I never laughed so hard.
A belly laugh so long my sides hurt.
Ended up not remembering why.
Wordku: 5-7-5
AP: 3rd place 2026
Two squirrels broke into my kitchen and
found my mixing bowl~
a sweet, forbidden lake.
They dove right in with greedy paws
to sample what I was about to bake.
They slurped the batter, paw by paw,
till neither felt awake;
they wobbled, woozy, sugar-drunk
moaning, “We have a huge tummy ache.”
And when I checked my kitchen next,
I sighed, “Oh, for goodness’ sake!
Two many squirrels, with sticky tails,
had truly spoiled my cake.”
For your name’s sake Lord
My enemies cannot triumph over me
They may gather to plot destruction
And ask stupidly in their ignorance
Where is your God?
Let Him come and save you
But you God are my light and salvation
I shall fear no one
You fight for me from all sides
And so your name is glorified not vilified
At the mention your name
My enemies would quake and tremble
And give glory to whom it is due
For your name’s sake
All the earth would continue to bow
In humble adoration forever and ever
In The Fairy Tale
In There Reversed
There In Unplayed
In Player Reversed...
He IS The BEAST!!!
For Your Sake, Darling.
*Myth Reversed.*
(Psssp... For Beauty's Sake...)
-Gray Squirrel
02-25-2026
I once agreed at the arrival of woke.'
I was relieved ( it had caught me up )
I was out in front for so long and had almost
Had lost hope.' But this conscious only
Lasted for a while.' Two decades passed
And i found all there had gone wild.! The
Idea-ology was morphing, yet had no growth.? There were calls to free cabbages
From soil druggery.' thats just my joke.)
Yet the greens.? Were now rampant we
see.' To think i
Advised? someone to become one of
them'
He achieved couincil status..I don't wish
to think! Look at this pile..Nothing it
seems can balance at all.' Humans being humans and
Power the thrall..It draws them; awes
them, and chews them up.'
To spit out a
Parody..Yet its still lapped up.? The joke is
Now flowing like sour milk, Clowns
just love it and there are many of that ilk.' The
Joke is upon us. All owerblown.' Dark and
Dismal upon such a plastic throne.)
You know, granny, I am indeed autistic,
I still eat the same things I did as a kid:
Oatmeal breakfast, mac n' cheese lunch.
I both solemnly and fondly remember.
I will keep our memories, even as an old lady.
I know I am a spoiled child, but still thoughtful.
You loved me anyway, and I am so sorry,
You did things your way, why I slacked a lot.
I love you forever, even if you become another,
If we are to ever be reunited together.
In this life or in the afterlife or another life,
I know we'll meet again, somehow, someday.
I'll think of you when I eat my comfort meals,
These dishes you would always make for me.
Maybe someday, after I meet you again,
We'll have oatmeal for old times' sake.
What's this fluffy white stuff?
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Aerial acrobatics at the circus.
They have everyone in oohs and ahhs.
One slip and fall ~ it’s all over.
Broken bones won’t be the worst of it.
spread smiles
for miles
8th place
Let’s not make a scene—
not in front of the metaphor-curious.
We owe them a semblance
of shared syllabic stability.
You take Tuesdays,
I’ll keep weekends and the enjambments.
Let’s split the metaphors equitably—
you keep flame, I’ll keep ash.
No one touches liminal.
I’ll speak highly of your similes
at open mic,
nod with gentle gravitas
when they ask if we’re
still...collaborating.
We’ll stage polite reposts,
perhaps a comment or two—
Stunning work! Your voice is missed!
Even though our voices
are on everything. Loudly.
We’ll give them what they crave:
poised poets
posing as lovers
in the filtered light
of someone’s Instagram story.
Not because it’s true—
God, no.
But because some of the haiku kids
just found their footing,
and I won’t be the one
to shake their form.
She served him tea and fed him his favorite snack,
And also kept a bouquet of roses in his closet's rack,
Yet he walked away without looking at them even once,
And she felt betrayed by one of her loved ones.
Yet, one day, when he was attacked my a robber,
She ran-up to save him while his girl walked away,
As she wanted her life more than him to be longer,
And left him and ran away.
She had a few coins in her purse,
Which was the only means for her to travel back home,
Yet she ran-up to him and gave all her money to the robber to save him -
- Yes, save him from the doom,
And when the robber went - she gave him first-aid like a nurse.
She could not go home now as all her money was gone,
Yet she saved his life which was for her game-on,
Tears filled his eyes as she sat in a corner,
Begging money from others to go home,
and he did give her some of his money out of pity,
Seeing her for it-everywhere roam.
For what exactly enate
Value do I personally so much
Place and stake
Numbers in order to derive
Just how so many lives
The message I so desperately sought
Within to deliver
And future cost
It pains me dearly I may pay
Will not even even see the light of day
Matters not
When all and sundry is forgot
As I and if alone will only are to be enabled
To know the real and only true
Enate true actual real value
That I alone
Care desperately enough
To pour
These my mere
Words and heartfelt thoughts
To you here another
If neither you don't either
Care or give the slightest
Damn about
For after all then
Who am i deceiving
But sadly me
My own self
And my fragile mental health
For crying's sake,
If I could cry,
I'd take a break,
Yet eyes stay dry.
I'll stem the tears
With laughter droll,
And halt those fears
I bane extoll.
Fantasies glisten. Wealth untold.
Dimly clear; seen near and afar.
Wee men; chase around pots of gold.
Missed heaven. Prospecting a star.
She wishes; he’d only listen.
When lovers drift. They drift bizarre.
Act out; miscue the rendition.
Missed heaven. Prospecting a star.
He utters “turn the other cheek.”
Sneakers; lacing up the crossbar.
I pray he makes it through the weak.
Missed heaven. Prospecting a star.
Don’t let distractions go too far…
Missed heaven. Prospecting a star.
I
a low buzz,
maybe a hum? under
my note.
I hear it—see it.
give up the piece
or keep it,
keep it.
art with children, new, gray.
Blessed are the
music makers.
II
Thoracic curve, eyes down.
weight, not of the world,
but of my own creation, pulls
my head by a string.
bare feet to be
grounded.
“you’re a modern child”
says the master.
“there is a weight to you,”
she says with
an old twinkle
and a smile.
III
pencils, down.
luckily, I write with
pen.
the entire world in a squid’s
heart
my life is not here;
a future
—down the hall.
but there is something.
there.
I am a note, a curve, a stroke.
modern’s child, gift of weight in my throat.
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