Sponsor: Constance La France
Written 20.05.2025
To live with abandon is to spend your soul as if the tab will never come, but it always does – by unknown
When abandon runs dry
He spent money with merry abandon,
Like laughter thrown into the wind.
Tossed akin to confetti in events of fleeting joy.
He kept no tabs, no ledger,
there was no tomorrow.
He moved through life
as a flame burns through paper.
Notes flew from his hands,
the way birds scatter startled by gunshots.
There was no guilt in his pockets.
He opened the tap and shouted the bar.
People called him legend and slapped his back,
till the wind changed and downturn came.
Then the centre of gravity shifted,
the barstools cooled,
the phones stilled,
silence frosted all the beer steins.
He found himself orbiting absence
nobody patted his shoulder,
nobody flipped a coin in his cup,
He had poured himself into the room,
and when the keg ran dry,
all the lychees vanished…
they all abandoned him.
He doesn’t speak of it now,
just nods and smiles with that tired kindness
you only learn after the last music notes.
Love you Joe
Opened the doors wide,
To the soft morning light,
And the grey windows too,
For the morning breeze.
Love alone, we thought,
Will teach them the 'hows'
To pat-hug with gentle care,
While holding them dear.
Let it slide and slip away,
we told our silly selves—
let the slimy words go,
Numb the heavy hands.
Turn a little deaf today,
To all the bruising noise,
Turn a little blind again,
To the subtle glaring eyes.
Because we believed
we were truly loving them,
Because we believed
we cherished them alone.
If poured long enough,
Love would soften them.
If patted with patience,
Their edges would smooth.
But love without fences,
Is like a garden left bare,
Trampled by ugly, dirty feet,
Dragged in by our hands.
Allowing comfort to breed,
Nothing but sour contempt,
Saying, "It's fine, my dear,"
When it really, really hurts.
Carving cornered holes,
Where resentment blooms,
Not toward the dirty hands,
But the pitiful mirrored self.
The self that stayed cold,
When it needed to spark.
The self that stayed mute,
When it needed to roar.
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