Some are soft and sweet
Others….well….a bit sharper
Colder…edged in frost
There are those that
Turn up the heat
Slowly simmering
The subtlety of satire
Softening the edges
Of the boldly bawdy limerick
There are those that dance
To that different drummer
Scattered alliterative groups
Counting meter’s coup
On a hesitant rhyme.
Ranters, rambling on the
Borders of repetition
Stung by the brevity
Of a well-placed Senryu.
And still the Bard holds favor
As time, in changing costume
Alters allegorical allegiances
Cold youth rebelling
‘gainst the yellowed page
Numerical wizards
Seeking arithmetic advantage
Lover’s dreaming of lust’s long faded scent
Scribbling in strained distress
Whistling amid the gravestones
Of silenced poets
You took and took till there was
nothing left to give. I would have given you
the moon and so much more.
I never understood
how you so casually dismissed me.
Was it all owed to you?
I wanted to be your knight in shining armour
but you didn't care to be my princess.
You were the party girl bent on having fun.
You'd been a teenage mom who'd lost her youth
rebelling against society's norms
of all that's good and decent.
I never understood and probably never will.
I wanted for us a life of happiness while
you were more interested in having fun.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
A man seen as either friend or foe,
Which path to take, which to go.
His name strikes fear into an enemy heart,
Where spilled blood can be turned into art.
His long, black moustache holds something strong,
Where his people never thought of him as wrong.
No gun, no knife fears him inside or out,
As the forest makes no whisper or shout.
A voice against powers of uniform,
A man's figure of rebelling transform.
Bird or beast, lost in the feast,
Of power, fear, and a power that never ceased.
A man seen as either friend or foe,
Which path to take, which to go.
Fell at last, with no where hide,
As his gun had its last ride.
As the Old Era ends,
I send a message to a friend,
Mending fences in your head,
Instead of rebelling and yelling,
Start selling yourself truth,
Your youth will create your future,
A suture to a wound,
Sonn to be opened,
I'm hoping you find this,
Witness all the goodness you see,
It came from me believing me,
Receiving the information I need,
Achieving my own form of mastery,
I'm a mystery to most,
A host to children of God,
Prodding deeper into the core,
Pulling out more,
Restoring your memory,
Embers of who you use to be,
Choosing to shine brightly,
Unsightly events may befall you,
View it through new eyes,
Don't react,
Interact,
Rise,
Into your true version,
A universal conversation,
The union of the nations,
Tuning to a high vibration,
Watch how the station changes,
As your world rearranges,
Exchanging the energy you give,
Living vicariously through you,
Giving the permission,
To continue the mission,
Love is in 1st position,
Above all opposition,
Transition into a new way of being,
Seeing the value everyone is bringing.
Between Campfires and cockroaches
there has been no interaction
Though that is about to change
in a novel reaction
Rebelling against ‘unhealthy marshmallows’
campers worldwide will be ‘roasting roaches’ *
~ starting tomallow
*An 'excellent source of protein.' ~ USDA
The Uba flies,Sani Pass flickers under streetlights,
My chest aches with thought,lungs burn with reminiscence,
Sacrificing pride twists my mind with doubt,she lingers unseen-
I remain still
Mist owns Vrede,a sunless Free State night in autumn,
My pulse revolts,doubt gnaws the edges of determination-
I grip the door handle,heart rebelling,breath caught-
I order the driver back
Written By: D. Collins 12/27/24
Our Father, who art in Heaven, he knows not what he does.
Rebelling against the only one that ever showed him love.
Having been nowhere, but will swear, he knows everything.
Requires a tee-tee little more to unseat the reigning king.
Call me the hard father. Some kind of Angel of Death.
When all I'm trying to do is put our demons to rest.
Big Boys and OGs just try to set it right.
By being a part of the seed they gave to life.
Should God not see it, and keep Youngun away.
Then, so be it, I go by whatever He say.
When seed that came from me calls me a hater.
I get down on my knees to give an OG Prayer.
Woke up from deep peaceful sleep
Acid reflux turquoise troubling me
With regret I rethink what'd I eat
Cheesy potato skins culprit me thinks
The food is rebelling behind my breast
Like blue boat sailing in my chest
Gas and vomit won’t let me rest
I must eat better I cranberry confess
Turquoise tears stain my face
Like violet varicose veins
Stains of sentimental sensuality
Wrapped in white fears and black feathers
For love has fuschia flown away
Ruining reverie’s red roses
Turning them black decomposes
Any ink dried died in letters for love
Would have fell on silver sword
Sacrificed, sliding through heart
Silky bloody poetic death
He saves a cutting of brown hair
And a crimson rose of despair
Pressing between pages of art
Like my onyx broken heart
Was only a notch on burnt belt
Firey from love’s hazing hell
Wicked love spell wilting passion
Kisses rationed refusing
To hold wet tongue’s telling
Of rebelling rose’s rise
In spirit despite demise
Petals of purple pain
Painting passion with rain
And teal tears tangerine train
Of torment trailing behind
Like a wedding dress
Of jilted beauty
Doing duty during dilemmas
Flower to remember
Pressed between pages
Of a little black book
Of love unreturned
Underdog Alleluia
By Mark D. Stucky
Why do we love underdogs?
Why root for ragtag Rockies
and scruffy low-rated teams
coming from behind to win?
Why adore unlikely triumphs
against impossible odds?
Our culture can still remember
underdog-filled Bible stories,
from David and Goliath’s battle
to the meek inheriting the earth.
And America was once an underdog,
rebelling against earth’s mightiest empire.
Although Britain wielded superpower might,
and colonists fielded motley militias,
somehow, against improbable odds,
America survived and thrived.
In the centuries since,
the story transformed.
America became Goliath.
What will be our story now?
(First published in The Purpled Nail, 2 June 2023.)
(Photo by Kara Carelle on Unsplash.com.)
I see the closet door and I hear the theme song to Shark.
Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo
The one they used to play on Saturday Night Live in the eighties.
You know the one.
I opened it once to take a photo.
Which I sent to my twin sister.
We were bemoaning our messy spots.
So we decided to have a little contest.
I took photos of this closet, and six hoarder piles in one bedroom.
Believe it or not, she sent me eight photos and hers were better.
Or worse depending on which way you are going competition wise.
Thanks Daddy, we both said. He loved keeping everything.
Whereas Mom was a minimalist. She had a rule.
Bring one new thing in, toss one old thing out.
She had no messes anywhere in the house
Except Daddy’s area. She could not control that.
Maybe it’s Mom’s fault, I think to myself.
She is the one that never let us have a mess.
Maybe we are still rebelling.
Anyway, I cannot face this closet yet.
This is the third year in a row it has been un-faceable
It would be nice to use a closet, just not this one.
I turn and take another peek. Is it still there?
Unfortunately yes. Who knows what lives inside.
phantoms perform comedies
the moon and stars display lights ---
bluish-white night sky
owls play wry witches
black cats and bats bring crisis ---
glow worms scripts in catharsis
winds and weather rebelling
dark clouds tale-bearing
the night sways in sleeplessness
13 December 2022
Triple New Charlieku Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Charles Messina
December of life
When seems nigh, flesh fuming rife,
Rebelling with mind
On life’s foggy end to find,
Mind still sharp if not like knife.
_______________________________
Tanka |06.12.2022|
Poet’s note: The very first time in eight decades of my life this December I realized that my body, if not yet mind, is getting old, that the December of my life is nigh.
For A December Memento Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich
Someone has sprinkled fairy dust all about
It seems this yellow stuff that’s coating all
‘Tis the annual springtime pollen settling,
If I could stop sneezing, I’d give out a shout.
But since my nose and sinuses are rebelling
It’s probably best to keep my nostrils inside
With an assortment of pungent nasal sniffs,
And spray the outside of my humble dwelling.
My farmer friend tells me pollen is important
Actually, he says it is the honeybees’ friend
But I’d be too stuffy to produce any honey
In that regard, I suppose I am very fortunate.
Written May 6, 2022
the strangest me I have
attended this morning in mind
pointing out things I didn't know
about myself
for example the power of resignation
that I demonstrated by not rebelling
when the garbage swallowed my convictions
and also the ability to heal myself
of the painful wounds that were inflicted
by the continual battles of contradictory thoughts
the weirdest me take charge sometimes
if higher emotional intelligence is needed
to resolve these existential questions
for which I traditionally have no answers
for being a complete idiot
when the matter concerns
to something other than
the usual simple and regular self.
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