Mimicked mosaics, seem stitched at the seams
Plaids of crimson, gold, and tangerine dreams
No mystical myth, of tapestries tall
We're graced by their boughs, the legends of Fall
Poets enamored, with pens on the prod
Kneel to this splendored, coniferous god
Till marmalade skies, withered by weather
Watch leaves tumble dry, light as a feather
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
They say that you’re beautiful.
Gorgeous, pretty, even stunning
You brush it off, move on, it’s rather pitiful,
But it’s just another day… and you’ll keep running
They call you attractive, alluring and a knockout
You ignore it, compliment them instead and hope they don’t prod
It’s easier to tell a truth than to respond to a lie, no doubt?
You hide behind the jokes, the laughter, the facade
Just take the compliment they say, why is it so hard?
If they knew what it would mean they’d turn tail and run
For you to accept it, you’d have to be unscarred
Accept it you will, but that’s it, game over, let it all come undone
They’ll see through the hiding, the running and the fright,
The self-criticism, the comparisons, all the backlash
But when they look a little harder they’ll notice the light
A glowing ember that lies beneath all the ash
Let the mask fall away and the walls break
down,
The confidence, the hope, you’re starting to remember
They’re all waiting outside, you’re no longer bound
We’ve been here all along, your army of defenders
I am who I am despite what has happened to me.
I am not defined by the wounds I carry.
Once he had one he wanted to constrict it, like a boa; a python, to hold closely guarded the thing for which demure closets stay closed like iron-waitresses pervading the hostel with lime-light the lemony-snickett cackling in the born-and-bred flames, curling irons prod the paper-clip open but the stamp endures, a timid interred girl beghosts the earls. The favorite simple plan, favored in heavens gamma, where brightness surely waits in pavilion the concert. My concerto is made-man italian, the devise impregnated, like hollow bells that sour, the grim sugar from said waitress, we wildly call the crows to set and chime on the lines where workmen craft blue ribbons atop the farmland graves.
Always thought God's an odd bod
Untruths like hoofs stuck in a clod
Over us aloof just run roughshod
So don't give love above the nod
No proof where Angels ever trod
More encores from the laws of sod
Each church on a perch made a wad
Will besmirch then constantly prod
Tribal bible merch from God squad
Us all in the lurch bait on their rod
We're all just peas in the same pod
No merry on sherry on vicar's quad
Fickle like feather tickle of Ken Dodd
As through the strife of life we plod
Always been more rocker than mod
But still we are all carriers of the hod
As yes ultimately we're all on our tod
Because yes confess there is no God
I came to walk and sit beside a gentle babbling brook.
Every nook and cranny deserves a closer prod and look.
It was uncanny where secrets hid unseen from the naked eye.
Until a gentle nudge uncovered treasures waiting nearby.
I probed to look far beyond the smooth stone faces.
Into the spaces between the cobbles, into their hidden places.
For canny people know that gold is found where fractures part.
They follow the cracks that lead onward to a broken heart.
So, by hook or by crook, every crack deserves its chance.
Every flaw needs far more than a quick sideways glance.
For gold dust never gathers in the nook of a perfect thing.
It waits until brokenness, finds its voice, and learns to sing.
The crannies and cracks let the daylight gleam through.
They ask to not be hidden away, nor discarded from view.
With patient hands, each fracture is traced with gold—
Until the cracked and broken become precious and bold.
Make me man as soon as my youngster
knowingly receives their very last coddle.
The unconditional love curdles from
your loving mother’s teat.
Make it matter despite what you moo to cattle.
Prod the brittle; the previously dilly-dallied say,
“Tagalongs, hogtied stowaway freeloaders with
the trade inside loading and shipping containers.”
Longtime division produced its remainders.
A cove far off the oceans cost.
A cove in a periwinkle sea,
frothing with a bacterial foam
whipping up these sweet
whipped creamed treats
and other delights.
A fondant atop it all
till the klutz ruination
curses cause clusters of
curse wordings together,
finding their bindings.
Shame soaks the rag that wiped away
a distressed and disastrous look upon face.
Words impact with a continuous compound fracture
under the masterful tongue's dismantling of the
peace talks upheld on the other hand.
as we so desired life did manifest
for our earnest prayer was heard by God
so pressure eased off after a small test
being His grace that always leaves us awed
and so ego cravings no longer prod
else our soul would have paid a heavy cost
thus without God’s assistance we are lost
From the streets we ought to be having fun,
We run,
Not for the sun,
Or for the weather that really shun...
We suffer together,
The restrictions abound: our palaver,
Of human to fly its feather,
Around to learn how we could weather.
New testament of greed,
By the enemies of need,
Unto which obstruct reseed,
For daily needs, we voluntarily receded.
Prayers become the breakfast.
Readings glucose the lunch feast.
Sanitizers baptize the body like a priest.
Our dinners rose loneliness tempest.
Intercession is not of pain;
For it will bring an amazing gain,
Unto which we shall chain,
The deadly enemies domain.
It is of your only will,
For no human power make these still,
In his own knowledge or prowess' pill,
To save the universe from its awful gill.
Help us oh lord our God,
All has taken heed,
Yet it seems not enough to halt its prod, Redeem and do not forsake us, we plead.
With a big enough crash to let outer space realize.
I love having a life where my thoughts crash into the tree.
Speeding stuff, and a person who has creases too.
I can hear the crash of someone thinking of me.
Or maybe that’s a vending machine falling over.
I feel so good that I could prod a dead body and be cheerful.
And no one understands how happy I can make this earth abound.
Like, growing carrots in a trash heap!
With a big enough crash, I hit my head on my desk.
Didn’t really have a desk until then.
Outer space nods and gleams at me.
When I can’t write, I drip, plop, and prod.
And when I can’t write I forget how sleep works.
In this world of cycling between words and rest.
When I can’t write, I cradle this nest of tissue paper.
Don’t have thoughts, just droplets.
When I can’t write, I feel a temperate urge.
The inside is burdening these window panes which chatter.
When I can’t write, I dive.
And that’s when sludge can make it though.
Dread.
When I can’t write, maybe I’m dead too.
my large toenails shout their disregard for social norms
they are loud, proud, jagged with ugly norms
admiring their refusal to conform, I put them into sandals
they smirk at the disgust of the neighbors
waiting for smart aleck suggestions that never come
these plebes know me better than I thought they did
I came to your hospice
I came here to die
I came for my family
a final goodbye
I broke that one promise
I most wanted to keep
Alone on my mountain
no mourners to weep
The doctors and nurses
they prod and they poke
Their intentions most noble
my spirit on dope
In the night, strangers voices
call out my name
And act like they know me
new pawn in the game
If I had that one wish
still left unfulfilled
I would walk to the rim
of the Canyon so still
At dawn I would jump
with both arms open wide
Saying: Thank you Dear Lord
— for a wonderful ride
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
People can try to encourage us
they can nudge and prod like concerned parents
But there comes a time when we realize
we are ultimately the creators of our own destiny
And that is a day of reckoning
Of crossing a bridge of no return
It’s when we realize that we are responsible
The “I” is the conductor, the maestro.
I am the only one who can motivate myself
to be the best person that I can be
It has to be a desire from deep within
strong enough to fire a drive on a daily basis
I have to survey all my options and decide
I’m the one to find a goal worthy of my passion
I need to learn the constellations and draw my map
I’m ultimately the ship captain of my journey
AP: 2nd place 2025
What horror hides behind these walls
That seem to stare with piercing eyes?
The halls--they echo sound like calls
For aid as from tormented cries.
Why do dark shadows seem to reign,
Usurp what little light remains?
This room breathes doom or some such bane,
Each creak gives off some death-like strains.
And who are these whose faces masked
Bend over me with visage grim?
They prod, they pinch, they poke unasked
I struggle but can’t move a limb.
October 26-27, 2025
Among 3rd Place
A Spooky Haunted Poem 8-12 lines of rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
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