The sight of open flowers
Spectacular from towers
Tender petals that amuse
With kaleidoscopic hues
Landscapes in several tints
Resemble modern art prints
The brows of pellucid lakes
Glittering glossy snowflakes
Beautiful divine sunrise
Scintillating brilliant skies
Burning yellow tinged twilight
Sprinkling moonlight as fluorite
Swaying panicles with blooms
Exotic whiffs of perfumes
Originate from one womb
In vivid shades they illume
The lush green blooming valleys
Active fauna with rallies
The alighting garden sprite
Relaxes with much delight
An expo of July dyes
Mellifluous tunes of flies
Nature's astonishing fete
Offers a visual treat
Place: Honourable Mention
CRISS-CROSS PIVOT -GRAND SLAM
. First Set
. love all
. first serve
. clean ace
. first game
. to love
. I’m inspired
. shot selection
. spot on
. hit line
. each time
WHITEWASH
. second set
. first serve
. double fault
. opponent rallies
. fights back
. tie break
. five seven
. third set
. take tumble
. call physio
. Retire Hurt
Gently, on a baked ceiling of a field
a boy ruffles my fluttering shirt
like a naughty, vagrant wing,
and picks a baseball on the grass…
this smaller kid of almond eyes
clutches it with deep longing to play,
but he could not; his wounded legs gave way.
Yet, he claps and screams like all gamers
such a radiant joy with wobbly feet,
that I liven him up to pitch for one round,
while the team rallies for a winning ride.
Taking in the fire of the crimson day,
this lean figure of almond eyes takes his spot
the crowd wheezing, ' take it home! '
grasping the orb as if it were a white globe.
In a precise twirl, the fast ball reels
curving much higher, splitting the air
until those limbs swivel off freely…
the batter out: through joy and pain,
one young limping boy of summer’s dream
becomes a brave, victorious man
that in this park's recreational feat...
he's never going to be the same again.
Hard wood dusted by glitter bombs
picking flowers a new breed comes.
Clean explosion of pink sparkles
lands all over dancing circles.
Petals with roots of vinyl boots,
urban dresses, and old school suits.
Double decades let’s mix ‘em up,
pour a vibe straight into that cup.
That stash of decaying perfume
fertilizes this mongrel bloom.
The freshy will always vanquish,
loud as hell spouting old anguish.
Nothing rallies a flimsy cause,
so we take control as outlaws.
I’m a rebel who is quiet
No one cares about my job
You won’t see me in the riot
Or among the chanting mob
What’s the point of going crazy
For the wages of police
There’s no aim those rebels chasing
But to act on silly whims
We can watch it on the screen
Burning cars and broken glass
Rebels fleeing from the scene
Some are losing their masks
These are games the children play
Just a gushing of hormones
See them quickly run away
When they hear the siren song
There’s no use to file petitions
Rallies are a waste of time
Rebels' proud propositions
Are too old to work out fine
I’m engaged into the quiet
Little job I do for all
It’s not hard for you to try it
Rulers overdue to fall
They might not collapse today
But to think of it we must
Every minute of each day
Then we’ll see them bite the dust.
"The future depends on what you do today." - Mahatma Gandhi
The tiller of the soil does not depend
on a miracle to make his seeds grow.
He ensures good harvest though storms descend;
he waters his crops with sweat from his brow.
The sailor does not leave the ship to chance
to drift and float without lifting the oar.
To guide his vessel through the wild expanse,
he rallies his men till they reach the shore.
The morrow comes surely to those who wait,
to the ones who dream and those who dare not
But whether the future’s to love or hate--
it all depends on what today is wrought.
Ah, yes! College ‘road trips’ bring back memories fond
of toga parties, and booting on sorority lawns
Of pimple pus oozing out from one’s cheeks at ‘make-out time’
or asking your date if you can score another nickel or dime…
Ah, but today! Ho-ho-ho. To hoary old traditions we say a loud NO!
We ‘road trip’ to protest-rallies, to NYC, LA and Chicago
Bringing ‘paraphernalia’ we stash in our ‘toolkits’
Masks and kaffiyehs, bullhorns and live ammo
Stirring up trouble is what we do best
Road trip’s not over ~ 'til we’re under arrest
Double Con Don says he hates it,
But we know he lies more than a bit.
It’s not the hate he’s feeling—
It’s displaced anger he’s concealing.
Is it for the many times she missed campaign rallies,
Or as First Lady, having poor performance tallies?
Maybe it’s for the absence from the White House
Or from the bedroom as a spouse.
So, he redirects his anger at the East Wing
And destroys it with the fiat of a king.
Did he give her any warning or destroy it in a blur,
Removing the First Lady’s office to spite her?
I decided to leave small battles for small fighters:
I stopped fighting those who gossiped about me
I have stopped fighting with my relatives
I stopped fighting for love and attention
I've stopped fighting for my rights in rallies
I stopped fighting to please everyone
I left this fight to those who have nothing to fight for anymore
I began to fight for my vision, my dreams, my ideas and my destiny
The day I gave up on small battles is the day
I became contented and much happier.
A Foodie Pleiades Poetry Contest
Andrea Dietrich
Parades of dough shapes pie
Pepperoni walks in
Pasta sauce rallies taste
Pockets of crust tips edge
Proud dills and hams in step
Perhaps anchovies, too
Procession of cheese crowns
My heart beats forth
Energies brilliants
Destinies worth
Unimaginable
Rallies forth spectacles
Springs forth awesome bright
My heartbeats light-life
04/03/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
P- Proudly he stood, the nation's choice
R- Ridged in debate, a powerful voice
E- Eager to lead, with promises bold
S- Serving a vision, both new and old
I- In the spotlight, he rose to fame
D- Determined and fierce, in a political game
E- Energizing his base with rallies aflame
N- Negotiating deals, a businessman’s flair
T- To rally his base, engaging with care
T- Trump to stimulate economic plan
R- Reforming the status, with policies grand
U- Uniting supporters across this vast land
M-Making his mark, a controversial reign
P- Progress and strife, through triumph and pain
© daniel miltz
They said I’d win, no problem, no sweat,
But let me tell ya, folks, we’re not there yet.
The polls are fake, the news is too,
They twist my words—what else is new?
The debates? A circus, with clowns all around,
They rigged the mic, turned up the sound.
I crushed ‘em all, as only I do,
But somehow they spin it, make me look blue.
The rallies are huge, the crowds never end,
But the media? They won’t even pretend
To show what’s real—just lies they repeat.
I’m telling ya, folks, I don’t face defeat.
The lawsuits? A witch hunt, plain as day,
But I’m still here, never going away.
I’ve got the stamina, I don’t need sleep,
While my opponents, well, they’re just sheep.
Twitter’s my weapon, my words are gold,
Best tweets ever, or so I’m told.
They ban me here, block me there,
But guess what? I’m still everywhere.
So yeah, this election’s been tough, it’s true,
But I’m not one to give up the view.
The White House? It’s mine, just wait and see,
You’ll be saying “Trump” till eternity.
I'm open for business except Sundays from nine to nine.
I have a 5-Star rating from the BBB because my work is very fine!
I specialize in tailoring garbage bags for we folks who were so named,
By a doddering old geezer in the White House who ought to be ashamed!
You must provide your own 30-gallon bag which usually comes in black;
I'll form fit it and for an extra fee will stencil MAGA in huge letters on the back.
Five bucks is the cost or if a vet or a senior a 5 percent discount I'll advance.
You'll find it very appropriate wear at rallies or any other such circumstance!
Sun seeking sunflowers' stalks stand stylishly sleek
Bite birds, butterflies on beat before blazing blooms
Farm fields fire-up framing fascinating flourish
Gushing green grass giggle with girlish gaiety
Still soil sings soulful song to silent seeping saps
Reaper respectfully rallies with rapt rapture.
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