It begins long before the pen touches the page,
in the quiet habit of noticing what others miss:
the amber morning streaming
through slatted blinds,
the heron lifting up from golden water.
To live this way is not to speak in rhyme,
But to breathe, to watch,
To listen for the rhythm.
It is the tea kettle whistling its low hymn,
Flour dusted across the counter,
The deliberate pace of walking slow enough
To hear what silence carries when it leaves.
You learn that nothing is too small to keep:
A river rock worn smooth by tide,
The wild fire of an evening sky,
The grief you thought would crush you into dirt.
Writing is only the light you bring back.
The poem itself was the breathing,
The wide eyes, the steady pulse,
The courage to face the grain of living
And find in it
A reason to begin again.
- Even darkness shines in a dance with butterfly wings - quote by poet
She dances in the dark
expressing passionate emotions
Through movement
with a partner or alone
Dance gives her a sense of belonging
stimulates socializing
A bridge between the visible
and the invisible world
As humans, we are equipped with
a wide range of passion
regardless of whether you are blind or not
Dance serves as a delightful sanctuary
Redundant rhythm of tick tock
Acrid annoyance on this dismal day
Time travels at a prompt pace
Its hastening hands will swiftly spin
Fast forward... clicking clock
Tacit tongue like Poe's pendulum
With gripping grasp, the Swinging stopped
Dancing blind is what they called us,
we both had two left feet.
I moved on the dance floor,
then she followed me gracefully.
Awkward it became,
as they laughed at us.
We did not care,
as we held each other tight in love.
In love with each other,
in love with the rhythm of the music.
In our last big turn,
our canes showed.
The room went silent,
only the music could be heard.
Now they knew we were blind,
but not by the music or by our feet.
Chicago, Milwaukee, Minnesota
Indian names of American fame
Lake Winnebago, Mt. Moosilauke
Indian names, American Jabberwocky
LeBron, Te’Oscar and Shaquille
Black Men, America’s athletic ideal
Beyonce and Megan Three Stallion
Black women, enticing hellions
Yet in the White House we get Joe and Donald
Next time, maybe ‘Pete’
Those white names’ve got no rhythm
They’ve got no beat
Like the first snow,
Like the rain
Like the dead red leaves of autumn
Everything is gracefully falling
Into place
The way I did things before is gone
The character that did them is gone, too
I blow her away like autumn leaves
I cast her into the air like softest snow
I let her heaviness flow like water
Seeping into every in-between
Rippling, touching everything
I laugh as I go
Mother Moon whispers to me
That I am her daughter
And she has prepared a place for me
Upon her ivory shores
Where I can gaze in perfect view
At our father, Great Sun
And I’ll soak in every detail
As if the battle’s already won
The trees stand still and tall
Still, they are falling
They are shedding their old layers
They are girding their waists with ringlets, they are
Shaving bald their heads, they are
Preparing for the bare, still night of winter
To adorn themselves at dawn
The trees are standing still
Like the first snow, I am softly falling
Into the arms of grace
Like the trees, I am silently rising
Stretching out my unused wings
plodding footsteps respect no rhythm
life’s forward tilt, a sneer
what passes for ho or hum
sucks the vigor from its beer
but complaints wear out
a million frowns
and peeves are hope upside down
So, on they trudge, footsteps plodding
scuff life's wedding gown
Soft rain on pavement,
A steady rhythm and rhyme,
Sinks into the stone.
Thankful for the rhythmic pulse of energy
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
after "Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down today.
Nothing gold can stay.
after poem: A Pulse Is Bound To Wane
A pulse is bound to wane,
red rhythm vibes in vein.
A stream-bed’s liquid power
still stirs when mood turns dour.
But beats do follow beats,
like cleats on city streets,
‘til red sun siphons west
throb beneath my breast.
chirping in the night
frog and toad become singers
rhythm on water
Romance revered in classy nightclubs
Harmonics in bluesy melodies & lyrics
Youth, the feeling kept alive in dreams
Teasing hearts with enchanting notes
Heaven most surely did inspire
Magic spells cast across steamy starry nights
Artists and musicians gather inspiration
Never tiring of the game
Distorting truths convoluted as they may be
Bands play way past easy midnight hours
Lessons woven into spicy lyrics
Untangling emotions from wanton machinations
Elated once the music works its wizardry
Seduction melting away unbidden blues
AP: 3rd place 2026
X=Xylophones of wood make lovely music.
A=Around every hill and every
V=Valley filled with pretty wildflowers.
I=I love the sweet sounds,
E=Each ear is enjoying.
R=Rhythm that sooths the very soul.
The ratio 'round to across,
That's pi, in a one-sentence gloss.
It may not seem much,
But still, it is such
As that to all rhythm, it's boss.
ocean waves dancing
rocking and rolling a boat
pelicans watching
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