Eternity haunts me
Forever
Masquerading as now
Whistling in the shadows
As I wander past
Lost in time’s torment.
A whisper in the silence
“You are present
In this eternal moment”
Encased in the conundrum of creation
Unable to fathom the futility of its fancy
You need not know where you are going
As it will always be in this ever-present moment
At times I wonder how I go here
In this moment of forever-ness
A bubble blown into a vacuous vacancy
Unable to escape this eternally present moment
The day I arrived
in my own good time
(not at all shy)
neither early nor late
13th July
I remember it well
t'was a memorable date
as a present from my parents
(their pride and joy a baby boy)
a Wednesday I recall
some time in the morn
the best day of my life after all
for it was the one
on which I was born
History is rewritten every day
The past reinterpreted in the present’s way
Time sits upon both of my shoulders with
white hands ticking promises right, opposite
red numerals counting down the left. Tock.
In this aging valley, this crevice dug by ambiguous stretches,
seconds trickle like months as years can flush like minutes.
An indecisive pendulum never makes a full rotation.
Whenever I sat down
in front of the store,
my mind would go
elsewhere. Huge
clouds surrounding
and lifting me up
where the airplanes
and birds meet.
Over my shoulder,
I hear my mom calling
out to me, "Hija"
translated to English
"My daughter"
then I saw more
voices within the same
clouds that took
me far away from
my corner. Past
teachers yelling
to pay attention.
Former friends fading
into mist after graduation.
All the clients flashing
like car lights mixed
with blue and white.
My head as a potted
plant, too big to sprout,
as the roots tangle
deep in my thoughts.
My surroundings trans-
lucent and opaque,
frivolous to its desires.
The more my vision
became impaired,
I began to see clearly.
No distractions,
No contemplations,
No over analyzations,
just the wind's
gaze blowing
in my direction
...
Contest: poem dated Aug. 1st onwards
Brian Strand
Taking stock of our present inventory
Is great insight and a wealth of wisdom.
It matters not if there's glory; it's our story.
There is no joy in carrying yesterday's burdens.
Yesterday, as the song says, may have
Been an easy game to play , but this is today.
Oh, make no mistake, yesterday has much to say.
We may draw much wisdom from yesterday;
But remember, that was then; this is now.
The weight of yesterday's burdens is different
Today than yesterday. Much of what we once
had has boarded the plane. It has moved on,
and we must do the same.
Indeed, let us take stock of our present inventory,
Appreciate the lessons learned from yesterday;
But ever treasure the now and value the future.
My heart enfolded the hued horizon of dulcet dawn,
the yearning brush soaked the sunburst colors,
painted a Monet garden for you blooming with my love,
unfurled the facsimile of your floral face, adroitly adorned.
The oasis of my mind dried in the desert of desolation
as you disappeared with the draft
of the squally summer winds of discontent
with the dregs of divested desire, disowned.
The river of longing in the abandoned valley got lost,
the fervent flowers you gave me withered in the vase,
folded your memory within my reshaped perception.
You’re gone, but an empty chair holds your shape, a reminder.
You are now present as a design of my consciousness
that silhouettes your image on the canvas of my emotion,
becoming an impression in my memory of longing,
figuring you in absence with the fabric of remembrance.
Your absence is not a void of quiet nothingness;
it is your shining presence I sense under the starry sky.
As the stardusts of the blue night contour you for me,
your fancied touch I feel in the ripple of your silent absence.
You are the beat of my heart
The thrum in my bones
The light in my soul
You make me feel my best,
And my worst
- The puppeteer at the end of my strings.
You are always so out of reach
One step ahead
A ghost
A ghoul
A dream
You are no more than a cloud in a breeze
A leaf getting swept downstream
- The end of a rainbow.
You live in my heart
And haunt my dreams
You hide in my memories
I am always longing for your touch
To feel your hand in mine
lips against mine
I hope that someday
I will be the beat of your heart
The thrum in your bones
The light in your soul
I hope that someday
I will be your always
Souls comes a time
When the body lies and rots
So comes a time, Ecclesiastics
a time for things, to be present, past, and changed
Such is a time that belongs
To Holy Abba Father Elohim
For humanity within,
their free will
To be still in the free will of Jehovah kiss
A breath of life within us
A time for simultaneous physical and spiritual life
We see free will, even in strife
We will waste time, killing time
subliminal
One day in the flesh time will kill us can't complain
a time for things to be present, past and changed
7/23/26
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2026©
Shadows
Do You ever feel like something’s following you?
Maybe something is.
Not literally.
But mentally.
Wether it’s your past or your present
Following you,
no matter how hard you try to forget it
You can’t.
It’s just there all the time .
And you try and run.
Hide.
Pretend it ain’t there.
But it don’t work.
Something’s still following you.
Every step
Every moment.
But then you stop running,
And you turn around and realize
It’s only your shadow.
The shadow of your past,present
But be careful that shadow
If you don’t let go,
It could become,
The shadow of your future as well.
By Jasper Shafer
Magazine madness of fashion obtuse,
Scantly clad teen’s covert abuse,
Circumvent moral by calling her model,
Grey line law’s favourite excuse.
Tick it and tock it,
And snappily chat,
Or X book of faces,
To summon the rat.
Where all indignation is vehemently expressed, where righteousness of self is digitally pressed, a mirror without flaw from which to throw stones, a facade without face or flesh or bones.
Artificial intelligence,
Artificial incantation,
Artificial infection,
Artificial indignation,
Artificial incandescence,
Artificial imagination,
Artificially incarcerates;
The innocents of nations.
Forgiven by your convenience,
Your need to gadget consume,
So yes their abuse is all your fault;
The fault of all in this room.
Illegal but one click away,
Ai can undress us all,
Immoral but here to play,
Yay for all our lovely tech,
What more can I say…
by David Nickle Read©2026
Why do we fear the privilege of ageing?
In the same life we rush to escape infancy,
How can we reject the concept of changing?
In the same life we trade innocence for puberty,
The false sense of comfort, being stuck in your ways,
Has it ever contributed to the length of your days?
Repetition seems tedious and ever mundane,
Yet the catalyst for progress, for growth and for gain,
A mind that bends will for the endurance of pain,
A body that glides through the spectrum of strain,
To love and to laugh is to live and be sane,
But the joy of summer days short lived without rain,
So why do we dwell in the realm of the past?
When the realm of the present and future is vast!
Some goals intangible, we may never see,
One... of which, is longevity.
the once laminated memories
now peel away in folds
each fold cutting deep
haunting me
the smiles and
ecstatic laughter
of those years
taunts me
the ripples of youth dig
deep into my skin
seeping lines deep
haunting me
taunting me
There is a dog with no past,
who lived in a present held fast.
No scar, no afar,
no "who they are"
just now, and that now is vast.
Empty Road Signs
Time takes on
a dimension
only time can understand
It’s a long long way
from being lost
to anywhere
The present stays
uncharted
like the fulcrum of a dream
Tomorrow
an empty road sign
— its message to portend
***
Turning The Latch
Is anything more prescient
than a window
open wide
Awaiting sun
or moonlight
and the wind that blows outside
Its latch when turned
inviting
unlocked it puts in play
The ingress
and the egress
— of every passing day
***
We All Share
There’s a comfort
in dying
that death can’t provide
Assured
of an ending
where conflict subsides
We all share
in common
the end of the road
Where time
has no meaning
— pain left to implode
(Dreamsleep: May, 2026)
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