¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ the birds ¦¦¦¦¦ in ¦¦¦ the garden ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ heard the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ voice of Eve
¦¦¦ added to their own an oversound,
Her ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ meaning ¦¦¦ without the words.
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ an eloquence so soft
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ had an influence on birds
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ she was in their song.
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ her voice upon their voices crossed
¦¦¦ now persisted in the woods so long
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
Never again would birds' song be the same.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of Never Again Would Birds Song Be The Same by Robert Frost)
There was once a dock worker whose name was Dick,
His employers knew not, Dick had worked out a perfect trick,
Forty five was his speculated age,
He dressed according to his meager wage,
Went home daily with a barrow, security noticed dick was quick.
On other days they noticed many a different kind of trivia,
Told security was selling empty boxes to buy pills, had leukaemia,
Will tell you more when I retire,
Continued with his routine and poorly attire,
His secret, confessed stole a barrow a day, headlines in media.
Moved to Mexico, learnt Spanish, dyed hair black so could blend,
Applied for a job in revenue office, made many a friend,
Managed and learnt to cheat a little,
Hey Dick be careful, don’t fiddle,
Persisted to play his tricky games, predictably caught at the end.
The flies are back
All last night the mosquitos wouldn't stop to itch
They buzzed
They bit
They stabbed
The mosquitos pestered
But not nearly as much as the flies
I killed the last of them off
Until the flies came back
They came ruthless
Even more
And even worse than the mosquitos
They buzzed
They bit
And they persisted
They swarmed our bodies as of we were decaying corpses
Hours upon hours
I waited until dusk for the flies to leave only for the mosquitos to take their place
In the early morning I rose with bumps
As if they weren't annoying enough
The flies were back
Saw two love birds arguing,
not a pretty flight – one flew
left while still holding on --
as the other persisted right;
the tree-trunk ahead held its ground...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Beneath the oak’s gnarly boughs,
a squirrel puffs his furry brows.
He stands upon his hindmost toes
and clears his throat—then strikes a pose.
‘tis February 2d, and he’s perched so proud,
On fence post high, he squints at clouds.
No winter's end! he chirps with glee~
A squirrel convinced that he's Phil.
Listen! he decrees,I’m more than a treetop thief
I am the Seer! The Weather Chief!
Behold my shadow—short or tall—
I prophesize for one and all!
The groundhogs just scoffed, You’re a joke!
A squirrel can't predict—what a bloke!
Your tail's far too puffed,
Your logic is stuffed—
The other squirrels ignored his act,
too busy burying things intact.
Yet Phil persisted, year by year,
a furry fraud who had no fear.
Would there ever be a light at
the end of the tunnel?
She didn't know, she couldn't see one;
she waited and she hoped
knowing there'd be no guarantee.
Still she persisted waiting in the dark
for even just a spark.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
"While dining at the table of an unimaginable feast
We are asked to consider which one thing we prefer the least
Incomprehensible to me such a query should be presented
For with unquestionable gratitude nothing should be resented
Yet with query though persisted over time we shout out “ the fly”
And in that instant life is seen through quite a different eye
To have so much through gracious gift only to have detracted
By that of such small consequence we all have over reacted
In parallel is life not found to be a feast most spectacular
Yet is not same small fly of our eye the greatest of detractor
To have so much yet to take time in search of what is wrong
Oh !!! What great folly we are guilty of. "
Darrell
Former co-workers out for dinner and brew,
discussing their old workplace's who's who -
they vied for the honor of best memory,
their mind's eyes conjured faces they could see.
I spoke of a man, and I persisted,
till they recalled one who never existed.
So nervously, upon this earth I tread.
Don't let me, again, go out of my head.
My fragile mind persisted yet unbroken,
ignoring all harsh words as they were spoken,
until shattered with a sickening shriek.
Done in, I was, as I heard a mushroom speak.
The first heart attack was quite mild:
he put it down to indigestion
at first, but the pain persisted.
Some pills and lectures on lifestyle changes
followed the stay in hospital.
Yes, he'd try to stop smoking, he said,
and to cut out the fatty foods.
But the craving for cigarettes
was too strong and he secretly smoked,
while assuring me that he'd quit!
The next heart attack was much worse;
he really did try after that -
a fat-free diet was no fun
and nicotine patches were no help...
but he stuck to it for a while
(I think it was a week, maybe two).
Then I smelt the smoke on his clothes,
saw him wolfing down bacon sandwiches,
slyly like a naughty schoolboy.
By then I pretended I didn't know -
my nagging was killing him, he said.
The third heart attack finished him.
I'm heartbroken that his heart was broken...
At the risk of coming off turgid
I offer this tale esoteric
Hoping it’s not found insipid
Nor causes one to be apoplectic
But rather received with alacrity
Without the need for paroxysm
My word there’ll be no chicanery
And avoidance of anachronism
Far from being sesquipedalian
Nor need for any razzmatazz
The tale of the slubberdegullion
Who thought himself full with pizzazz
Though being so supercilious
His affect stirred only dudgeon
Any good was so very fugacious
From this untoward tatterdemalion
Yet still he persisted a mumpsimus
If you will, and worse a panjandrum
So aggravating and rumbustious
Redeeming qualities not a modicum
An unquestioned snollygoster
Given to being quite vagary
An ill-reputed hugger-mugger
And a voice of such cacophony
But I see that you are insouciant
And consider my warning malarkey
Since you wish to be recalcitrant
My apologies for being persnickety
I end my tale of the rapscallion
Without further ado or rigmarole
Avoiding becoming ultracrepidarian
I have met my supererogatory parole
I was a happy child
Carefree, talentless, happy
Jumping around and singing tunes
Tunes of bygone joy and unbridled dream
But they scorned me
They mocked the child I was within
They tried to make me like them
Children whose child within was slain
But I persisted
By God I persisted.
I refused to sing only their tune
Refusing the cocoon of their songs
But the scolding were gone and the whips came
With each Whack, a memory flies away
Heavy groaning and bitter tears litter the courtyard
Croaked voice and battered mouth
As each day passes, the singing becomes lower
Till I started humming their tune
Then I stopped altogether
Leaving only the silence as my precious dinner.
A
person
at times can
feel like they are
a casualty
of cruelty, at least
in some small way or other.
Some attacked my early writing.
Their scathing reviews I can’t forget,
yet I persisted doing what I do.
Not letting oneself feel defeated is
the only way to continue - but
your cruelty, my love, hurt worse.
You did not want to read my
special poem, so you
threw it to the floor.
It felt like you
were stomping
on my
heart.
They held me down
and injected me with a needle
that took away my ability to sleep
It is true
I haven’t slept in six years
I imagine this persisted consciousness
will remain with me after my body dies
Then there was yet another needle
that transferred the landscape of hellfire
Will I toast for all eternity
is this the secret of the Illuminati
I can only point to others
that suffered the same fate
Aaron Hernandez
But who can help me now
is this a puzzle to be solved
When I’m gone
all that will remain
is this cryptic poem
Yet I imagine no one will care
or even understand
the evils that men do
Bound to the bark, it drank the rain,
And spread tendrils again and again
Unnoticed beauty, soft and deep,
While hurried, humans let affection sleep
They rush on by, with eyes averted,
A quiet presence, quite deserted
Their gaze on blossoms, bright and bold,
My subtle story left untold
But I persisted, strong and still,
My purpose held against their will
I nourished life, unseen, unheard,
A haven for love's tiniest of birds
So let them chase with fleeting grace,
After vibrant flowers that die in time and space
I am the bedrock, deep and low,
Where roots run strong, and secrets grow
They overlooked; they did not see,
the quiet worth that dwelled in me
And though they're gone, and seasons turn,
It will be their loss that they did not learn
On an ancient, gnarled oak's dark side,
Grew, a humble, verdant tide
Just a simple, protective green hue,
A silent witness, a moss heart forever true
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