I used to think poems began with words.
Now I believe they begin much earlier~
in the pause before speech,
in the moment a leaf loosens from a branch,
in river light sliding across water,
in the faint fragrance of lavender
remembered long after the bloom.
The world is always speaking.
Not loudly.
Not in proclamations.
But in small invitations scattered along the day~
a shadow lingering where afternoon once stood,
a bird turning homeward,
an old photograph waiting inside a drawer.
The spirit notices.
It leans toward what others pass by.
It lingers.
It listens.
And sometimes through grace I cannot explain~
something unseen gathers itself into language.
A line arrives.
Then another.
Not as possession,
but as gift.
Not made from me,
but moving through me,
as though God had hidden
a spark of wonder inside the ordinary
and trusted me to find it.
So I follow.
One image.
One silence.
One small astonishment at a time.
And what begins as listening
becomes a poem.
Poke and point and pince and prod
My penniless pockets
And a bra unable to uphold,
A breast to guarantee your rest
Lay in alleys in all your ailing worries
And sloughs of spittle
Splurged and purged b'neath your body.
Hold me, honour me,
Caress the cares entangled within my clumped hair
Harass the proficient proclamations of love,
Laying alongside my broken body.
I dare leer at the lies, leashing my soul to your life
For I do but believe
Boys breed bearded brawlers
And flesh too calloused to caress
And I vacate a vacuum
Of hands vying for the wet of my sex
And the sucking cumbersome succumbing
Salary, siezing a lustful lustre to shine 'pon my sultry gaze
Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder Poetry Contest //Sponsored by: Crystol Woods
Contest Judged: 8/14/2025 5:19:00 AM
( 1st Place )
Written: August 07, 2025
They say stillness is absence, an empty space between worth noting,
but I have heard its melodies in the pre-dawn chapel where stillness reigned
and still the walls exhaled calm.
I have found stillness and not loneliness---
but in two hands clutching without speaking,
the heart knowing inside out
language would only raze.
Silence is like sunlight before it shines,
the tranquility after I sleep and
the reluctance before "I forgive you",
It grips what chaos cannot express--admiration, agony, dread.
Even when grieving and when at a loss for words,
calmness is at hand and says it all.
So let the world fill with echoes.
With clamor and vivid proclamations.
I will still turn up beauty.
In the lull between storms,
In the hush between instinct and doubt
In the sacred calmness, that hark,
Not to respond, but to understand.
So many ways to say one thing
More than one way to turn pawn to king
Too many turns to the grocery store
Which turn shall I take?
Countless words to choose from
From sunrise to sunset
Too many ends to be met
With no end
So many ways to say one thing
How will I say this?
The paralysis of perfection pours
A whisper at first
Drown out by the delusion of desirability
Preserved in acid proclamations of praise
Beating echoes in snowy peaks
Peaking in phrases veiled in value
Pouring
Heavy
Heavy
Heavy
On the mountaintop
Failure
Failure
Failure
One weakened layer causing seismic shifts
Elephant echoes fragmenting snowy ideals
Triggering avalanches of lost identity
Slabs of fallen promises break loose
Forming a track of forbidden truth
Too much weight bids perilous
Useless words of compliment
Descend to a suffocating
Ignominious demise
Plagued by tiny
Thoughts of
Fading
Perf
ect
io
n
Love stirred my soul, rousing an aspiring fire
passions swelled, feelings exploded with delight
gentling hope and grace soared higher and higher
whispers of joy pour out stars across the night
stilling the shadows with songs of careful bliss
moon beckons to the spirit, glowing so bright
only God knows how I long for morning’s kiss
life reminds me why there are no words so sure
as the sincere dreams of one I’ll always miss
from a faithful heart who will ever endure
the sadness and pain, grief filled with darkest shame
these are the times when love’s music will secure
there are times when I know my doubt is to blame
still, His love prompts me with PRAISE I must proclaim
The opportunity sparked a fierce desire
A cunning liar is trying to conspire
Plotting schemes that would require
Causing the masses tears to flood the mire
The choir sang with voices higher
Looking for a bold lady or noble squire
Capable of mending our old attire
Bake these words in an air fryer
The hissing revealed a situation growing dire
Look a devious flyer is soaring above the spire
Falsely proclaiming tales to inspire
Hiding in the quagmire as an actual occupier
Their words thickening the air like a humidifier
The supplier is attempting rewire
All of us who dare to still inquire
An amplifier’s hum drew the self-proclaimed sire
Who foolishly gazed at stars with his heart’s desire
Each promise made proved to be a modifier
The identifier called it out as a testifier
Through it all the proclamations became slier
We need to rise above the snake oil salesmen’s ire
Buckle up and find the strength not to retire
Find the heart to not back down or tire
In a whirlwind of thunder, he claimed the stage
With bold proclamations that sparked debate's rage
A tempest of bravado, he stirred the old game
The Donald' rode in, forever altering the name
© daniel miltz
It is so easy to blame others
for being hurt, stressful situations,
bad decisions that others made
yet, a small voice is telling you
that you contributed to the mess
A life fully lived is a life that is not
clean and perfect like you see on
social media and Christmas cards.
It is full of pain, hurt, and ugly words
exchanged by people who love each other
Yet, life should also be full of encouragement,
proclamations of love, dwelling on happy
moments and finding joy in the journey
and even in the pain. A day can be
ruined by painful words or made by a glorious sunset
I want to be someone who can see past the pain
and hurt to the imperfect heart of those I love.
I was hoping that I was already there,
but I am still evolving into a person that
truly loves others, including those who hurt me.
Words are loaded weapons,
mightier than any sword,
words are proclamations,
for peace at home and abroad.
Words are adult voices,
the small boy’s bedside tale,
words are the judge's sentence,
condemning the man to jail.
Words are hate-filled anger,
somewhere late last the night,
words are acts of kindness,
bringing hope, and light.
Words are questions and answers,
the antidote to doubt,
all words lead to their full stop,
when ink like time runs out.
what silent love could capture the attention of the stars?
what passionate force could rival all of the cosmos?
what earthly bellows of joy could shake the planet?
what perfect love could last?
what souls could dance the borderless dance of true love?
the sun and moon perhaps
the stars and wisps of clouds assuredly
no pair of mortal souls
as complex as the dawn
whose feelings are as short-lived as such
could remain afloat in the rolling sea of ardent intimacy
whose tides are high and whose storms are billowing
what temporal pair could face such a threat?
perhaps one whose love sends shudders through the seas
falters through the very plates of the earth
whose dance entertains the watching eyes of the moon
whose proclamations of faith scare the morning fog
yet still
the earth's tears of rain shall fall
for she has watched this same force collapse a million times before
The stone shoulders of the waterfall
are covered in graffiti,
letters and symbols daubed onto
small cliff faces
Gang tags I guess; covert proclamations.
Apparently Janice loves Bret also.
Yet it is a pretty place, and the water falls
as sound and light
not too loud nor too bright
a fall and flight
that delights the air.
The stream bubbles and swirls for a while
then meanders away
crossing a stretch of bottom land
forgetful of any plunge or spill.
I don’t really notice the graffiti anymore
it has ingrained its presence into the scenery
I watch only the falling water
how it splashes upon itself
creating its own watery language;
how then when it wanders away
seemingly well pleased with what it said.
I can intuit the ubiquity of that aqua-patois,
a fluid eloquence flowing over silence.
I knew you—
When your hands cradled endless dreams
Not plastic boxes with silver screens
When your only bio was scribbled in crayons
Beneath drawings of skies pink or blue
Rain turtles and fire breathing dragons
I knew you
When you answered my query
How was your day
With simple answers minus gender declarations
Proclamations of straight or gay
And never a mention of mating orientation
I knew you
When you stood by others
Because of whom they are
Sharing their hopes and aspirations
Not because of silly rainbow acronyms
Or the pronouns of a new generation
I knew you
When you would sit with me
Listening to stories of a different time
Absorbing with mental dictation
Laughing but always understanding
I was from an old generation
I know you now
Though you may not think so
Without the watermarks of social media
Tags meant for others to like, share, or see
I know you now
Because
You are and always will be
My son, daughter, nephew, or niece
You are
Family
Surfacing from troubled dreams
becomes a hasty reshuffling of plausible realties.
One by one, flimsy fibs are tested,
then grudgingly rejected as improbable.
There are always reasons to arise
and remain perpendicular
even though we may be still following
a horizontal dysfunctional track or trace.
Time to chew over a few words,
let flow the in-the-know and bluff
until enough is done, said, published,
bruited abroad, proclaimed
as a hear-ye ambulating truth.
Proclamations and declarations,
that indeed we are all here
listening to each other
explaining away our on-going
disorderly mental ponderings -
for of course,
psychoanalysis is far less revealing
that our daily abstracted, distracted,
rambling perambulations.
Read
Trees (solidity presenting)
Fluttering leaves
The light kissed plants merry with the wind free and clean
The rain stream glimmering to
a speckled burst of sun
Gentle easy rolling chuckle of
The sighing creek
Uncluttered sea green
Ah read the ripple (and if you hanker success that day, smell the dirt)
Read
The people prevarications (attendant chicanery) digitally respirating goofed on technology / hope's dilution on endless extension
Read
The blank vista
Cloud proclamations and
Twilights gold riddled clarification
That shall permit languishing
Books and songs have been my
Life's blood
But then it is just schmo/mooks mouthing off
Read
The perfect view point
To watch the world go
**** up
Soak up your/ time / space /
Up to
This eventual farewell / for now /
Read
Thumb crush caterpillar fuzz follicle woven wire bent
Pipe cleaner indetectibly clamps fluttery paper crepe
Tiny tear splinter injury etched on crinkled parchment
Puncture forms an institute to forthwith contemplate
Together classified as flower, louloudia beauty flaunt
Plumage lurid thrives beside finite petal flop contrast
Tactical iron hand velvet glove primes formal contort
Proclamations crafted after careful strategy prefaced
Ruffled rogue construct erects its garish occupation
Origami hegemony laughs at limp stemmed genuine
Traditional rotted rose heavy heads rely on hydration
Pointed silver skewer stamen expands phenomenon
Sixteenth February
- Pseudo Society -
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