There’s a ten-year-old in me still
hitting a home run to win the game
in the bottom of the ninth
He’s throwing a Hail Mary touchdown
to pull off the upset with no time left on the clock
And he’s drilling a three-pointer from midcourt
to force the contest into overtime…
There’s a twenty-year-old who refuses to forsake me
the one who’s going to write the Great American novel
as soon as he gets his collection of short stories published…
There’s a fifty-year-old in me somewhere who won’t let go
spending every moment of his spare time finishing that novel
and then tearing up the last three chapters as soon as he’s done…
And now there’s a wistful seventy-five-year-old looking back on it all
and wondering when all those versions of himself waved the white flag
and agreed to let him finish this poem with a sigh
Fake Modesty Is So
Obvious, But Often Used
Like A Gush Or A Blush...
And Hard To Pull Off
And LOOK Charmingly Cool.
Real Modesty Though,
Is Ambivalance? No,
Redirection, At Least...
What Entire Series Of
Guided Possibilities
Are We Supposedly
Responsible For?
A Tiny Grunt?
I Think Consciousness
Is Micro-Tubular Silly.
-Gray Squirrel
12-13-2025
Looking at her is like
a grainy old romance
warped in a bathroom mirror—
time distorts in her footsteps.
She’s always smiling,
even when tears circle in her eyes.
Only on certain nights will she
pull off the mask
and fracture in hush, splintering inward.
She speaks little—
perhaps the quietest soul I’ve known.
Her days revolve around his breath,
his smile her only pastime.
Being loved by her
is like being held by fire—
the scorching hug will
drain oxygen from lungs,
but only because
going all in is her only form of love.
I envy the one she loves, but I am
not, no. I am her—
the ember of romantics,
too charred to be remembered.
A black sportscar driven by a new driver
Mistakes a two-lane road for a three-lane road
The driver of the car zooms in between two other cars
They both pull off, shaken
One of the drivers is an off-duty police officer.
He goes to the other driver to see if he is okay.
The men discuss what happened.
Did you get a good look at the driver?
Neither of them can describe him
Maybe he was young?
I think he had a red cap.
Before the police officer leaves
The fifteen-year-old girl asks, “Did you want his license plate number?”
Until this moment she had been excluded from the manly conversation.
Kathy’s Christmas cards were exquisite and legendary.
Expensive.
Classy.
Pop up cards with glitter.
Santa’s workshop, Christmas angel, Jesus in the manger.
Her envelope included a family logo.
Elegance most of us could never pull off.
She does it with grace.
Toto could pull off some really neat tricks
He could do more than bark at green chicks
With the lift of a leg
After slurping a keg
He could make miles of yellow road bricks
bathroom tiles
never clean
except for the first week
before anyone takes a shower
kitchen tiles
in a variety of designs and colors
glass, ceramic, metallic,
sprucing up the area before spaghetti sauce hits them
large black and white floor tiles of a restaurant
a necessity if the juke box and chrome chairs are to pull off
the ambiance of the fifties
seven tiles of a scrabble game
when using them all you get fifty extra points
KLINCRE becomes the word crinkle
no tile better than another
no snotty attitude or mean ways
friends and comrades
Jesabella the jeweled princess was a lucky doll.
She was gorgeous in every direction, after all.
Her lips were thick, and her body was scrumptious.
She is a real looker! Said Old Man McRumptious.
We wanted to meet her, for we had heard so much.
She was truly beautiful, working on paintings and such.
As she spoke to us diamonds and rubies fell onto her paper.
How in the world does she pull off this kind of amazing caper?
Emeralds, rubies, and topaz began floating from her hair.
Some landed on me, others landed on my chair.
I have plenty of gems, Jesabella said to my friend and I.
You may take some home. I took a topaz as blue as the sky.
Seabull baste the coup de faste
Infectudo goncerotia gonzo
Ron done wrong and was corrected for it
Foresca fiesta frescoe fiskars deshthroes kiskstar
By Start Up bark slarm no harm done to a cherry tree
Wood freeze it ASAP keep it the cooler like Texas does
Drip Diamonds in flex fuel beef it up
Life ex[pands its expectancy
Drims sound cool up pull up pull off a coup or live miserable
Defective decendant A Bravis son
Don't Davis me saveth her ass for special occasion
Dip set throuh the Tip saw
The e·lic·it replenished diceptiva
Trek or ball inflate streamed in time
Coup de FeD Framas Grace fluent in the gruesome scene of a Frogman
Resital dial it quick Sentry's kept of dialpads
Weapons weekly I used my deceptive mind zone
Introspective friers as WASAP
Wichita sounds like Wise county
Gileads crosspath
Written: February 13, 2023
____________________________________________
An anathema for,
pilose nettle burns,
an art form of unstable feathers,
tropes across the ivory cuticles.
Melted mascarpone in a figurine,
pearlescent obsidian,
hooping sapped spirit,
sight of the blue sky.
within her boneless flesh,
the artist grumbles severely,
in a strained, velvety voice,
jumping into the air.
Prima picture goes away,
with feeble equine acclaim,
the nest of the forlorn swan,
embracing an ethereal dawn.
Whimsical soprano,
barely etched in matte black,
diploid remains,
a flawless fleck of fascinating fright.
Rakish Requiem for an,
unrequited magnum opus,
rushing on pinewood stains,
on the cusp of collapse.
As she droops on the ladder,
the impresario draws the
opera curtains closer,
while soothing music,
numbs her toes.
When Requiem strolls,
across the stage to the tune of
Mozart pianissimo,
he manages to pull off,
fulfills a task with accuracy.
2nd place contest winner
Few super stars can pull off a sticky cupcake dress
Some would not like the frosting, sprinkles or the mess
Katy Perry twirls around in hers, showing all kinds of flash.
I think she is wonderful, others might think she is brash.
Fighting against external enemies is natural.
Isn't my fight against myself a Herculean task?
Desires and drives that decrease me into an animal
In my predicament, my consciousness is in a mask.
Values and valuations, like heroes and villains, fight
Benumbed by existential angst, I resign to the fate
My conflicts between power, peace, and patience reach their height.
The poles of physique and psyche pull off in a hate state.
Discord between desires and deceit, like lane dividers
Divert my inner equilibrium from its axis
Even thick kith and kin seem out of the blue outsiders.
There's no logic between my philosophies and praxis.
As though unbridled, my horse of existence runs trackless.
I run fight battles within and lose hapless and helpless.
Eager for the future and wistful for the past
Did four year old me know I would envy her so?
Age is not just a number, it is a burden
The slope of my shoulders, the lines of my frown
My vantage point has changed now that I’m tall
And I’m old and I’m tired and I’m only seventeen
I can’t vote, I can’t drink, I can’t speak for myself
My body is owned by another person
Which is just as well because this body does not feel like mine
I absentmindedly pull off my skin and discard it
Courage is a currency that is easy to fake
So yes, I am steady and tall and strong and grown
Do not pull back the curtain, it is all that is left
To protect the precious nothing that is mine
I will stand up tall and carry my burdens
I have so much left to endure
This is a story about Barry Hunt
Who tried to pull off a remarkable stunt
He tried a bungee-jump without using a rope
He then fell to the ground the silly dope
And now his head is turned back to front.
He now sees everything from the back
Which often leads to a panic attack
Because now when he needs a poo
And he has to visit the loo
He simply just doesn’t have the knack
It’s even worse when he needs a wee
Because Barry can no longer see
His aim is so bad, which really makes him sad
Cos to get bullseye he would need a degree
This story of backwards boy Barry
Ends with him finally becoming happy
He then got a job as a teacher, which became a magazine feature
And now he was a celebrity chappie
With his eyes now on ‘the back of his head’
He could see what the children had said
Although there was no cure, he got awarded Teacher of the year
And he celebrated when his name was declared
Barry partied all day and he partied all night
He danced the ‘backward robot’ until it was light
Despite Barry’s backwards life, that night he met June his wife
and now Barry and June are doing alright.
The Lord has given me many poems to express the change he has done in my life but I encourage you to read new humanity,the poem given to me for the love of all people, for this one tore me up, I had to pull off the road and cry out for everyone, love yall
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