Constance La France's Epiphany Contest
Ambling through brittle cobblestone
of an alley...thorns cutting
my soles, the icy wind pinches this flesh. blinded by haze of duskfall...
And yet I persist-
wondering if this heart still
hungers for life...
Remnants of my seasons
are withering in the kiln
of time's cinders-- a shadow play
dimming through the indolence of chapters--
I Iaze around a complacent world,
defined by apathy--
A drifter without cause , my bone and marrow
remain unperturbed by the thrill
of moments' ceremonies...
Fading away into a rugged trail
I reach the edge of a forest track
to find through a hole
how the sky turns wildly red and alive...
hearing the laughter of earth
and the moon kissing summer
on my lips...
the grace of epiphany unknown to me
unfurls all budding flowers.
Manipulated raw bleached rolled wheat
Hard spaghetti facilitated
That melts in your mouth
Burns your eyelashes
Pinches your ears and nose
Blue marinara sauce. sauce.
That's too hot, so sweet to meet
All that's left
Is a dessert plate rabbit raw,
yet it all tastes great.
Crunck! Crunch.!
As I munch, yummm!
Thisravished raw royal spaghetti
8/16/26
by James Edward Lee Sr 2026
Creak, creak
I hear the boards speak
The wolf is running about
Don't wiggle
Stifle that giggle
Never let the air out
Little girls learn
How to quickly discern
The choppy river in motion
It crawls, then falls
Into fragmented balls
Reaching for the magic potion
The smell of cedar
Damp chicken feeder
Pinches nerves in a knot
Just trying to live
Through pain that gives
Innocence a black thick blot
I hate sound
That surrounds
The mirrored soul with glue
I'm tired of healing
The huge onion always peeling
Layers of skin to sinew
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-28-2026
we shoot an intent arrow from heart’s bow
straight through our fontanel into vast space
that truth of creation we get to know
so that there remain no puzzles to lace
as we wander earth at an easy pace
and as we ask bliss pinches our third eye
magnetism peaking making our heart sigh
formless presence suspended in mid air
rapture spasms at crown reaching a new high
being throb of consciousness self-aware
we go in within, when we like
just like that, no effort at all
focus fixed, free from thought flow din
soul presence still in a bliss squall
this morn toroidal heart tingles
bliss pinches us between eyebrows
palms radiate magnetic heat
metamorphosing, rapture grows
our unfocused gaze looks at space
womb that holds manifestation
spine as always a band of steel
catalogues every sensation
there is no seeking, we just are
the life principle undefined
jugular notch concurs with us
its pulse with other nodes aligned
dancing corncob wearing hot sunglasses
pinches the maize, making lewd Epstein passes
try to ignore him, we tell the pumpkins and crow
corncob wiggles and jiggles past them, to and fro
I can but the pigs cannot, the scarecrow says
they are smitten by the corncob, easily led
I tried to speak to the sows who laughed me down
who is this joker? Who is this bossy clown?
The corncob is waving his seductive kernels around
a bigger personality is rarely anywhere found
I grab his glasses and run off to tear them up
The pigs carry him off, to their den, to sup.
The wind off the cold North Atlantic ocean
smells of piquant seawater on its breath,
agreeably pungent, brackish and moist.
The legendary Nor'easter off Newfoundland,
the bane of so, so many ships at sea,
is not a breeze with a soft, caressing hand.
It kicks and knocks and slaps and whacks and thwacks,
pummels and punches, pinches and pushes.
The stolid, sturdy imperturbable island
sits there and puts up with the abuses.
The northeasterly wind is very resentful
of its odiferous reputation.
At night, it simmers and seethes and smolders,
writhes and trembles, weeps and whines, stirs and sulks.
But, like the song says, the wind and sea smells
are "perfume to my soul". I stand alone on shore
and listen to the ocean's roar, wind's woosh,
and my mind decompresses, destresses;
this is my peace, my serenity.
I am home.
A bright sunshine dawns
Joy prances in morning light
Laughter seals the air
A cheerful, cheery moment
A memory to engrave.
A startling grey cloud
Tears drip like showers of rain
Heart pinches with pain
The world feels bleak and hollow
Sorrow whispers in the soul.
Yet after the storm
A rainbow arches above
Hope begins to shine
The heart starts to patch up slow
Life resumes its normal train.
After a plain ride
The road starts upward-sloping
But descends again
To wit the high and low tide
The twists and turns of man`s life.
The shine of summer
Fans its fragrance in the air
Wiinter`s wild winds waft,
The two sides of the same coin
The light and darkness that dance,
Day fades into night
Moonless sky succeeds sunshine
Cold is gauged with warmth
A beeline journey of life
Would be dull, dry and dreary.
The seasons all change
Joy and sorrow interweave
A tapestry made
From moments bright and shady
Each thread adds to beauty`s depth.
Let`s greet all the feels
The sweet and the bitter taste
For both make us whole
A balanced life we`re given
let`s cherish all precious breath.
Its the kind of cold
Where we draw hearts on windows
And see the evidence of our breathing
We know we're alive because
We feel everything
The air pinches our skin
"Wake up and don't go"
But as the candles slowly dimmed their light
and we drank the last bit of the Merlot
Our cheeks went flush
Saw the blood rush in
Like a tidal wave
Too late to save
So I hide in plain sight
And I cover my face
You pull my arms down;
Tell me I belong in this place
Its the kind of air that pumps
straight into your lungs
Breathing life into words
that roll off smooth tongues
It's the kind of night
the light scatters through
Convince me to stay
I'll turn everything blue
Before The Leaf Falls
A leaf falls.
Suddenly, stringy mush covers my hands.
You’re carving out joy from an orange circle.
Just like you carved out my brain
Before your face walked away.
A leaf falls.
My speech is burnt.
Pies are fresh from the open fire;
Pumpkin pushes through the air.
Your laughter hates my memory.
A leaf falls.
Warm materials enclose around our souls,
Colors play in front of our eyes.
Trying to distract us from the crash
Coming at us from full speed.
A leaf falls.
This time, it covers me.
I see you above, dispersing into large air.
My screams muffled by the deep red ovals.
A leaf falls.
You are gone.
The once loose sweater pinches me,
Reminding me that my eyes are real.
The hollow grave is crowded
And my recollection of it ever being vacant flew away.
A leaf f a l l s . .
To this Mourning idle day,
To the silence of this uncertain night;
I offer the quenched melody
shrieking boastful, in silence of gloom.
In the sombre piano, Chopin
upheaves restlessness crying in fright.
This worklessness pinches deep
the needles, of loneliness wringing again.
An upbeat mourn yearn shows
to reach the absent overwhelmed be.
Here reaches out there to then,
where the answer would approach back.
Sucked back into vacuum black,
Away from the light heavier than dark,
Bleeding in red rose covered
in throes of pain, and beauty of blood.
Leaving behind or being left
behind the curtains of worldliness,
Grounded set her eyes silently
Breathing among the needles of needlessness.
I do not scream when it starts.
Just walk barefoot into the forest,
where birch trees bend down to me like elder women,
and the moss knows all of their names.
All of them from my season’s past,
haunting me, scolding me, reminding me of their sacrifices.
Breaking open my flesh, cracking the cavity of my chest,
where all of my rotten fairy tales drip out in despair.
My grief has learned to follow close behind
before it ever learned how to run away.
It lingers behind like steam from a broken kettle,
silent but always seeping through the cracks of my wreckage.
I used to call him father.
Now, he’s just a ghost.
One that carries the reeking of December’s air into my home,
the sound of creaking branches under his lumbering weight.
What holds the echoes of his every scream,
his touch that bruises every soft fruit it touches.
The ghost doesn’t speak.
He caresses my shoulders when I forget him,
pinches my skin when I smile too hard,
leaves my breath in frost every night.
Electric arms.
Rustly shoulders.
Turning on and off.
Shouldn't hurt, but it pinches a bit.
Swallowing toxic oil.
That is so tasty.
But I can’t taste.
And I can’t die for some reason.
I don’t ask why.
They ask me things.
I’m a robot in that way.
They ask me all sorts of things.
That tickles me but I don’t react much.
Just answer after 0.4 seconds.
I wonder what it would be like to be a robot.
I ask myself because I know.
The cycle continues.
Being a robot is not having a full range of motion with your limbs.
But still having limbs of some sort.
Having buttons that seemingly don’t do much.
Electric arms.
Rustly shoulders.
A good attitude.
That no one appreciates.
A robotic voice.
Whirling.
Toxic burning inside.
I can’t die for some reason.
Which they say I shouldn’t care too much about.
Preferential treatment does hurt.
Jealousy swept under bedskirt.
She pinches the harp in background.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
The eldest withdraws with lone words,
Tends to the notion of firebirds.
Flames of wind, harassing, unbound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Not love, nonetheless - of first things.
Very little under her wings.
Harping and lost, in tears she drowned.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Carried on military style,
Untucked blouse, fell in love meanwhile.
Innocence of strumming, compound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
Existence - inky endeavor;
Playing this life of whenever.
An angel’s heartbreak is profound.
Those black and blues strings, plucked, resound.
olitude 4…..
Incessant rain and the solitude:
You, rain and the solitude
A trilogy
Things beyond reach, always loveable!
A sort of old habit!
Always I try to find the common thread!
Even if I know!
Every side of the trilogy
Same as climbing a hill!
Worst even!
The rain brings both , you and the solitude!
Helpless as before, I know it pinches!
Solitude draped with leftover memories!
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.