The Ending
The only tree left in the whole world
was opening its leaves to welcome
the day to the survivors
Among extinct animals
the Tasmanian tiger, beside the Hubro
They had been friends since 1936
There was no artificial light, and the stars
had paled as night became day
Humanity was missing; it had not made
The transition to a planet at peace
dropped heavy bombs killing their own
A war cry, after us, there will be no one
The enemy of peace will be vanquished
even when we too died
Spinning to re-shape
on the lathe of misfortune
tools of memories
slice the old dead-wood away
shavings curling around feet
Round and round I go
ghostly hands remake my form
what I was, is gone
what I am, waits for pruning
severing grief from rough years
New clay on the wheel
trembling hands begin to mold
the shapeless mass pile
a new form slowly rises
shaped by daring, bold fingers
Painted ponies churn
straight road offers no answers
yet the circling does
we learn the truths we forgot
etched deep in the wheel's lament
Wood or clay spinning
hands caress, carve, and refine
as circle chants on
form and spirit are re-birthed
making a new beginning
Round and round I go—
shaped by the spinning
the rough falls away
a new form rises
in the clay, that's spun today,
-on the merry-go-round
-on the merry-go-round
The day is done, the twilight shade is a soft caster on a world
Now, let us rush to the riverside to fill the pitcher until brimming to the fullest
the cadence and the cascade in chorus , the sky at day break ,a longing
ahoy! They call me to the mundane, a boulevard and the fading song
Now, a path less traveled by , almost none
the heart song through the river , a gush of breeze,
Never had a vision of return, a letter to befriend any and a response
the destination is the anonymity, a croon with the journey of the
boat song
I had to change
email addresses.
I couldn't keep up
with the alt accounts—
ten helpings
of the same subject.
you know they're automatic?
after you sign up
you have to go to settings,
unenroll—
seems like too much.
I'd miss
dopamine's dinner bell—
notifications.
Only to remember:
I was the commenter.
It's a rush
worth the risk—
a chance,
to re-visit myself,
dressed
in your jumper.
I'm Doing What
I'm 'Post' To,
Up Here On
Toppa' My
'Poll.'
-Gray Squirrel
06-13-2025
word chosen: wallflower 17 Syllables. Checked HMS
Contest Name: MONOKLITTERATION Date Posted 30th May 2025
" I was not bitter by any means but I was surprised that this didn't even rate an honorable mention" The Poet ...For Screwed Xxi Current Poetry Contest Sponsored by Rob Carmack
wilting wallflower with whimsical ways - watching waltzes while wishing
Who is that baby angel with a bow
Shooting arrows to and fro
Stinging men and women in the arm
Introducing them to luck and charm?
Love is definitely in the air
Look at Cupid flying there!
Heaven’s curio missing the archery
Cupid to sting not an artery!
Quick! Quick! Sound the alarm!
Fly and search the fields and barn!
Cupid’s missing and at large!
Meddling, striking, and free to barge!
Citizens from everywhere
Be vigilant and be aware
Cupid’s a baby – What does he know
About striking perfect mates with his arrows and bow
Sometimes mis-matching couples to and fro!
Baby Angel flying O so loose
Cupid’s on re-call makes the news!
Alas! Cupid has been caught grazing the meadows
There among the blooming wild flower pedals!
Sentenced to 5 more years of wearing “Huggie” Diapers
Awe, Cupid cries - Get the wipers!
Blossom seems to rise
Spirals up to waiting branch
Ah! A butterfly
Whirlwind rushes by
Swirling flashes snowy white
Butterflies dancing
Don your party wings
Come to the Butterfly Ball
Dance now winter's gone
Oh my people..We did sleep.'
Through our golden epochs; it makes me weep'
The spirit of Australia..You must call it back.!
From the now be-knighted (w e f 's) barren track'
We took their worst' (yet we play for keeps') we must'
Now let us stand united; and bury them deep.'
Tempest foamy waves ahoy!
Tempest foamy waves ahoy, Tempest foamy waves ahoy!
Churning the entropy of the unwholesome sky, ricocheting a greet of the everlasting eternally
a glow to enlighten, to pace in unbending, muse and her seven clues!
hence forth, cradling my cosmic lantern, the sun and the stars
To brim a splash, overpouring synopsis
the depth of the churn and the chime, dancing duo to intertwine, sonorous a flight upon my ever-longing yarning soul, she!
On an as is where is basis, let’s accept
ourself as consciousness as this body-mind,
recognising we’re limited and inept,
floundering about through life, as do the blind,
fears and desires unable to intercept,
yet hope that truth of our soul will be divined.
It’s clear we need to slow down the flow of thought,
if we wish to transcend mind and be self-taught.
Just as the waves of the ocean ebb and flow,
we observe that thoughts too rise and fade away,
so by simply witnessing, we make them slow,
nonchalance holding all attachments at bay,
whence in depths of staid stillness we get to know,
that we’re not this feeble form, doomed to decay.
When thoughts recede, our heart not head takes the lead
and bliss pheromones within begin to breed.
If silence be the way, what is there to learn
from pastor’s sermons or a religious text,
since only when we transmute in body urn,
will the throb of bliss magnetism be annexed,
for which presence must choose to willingly burn,
that lower mind dies, which mostly remains vexed?
A day comes when we recognise in plain sight,
that who we are in truth, is God’s living light.
"A personal shout-out to our sponsors and their vapid articulations who made this message possible," ... by The Poet.
Poets and poetesses ascribe to a greater call,
in their endeavors to make their chosen path a cure-all
from those who trivialize and minimize their virtuous
field of poetry's righteous domain and their arduous
measures to maintain a certain quality in their works
of art, to the world of writers past and present, networks
that tethers a fragile grasp on absolutes discipline,
and severance from the mundane, effortless, and simpleton,
out from the left field, melodramatic, sugarcoating,
southpaws are unreasonable and consequently, nothing
our opponents that come out from the left field properly
have no concept of true value to offer poetry.
I woke in a pool of befuddlement
was I still alive?
or was this death?
my heart was rapidly revolving
as if I had run the Boston marathon.
I felt discombobulated
since that loud gasp
when my soul reentered my body
hitting my chest full on
re-entry is difficult for us astral travelers.
It is like I am falling in love with him all over again.
I am dreaming of only him on a daily basis.
I am slowly but surely re-establishing our love.
'
uh
re'gardz:>
uhg
they re'tired
were
whereaz
we uh
married
maid
and gleed az the USA'z poet laureate ;)
edvard
*oh, James dreamz uv flowerz
I aspire to mine babble vide supra ')
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