I Finally Get It.
I'm Incredibly Slow.
It's What You Remember!
No Time But The Past!
Distorted, Melting Into
Puddles, Soon:
Well, Personally... Right?
Not The Way I
Remember.
And Some Of Them Are:
Spiky, Shameless, The
Emporium Unashamed...
Primal Ambition For
Future Attendance...
But NOT!!!
How We See It
Anymore.
I Think.
-Gray Squirrel
07-29-2026
Each year the earth returns
to its annual remembering~
a vow stitched in root and rain.
I stand along the garden’s edge
holding the morning
like a mirror tilted toward hope.
In its silvered surface,
the world gathers itself~
petal, stem, sky~
a dress rehearsal of becoming.
Purple arrives first,
a subtle rush of color rising
from the cool breath of soil.
It whispers through the lupine,
the verbena,
the small wild blooms
that refuse to be anything
but brave.
Their voices are subtle,
but I lean in~
listening for the way
they say again,
the way they say still,
the way they say yes
to another turning of the year.
And in that whispered violet,
I feel the season
lift its face toward light,
reminding me
that hope is not a shout
but a soft returning~
a color that keeps blooming
even when the mirror of the world
seems dim.
Purple persists.
Nature remembers.
The clocks have fallen silent in the sand,
their golden faces melting with the heat;
time slips away like water through the hand,
too soft to hold, too strange to call complete.
A barren shore stretches beneath the sky,
where distant cliffs are resting in the sun;
the world appears to whisper, not reply,
as if the day has only just begun.
A tree stands thin, a broken branch of dreams,
its shadow reaching over empty ground;
the stillness hides a thousand hidden screams,
yet not a single echo can be found.
The watches droop like memories left behind,
forgotten thoughts that slowly lose their shape;
they bend beneath the weight of human mind,
escaping every cage and every tape.
This landscape is a doorway into sleep,
where hours dissolve and vanish from our sight;
where time no longer promises to keep
the fragile moments we attempt to write.
I have a thousand reasons not to work,
but I have only one reason to work, and that is my dream.
I have no motivation, no discipline anymore,
I only have a dream. I worked yesterday, I work today, and I will work tomorrow.
A thousand failures stand in my way,
yet for the sake of one victory, I refuse to give up.
I am enduring every defeat, every insult, every humiliation,
because one day, my time will come.
I am breathing for one reason alone,
because one day, this dream will come true.
I have no reason to live,
yet I am still here because I have a dream.
Don't ever say never
Keep up the endeavour
Never know what challenge arises
Life is full of many surprises
Consistency results in much satisfaction
Don't be misled by any distraction
Many rewards come from constant persistence
It blissfully fulfils our earthly existence
So many times,
I have rejected your affection.
So many years,
I have turned away.
So many memories,
I have of your heartbroken face.
So many tears,
I have seen you shed.
Yet every time,
You choose to stay.
Yet every year,
You continue to try.
Despite those memories,
You refuse to let me die.
But I never thank you
Because I hate you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You think I’m just water falling~
a careless spill over granite teeth,
but listen: each drop fractures
into a thousand silver syllables.
My mist rises, whispering
the oldest verbs—erode, persist, become.
The rocks below me remember their names,
though they've worn smoothly as vowels.
Even the air around me hums with wet translation,
an endless sentence without a period.
Embracement is obvious when I remain within.
Keep your eyes open;
I do not exist for anyone anymore.
I want to embrace myself, adopting everything uncertain.
Uncertainty is the key.
Life, death, and every incident
Might have been tragic,
But every personal tragedy goes with resolution within.
Birth is a pursuit of fulfilment,
But every fulfilment carries a debt.
Some debts turn into curses,
Some into never-ending journeys.
Death is not dark,
And darkness also matters;
For every light brings us back to our achievements,
And every night gives birth to every morning.
I always persist in the in-between.
The space I hold for myself,
Never count me underneath.
Close your perceptions to know me,
For I am imperceptive.
What you will is what you become,
a mind fed with the fruits of success
will make the world bend to its persistence,
dreams take shape in the mirror of determination,
and tomorrow is birthed by what you implant today.
C-liff
H-eights
E-xude
R-emarkable
R-esilience,
Y-earning
A-ll
N-oble
N-ew
G-rowth
U-nder
I-ntense
T-rials
A-nd
N-urturing
©bfa060525
Monocrostic (Birthday of Cherry Ann G. Guitan)
Steadily swimming
She flashes a grin
Doc in a boat
Take's a note
she won't surrender.
She wants to win
finds strength within.
Worriedly Waiting,
friend wishes she'd ask herself "why"
and paces the French side.
Hastily helping,
she rises a moment
to wave, before waves re-hide
He feels pride inside
Stand by the starlight,
The watch boat is tossed
Pain isn't peaceful,
enter the arena
know the cost
Their bond is a beacon; the channel was crossed.
this race isn't lost.
Im free as a bird,
But i cant seem to fly...
Taking off is tiring,
Yet i am still trying...
I am still deciding
If i should take off,
Or if i should stay,
Forever wanting
Forever needing,
Just a little bit more
Than what my soul aches for...
we rise
although gravity and time
may hold us in the cupping
of their hands
we rise in a plethora of dreams
escaping above the vents
of circumstance
we rise into the tent
of all embracing;
and as if, and but, and still
we rise into each contemplation
new as the reckoning
of togetherness
draws us to the breath
of our existence;
rising, always rising
to meet the air of every day
to stay through every
active play and to meet
what will become.
the beauty of this world so much,
that I must blink with astonishment
to hold back tears.
If I could not blink I fear,
sixty per cent of who I am,
would leave me, in abject eagerness,
to kiss the earth.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
It`s not my spring, it`s my fall
But despite my old age
I have turned a new page
I don`t care anymore
Whether I am too fat or small
My wrinkles are my victories
Despite hardships and enemies
Sarah Josephena Hale wrote to Lincoln
not once or twice, but for seventeen years
asking him to come around to her way of think’n
and make Thanksgiving a holiday without fears
Sarah’s writing was not only for Uncle Sam
She is also known for her poem Mary had a little lamb
a woman of many talents, who is still known today
showing that persistence often receives a pay day
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