What can I say?
Did I know you wouldn't stay?
Why did you play?
Was our bond just moldable clay?
Why did I get a formal "father",
When I just wanted a "dad" who'd bother?
When I was small, I wished to be big,
Tired of playing this childhood jig.
But once I grew up, I wanted back small,
To escape the shadows that made me feel tall.
My teenage years were drowning in tension,
While they relaxed and lived on a pension.
You demanded so much more,
I asked, "Is there nothing else in store?"
You screamed that you still wanted more!
Was my existence just a tedious chore?
They want the girl to build a home,
Though she was left to weep alone.
Mother sees the rising evil,
But she prefers to love her own
Sweet devil.
The world prefers the versions that smile.
It asks for bright colors and steady steps,
so it is easy to build a porcelain house
and speak only in the cadence of pleasantries.
It is safer to let them look at the painting,
rather than the canvas underneath.
But the beautiful tragedy of a disguise
is that it keeps the storm entirely inside.
Behind the curated quiet and the gentle gaze,
there is a vast, unmapped ocean,
swirling with the colors of midnight
and thoughts too heavy for the afternoon.
Tho there is a strange comfort in the distance.
To watch the world move from behind the glass,
knowing the truest parts of the soul
remain safely tucked away in the shadows,
untouched by the careless hands of daylight.
Y is for young and her years never show
A is for appreciation of all you have and know
C is for cuddles and those intimate moments we cherish
Q is for quick and there’s no faster wit (all others perish)
U is for upstanding and taking care of yourself
E is for excellence: and your drive of inner self
L is for luck, but she prefers blessings
I is for indispensable, always near those distressing
N is for nurturing: to all that need her presence
[Y]acquelin is in love with a man
[A] romance of May and December
ya[C]quelin is muy hermosa
yac[Q]uelin I will always remember
In an awkward moment I lean in for a h[U]g but refrain
sh[E] started to [L]ean in too, but she too restrained
Do [I] offer a hand shake, she too did hesitate
We say “it’s good to have see[N] you” as I watch her gait
Every city possesses such a person.
You rarely notice them.
They occupy no headlines,
command no armies,
leave no monuments of marble.
Yet somehow the world remains intact
because they exist.
The woman who remembers birthdays
others have abandoned.
The janitor who speaks kindly
to midnight loneliness.
The baker rising before dawn
to prepare warmth for strangers.
The teacher who notices
the child vanishing into the margins.
Their deeds are lanterns
too modest for celebration.
Still, when darkness advances,
it is these quiet flames
that prevent the night from inheriting everything.
History prefers kings and catastrophes.
But civilization survives
upon the shoulders of those
who practice unnoticed mercy.
Generally domestic bliss : Primary need .
Indispensable for a life : Indeed.
Your day to day living must be easy,
always staying strong dynamic, busy.
Each being may not wish for domestic bliss:
Somebody doesn't bother if they can miss.
Demand of life, not same for each person.
It tends to follow separate version.
Domestic bliss may be one's earnest desire
Other prefers 'power' through life entire.
Or, approaching every step on journey,
to gain own goal or after money.
Domestic bliss not always priority -
Happiness lies in other activities.
Yet for domestic bliss hanker most guys :
It's universal truth ! None can deny .
Time, cruel mistress.
A relentless march,
stealing, such an ugly word.
It prefers the term: harvest.
Moments, experiences, people.
Gone, in an instant.
Such things are gone forever.
Unless,
They live on.
Within hearts, memories.
For all its cruelty,
A humble teacher emerges in its wake,
guiding those who seek to understand.
Only then, we can forgive ourselves.
There’s a woman I pass in the mornings
Who prefers not to nod a hello,
Not unusual for a New Yorker;
That’s the way that these things often go.
She seems close to my age, but walks slower
And her clothing is baggy and loose,
Unlike most of us out there with leggings,
Which she’d likely not wear, I deduce.
Yet this morning I passed her and noticed,
As I swiveled for a double-take,
That her t-shirt was very familiar
And quite certainly not a mistake.
For it once nestled, folded quite nicely,
In a drawer with the rest of my tees,
But I’d donated it to the thrift shop
Where I bring things that no longer please.
I was glad to see somebody wear it
Who’d appraised it with different eyes,
Yet I wondered why I hadn’t kept it
As an exercise shirt in my size.
Shy Henry is hung like a horse
The ladies love him of course
Little did they know
He prefers a beau
Day late and a dollar short
He is nothing to me but repulsive at sight
any misery he suffers brings me a delight
I avoid him at all cost and always he I ignore
for his constant rambling suffers he bores
he looks more ugly than a human really can
for everything dumb and stupid traces to him
He does nothing but scream insults at the night
crying for he suffers for being himself what a plight
He never had a job still lives with his mom
who sits by her upstairs window appearing embalmed
He constantly sweeps the street over and over again
then the dirt he gathers he tosses into the wind
He always wants a lighter or to borrow a dollar or two
I tell him to go away got nothing to give to you
Strange and derange I try to pray him away
But even God won't take him Satan prefers him stray.
Why do I hate him with him it is all to feel
He is like a demented cartoon nothing about him real.
The world burns.
Not from kings.
From systems.
Men rise like pieces on a board.
Netanyahu.
Trump.
Moves, not masters.
The hand is unseen.
Jeffrey Epstein is gone.
But roads remain.
Maps outlive the cartographer.
While citizens sleep,
fed noise,
trained to survive,
an ideology walks freely.
Ignorance is the softest prison.
Knowledge, the only key.
Who frees a people
who will not wake?
Fear governs now.
Fear funds war.
Fear writes policy.
The Middle East bleeds
not by accident,
but by design left behind in files,
and followed without question.
Freedom is never gifted.
It is taken—
or it disappears.
Money drains upward.
Wisdom does not follow.
Donald Trump is not the system.
He is a mirror it provided.
Power prefers servants
who believe they rule.
Epstein is not a man here.
He is a method.
A pattern.
A lesson ignored.
Those with eyes—
see.
Those with ears—
listen.
He rules only
until the people remember
who they are.
Spare a thought for the vegan vampire
Loving all creatures is his only desire
Despised by kith and kin
He'll bravely cop it on the chin
Deserves love but only gets their ire.
Spare a thought for the vegan vampire
Wishing to raise his consciousness higher
He prefers lentils
Over eating entrails
As they stop his passions from catching fire.
They smile—as Houses—smile at Night—
With Windows—all asleep—
Yet in the Cellar—Footsteps count—
The Promises—they keep—
Their Candor—is a borrowed Coat—
They wear—then lay aside—
The Truth—prefers a quieter Room—
Where Schemes—are not denied—
They measure Mercy—with a Rule—
And trim it—to their Need—
The Garden—blooms with careful Hands—
But bleeds—at every thorn—
A Dove—would hesitate—mid-flight—
To choose their offered Air—
For Peace—can be a practiced Word—
And Trust—a slender Prayer—
Yet even here—the Heart persists—
A Rebel—soft—and small—
For Power—cannot silence Light—
Nor Darkness—finish—All—
Silence is gold.
And gold shines brightest
in the dark.
They build
without applause.
They plan
without noise.
What is made
in silence
cannot be easily broken.
Sun Tzu still whispers:
Become formless.
Become soundless.
Direct fate
without being seen.
Appear weak
when strong.
Appear strong
when weak.
Power hides best
when it kneels.
Confucius taught them:
Humility
is the root
of permanence.
While others shout,
they measure.
While others threaten,
they prepare.
Empires collapse
from pride.
Not from patience.
They sharpen no words—
only time.
They do not beg history.
They wait for it.
The dragon does not roar
unless cornered.
It prefers peace.
But it remembers
how to breathe fire.
And in that quiet,
unseen breath,
an empire
is being written.
The Coat of Skins — we borrow here
To keep our Ember warm —
A borrowed House of Breath and Bone
Against the Cosmic Storm —
The Gnostics whisper — not aloud —
For Truth prefers the Shade —
That Light was first — and Matter next —
A Captive — poorly made —
They say the World was wrought by Hands
That never knew the Whole —
A Craftsman blind to Origin —
Who netted up the Soul —
And we — the Spark — in Earthen Wool —
Remember — by a Pain —
A Distant Home — a Purer Air —
Where Knowing is truth Gained —
Salvation is not wrought by Deed —
Nor bought with Dust or Gold —
But waked — when Inner Lamps are lit —
And Secret Names are told —
The Coat will fall — as all things do —
When Light recalls its Own —
And Skin — no longer necessary —
Is gently laid — like Stone.
Harley dressed in elegant tuxedo.
Always in the mood for playful cuddles.
Prefers to lounge at home.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
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