A beetle begins its shift
where the day left off~
at the edge of a stone
it has moved before.
It tests the surface first,
tapping once with an antenna,
then proceeds,
lifting each leg deliberately
as though the ground requires
confirmation.
A pebble blocks its path.
It pauses,
gives a soft scrape,
nudges it half an inch
then continues,
the adjustment noted
only by the beetle itself.
On bark,
its carapace catches
the a pale pull of light~
a thin, ancestral shimmer
that recalls the long night
its kind has always known.
It inspects a fallen leaf,
turning it slightly
to read the underside~
a task completed nightly,
never hurried,
never skipped.
By dawn,
nothing looks changed,
though the beetle has worked
every inch
of its small world.
And yet the dark feels steadier
even in our quiet daily labors~
minute corrections
that keep the hours aligned,
and meaningful
until the first pale light
lifts the edges of the day
and carries work
forward.
Deciduous trees
shedding withered yellow leaves
as autumn proceeds.
Autumn ! Azure ambient
Freshness shiny salient .
—The Geography of Tears—
I know not where thou art, nor whence thy breath
re-enters me—yet when thy name is spoken,
my guarded blood, that had outworn its death,
breaks rank, and bears thee through the sluice unbroken;
whilst all the world proceeds, and engines grind,
some secret firmament within me alters,
and tears, more treacherous than the mind,
unseal the place where distance fails and falters;
I seek thee not in roads, nor years that flee,
but where remembrance, stripped of its disguise,
becomes a country having none but thee,
whose borders vanish inward through my eyes—
for absence loses all jurisdiction there,
and thou arrivest where my tears declare.
society tells me I need
material possessions
but all I need
Is God's intercession
my soul thirsts for the Living God
who watches over me
my soul thirsts for the Living God
who gave me life eternally
the best part of waking up
Is not having Folger's coffee
the best part of waking up
Is a new day God gave to me
my soul thirsts for the Living God
who watches over me
my soul thirsts for the Living God
who gave me life eternally
for every word that proceeds
out of the mouth of God
Is all that I will ever need
to truly take to heart
God gave me a paradigm shift
a re-alignment of my desires
for the old me has grown in grace
by the Spirit I'm now inspired
now careful of what I long for
more aware of what I now thirst
yes I can get material things
but I'll seek God's kingdom first
my soul thirsts for the Living God
as I now comprehend
the God who gave me life
will satisfy all my needs in the end
It was half-sub-merged; as it were you
sea."
And some sort of process?
that seemed to
In-clude me.? Well wether i write-ed? or it just appeared.' People will read it have no
Fear..It will test their aptitude and
drown their senses..May be it'll flush out more whatever? And liquidate fences.? Words have that power.! I know not fully, the knot from
Whence it comes, yet it causes some tears
And anguish in a sum.' Or laughter? And
hilarity, fires emotions; causes commotions, it can describe truth fully or
Twisted, it can be.? It describes Abrahams
Actions, for ' he digged a well ' thats the text in front of me..A Bible verse thats lasted so long, a story etched in stone and songs, read so many billion times..The tounge
recites its prose and rhyme..I think
Of the fancy grammer beagles that stilt and censure..And create wots legal.? But
God don't care.' Bout sll the razz, and when they run out of words, and time there is more that He has.' He gets it writed.' Is whats the case.' And it will float
This ARK in many a space writed and worthy it proceeds along, while critics though many.' Are really
swans lost in their own songs.'
I want to capture a PHOTOGRAPH
Of what the farmer sees.
When the farmer comes to PLOW,
He has a PLAN to PLANT.
There is POWER in his PURPOSE.
Therefore, he PURSUES with PROMISE.
The farmer feels PAÌN as do other PEOPLE;
And he may PAUSE but does not PANIC.
He PROCEEDS in hope and expectation
Because he has vision and sees a PICTURE.
The PRODUCTIVE farmer sees PRODUCE
And other agricultural PRODUCTS.
He sees a vast POPULATION of PEOPLE
Depending on him and what he grows.
In the farmer's mind, the picture is PAINTED
Like a rainbow in the sky after the rain.
What he sees through the eyes of his heart
Is PRESTINE and PRECIOUS. So he PREPARES
In hope and weathers the contrary storms.
The farmer lives by and within the confines
Of God's eternal PRINCIPLES of sowing and
Reaping. Such principles are tried and true.
History has PROVEN it so time and time again.
O God, may my soul be as POISED and my
Heart as PURE as the farmer whose harvest
is both bountiful and PLENTIFUL.
Men away from home
tear away asphalt
like thick skin
and replace.
Work proceeds
sunrise to sunset.
They bear the heat
of a summer day.
Their bodies ache
but they move on.
The rumble of land
disturbed stirs grackles
from field. They take
to the sky seeking freedom.
The workers inch up a hill
as traffic crawls by
in the open lane.
The workers remember
their wives and children
back home and long
to steal a few moments
during the weekend
and see them again.
They lingered.
Soft, sweet and understanding
One's at peace in grass needs.
What's felt of this air's manner
Out whose heart so proceeds?
Cosmic Adventure
There, upon the launchpad, the countdown proceeds
as bolts explode, and the umbilical apparatus releases,
and massive amounts of energy bursts from engine ignition
to create propulsion thrust and lift-off reaction
for the vehicle’s escape from Earth’s gravitational attraction
in sequential stages, skyrocketing into the orbital trajectory
of slingshot phenomenon to the universe of cosmic adventure,
likened to explorers in olden days piercing the unknown aperture.
Through the porthole, astronauts marvel at the spectacular scenery
as they watch their country on the blue planet disappear gradually.
Emotionally restrained, the astronauts resume their mission,
methodically pushing buttons and recording observations
in a four-dimensional continuum relativity experience,
limited in scope by the laws of scientific ingenuity.
Before the Breath — was shaped in Clay —
Before the Pulse — was stirred —
A Whisper — older than the Dust —
Pronounced a Hidden Word —
Ere Bone was knit to trembling Vein —
Or Sight — received its Sky —
The Infinite — with tender Hand —
Had marked Identity —
No Accident — the fragile Frame —
No vagrant — drifting Seed —
But known — as Morning knows the Sun —
Before the Light — proceeds —
A Sanctity — without Applause —
A Purpose — still — and deep —
As Roots — that toil in secret Earth —
While mortal Gardens — sleep —
O Mystery — that crowns the Small —
With Vast — unspoken Claim —
That God — before our Cry was heard —
Already — knew our Name —
In the rain Paris has its charm.
Autumn takes on a romantic magical appeal.
Life proceeds but seems surreal.
I love Paris in the fall.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
The colony rehearses its certainty—
feathers ticking like metronomes,
breath rising and vanishing on cue.
Ice remembers every footstep
and forgives none,
yet here life proceeds by agreement,
a choreography older than language,
each body a comma
in a sentence that ends in survival.
One bird pauses.
Not dramatically—
no prophecy, no cry.
He turns inland,
toward a blankness the wind has not edited.
The snow does not argue.
The horizon does not blink.
Instinct loosens its grip
like a glove dropped without noticing.
We watch because watching is all we have.
There is no word in our mouths
that fits this angle of departure.
Nature, usually so fluent,
stammers.
The camera keeps its distance,
as if reverence were a form of ignorance,
as if explanation would be a lie.
He becomes smaller, then theoretical.
Not broken, not heroic—
simply unsponsored by reason.
Some creatures follow maps.
Some discover that the map does not include them.
The ice closes its book.
The wind keeps walking.
Honest appraisal and sharing of verified
information in matters of health ( at least.!!!) I cant see it happening in other resources..Fields, as human failings and greed
Are so innate.' Its hellish when I ponder
It.? Every earthly situation to be leveraged.'
And for proceeds that don't go with us
Past the grave.' Or??? Maybe??? There are
Proceeds waiting us there? What type
Depends on our investments now maybe.?
Just a thought before bed.'
Out of respect for justice
I will take a smaller bit
In an old-school way I trust me
But the trust is incomplete
Out of privilege for savage
I become less civilized
When a savage comes to manage
Isn’t it good to stay alive
Good to watch the old campfire
Still proceeds its life, half dead
If the embers can rewire
My old brain, I’d be so glad
Sing our songs of cheap catharsis
Sneer and smile, and tell me please
What you couldn’t, when unconscious
We were us, as close as this..
G'day you beauty Blue
as I haven't heard you play
in a year and a day
what did you do
with your fair dinkum didgeridoo
don't get me wrong
but it's been gone so long
has your bonzer boomerang
returned from whence you threw
by yonder backwater billabong
how about your most unusual pet
a marsupial (a roo) if I am correct
was it sold to pocket the proceeds
and pay for your daily needs
or abandoned beside the track
in the bush a.k.a., outback
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