What a hymn,
you leave me,
as warmth
becomes the chills,
You leave me,
All of this was to die,
standardized,
a yellow flame
searing red
becomes blue.
Cold-ish ash,
fingers turn brittle,
crumbling to
blood- soaked
smokey cash.
Our fingers
corrupted
through
the
exchange of
history,
paper,
coins,
built on violence.
I fought
dragons
for treasures,
I did my best
to
tip toe
to the other side
of rainbows,
truth is,
the journey
is wealth
folded Cards,
scattered dice,
fingers pointed...
Alas,
the beauty of
grace,
the divine thoughts of
silk and lace,
bleeden
if inter-weavened,
bloody grips
who seeks the price....
Family,
scolded,
how the cold
inflicts sores
through
entirety
of winter.
Holding Holden’s shoulders,
Until he gets scolded,
Shuddering,
Folded,
Rolling messed up boulders,
So, we can be told what is bold,
Rolling them uphill again-
My friend,
Kin...
I would lend a hand again & again,
Until then,
It is an amends I need to make,
Take a break,
For Heaven or Hades’ sake,
Wait!!!
It is MUCH past 2 late,
I still do NOT hate.
Fate!!!
Dad says he loves me,
But it’s all about the money,
Calling my long hair gay and stuff,
Mom I never got to know,
Leaving this world before we talked,
But She probably talked to me,
When I got bullied,
When I felt all alone,
They were nowhere in sight,
Only having my back to the wall,
For god knows how many years long,
Dad only clothed, housed and fed me,
But all he was doing was caring for a puppet,
A doll of nothing but lonely bitter and dark despair,
a hollow shell he didn’t put a soul into,
So when I chose to break free,
When I reached out for a savior,
He scolded and shamed,
But my friends saved me,
They push me forward to more,
The more my dad takes credit for,
Kitsuko Dragonstar,
My poetry,
My novel,
This grand pen name,
He’ll never know,
He’ll never understand,
Let alone know.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
Her husband asks,
"Why don't you ever cry?"
"How come you don't like hugs?"
"Why don't your friends ever visit?"
"Why do you dislike holding hands?"
She answers softly,
"That's just the way I am"
Unsatisfied with her response,
He called her mom
And confessed his worries over the phone
She requested to speak to her daughter alone.
She scolded her,
Demanding to know what was wrong
Little did she know,
She was the one who took away her daughter's warmth
When her daughter was a teen,
She'd yell at her,
Hoping it'd make her turn out strong
And it did, but it also made her cold
Ten years later, Selene's love and affection survive only in words.
The world's always been cruel to her,
That's why she always stays at home.
Just to keep up with a new style, while the Sand man sticks to a plan to hence understand the sentence one tense to be rinsed as the Grinch defends his tent in a pinch despite its foul rotten odor of a stench mouthed one voter who was NOT that dense in past present and future tense hence the bench warrant quarantine latrine screaming beanie baby trading card retarded jarred smarties party past time hardly hardy bartering shotgun runtime bubble covered in Nick at night slime time grime crockery stole bike spike Lymes disease treaty spiked seizer sky high geyser lightning bolt jolt soda colt cold shouldered boulder scolded holding smoldering diamond ring rugged bug-eyed smuggler tug of war tare of a care bare share holder folder to be both bad and bolder like gold oil and drugs with extra hugs and butt plugs underneath the rugs for the fuzz buzzing love jugs whatever that was or wasn’t but not my cousin nuzzling the guzzled puzzling Charlie Sheen screaming ice cream machine that feeds a team and the b team both green beans and brings the fiends back to their gene’s roots and boot scooting things... Let us see what else life brings. The Time is NOW! POW!!!
She is perfect.
At least, that is what they say.
Talk, Walk, Speak, Breath
She must be perfect
But perfect acts as an illusion.
A mere child, raised among warriors,
must teach herself softness
the way others learn survival.
But before she even understood love,
someone handed her a prophecy
and called it her future.
Scolded into perfection,
she tried to be gentle, tried to be kind
but those actions are useless when the world
keeps asking for strength instead.
She tried to smile,
tried to imagine what her life would look like
if she'd been allowed to choose her own destiny.
A woman.
Not a symbol.
Not a paradox, not a doll, not their puppet.
And so, when the moment came,
and the stars opened up to her,
she welcomed it with open arms.
The Avengers, her light,
small but steady.
She finds her own courage,
takes it and blooms.
She is Mantis.
She is the Celestial Madonna.
And her future, is now in her own hands.
I cracked in the mold,
I did not care what I was told,
Melt me with words that are blades and then you put me back in,
In society imperfection is celebrated but it will always win,
In society diversity is said to be virtue but being different is a sin.
I guess I am not gonna go down a saint, and that´s okay
I do not wonder if I may,
I do not wonder if it´s okay to say what I will say...
I do not worry about being monotoned and monocoloured like they say I am supposed to be,
They are pridefull for being open while in real your locked in a cage not allowed to be free,
They say: "just be yourself." but i get scolded when I am me.
They want you to be one of two
A concept tat honestly is new,
For rivers flow and so I will too,
If I may not be purple, I will be violet instead,
I will only stop seeing the truth of society when I am dead,
I will not be blindly led
BY THOSE TWO FACED SOCILITES
I will be awake in my truth not societies everyday and I will sleep the truth on all the nights
I will not be blinded with a glow of fake virtue that in truth is just flourescent lights
No I will not fit in the mold and I won´t listen to the lies society sold
It’s all boiled up and caked up
Lands weep and rivers cry out loud,
Puking withered currents that rather hide
Than run
Cornstalks, excoriated and wounded,
Are scolded by thunder at night,
And lightning brandishes the whiplash of its
Whitish tongue, chiding the frightened rocks nearby.
It has not rained in seasons.
It has not dropped.
Not one drop.
But standards keep falling —
And dropping.
Thunderous silence
echoes in my scolded ears
heavy lies the mood
Winner 5th place: X&Y by Seth Pina (3/29/26)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Granny’s recipe card is splattered with butter,
the ink blurred where her thumb pressed too soon~
butter, sugar, flour—all accounted for.
What’s missing is the way she hummed
off-key hymns between sifted clouds,
how the kitchen held its breath
when she cracked an egg one-handed.
The cinnamon? Yes.
But not the weight of her sigh
when the dough resisted,
nor the way her wedding band
left a faint silver streak in the batter.
The streusel is just crumbs and brown sugar,
unless you count the dust of her laughter
as she scolded me for sneaking bites
of raw dough between my teeth.
Bake at 375º, the card says,
but not how long to wait
after the oven light goes dark,
after the scent stops being hers
and becomes just a memory.
*If you'd like to read the accompanying memoir vignette, you may do so at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/intangible_ingredients_13578
In the churlish church of the frozen chosen
Where they're called to be emboldened
Though mugwumps may frown
And complain of the weight of their crown
In God’s Kingdom they’re advancing as scolded
And in this is how God does promote
Through suffering and removal of mote
Through pain we are free
To use our free will as it be
Of the irenic scene we must take note
Do you hear how the strings sweetly sing?
From the harp to the autoharp’s ring
With guitar and with bass
Choir voices in place
Their music makes Heaven take wing
So let us help one another in accord
With God’s movement on this earthly chessboard
What we forfeit when we don’t pray
How we reject others who need help in this way
Help us our most precious and forgiving Lord
I'm tossed left and right
Toold what to do and what not
Ld what's wrong and right
Scolded never appreciated,
Given orders not a listening ear
Frowned at never smiling
My works , hopeless and meaningless
My works hopeless and meaningless!
My moves clumsy never straight..
You say
"Looking like circus elephant..."
What not like the ring master,?
I no longer know ma existence
"Am I dust? or smoke
Do I live in a dream...,or is it an illusion?
"Am I a spirit or zombie..?
I can't perceive,
And I've failed to retrieve;
Who I was , No longer
Know who I ought to be...
mashka
I am damaged,
Ravaged,
Mismanaged,
Dismantling the old,
Life was growing cold.
Scolded by the heat,
I cant feel my feet,
Admitting sweet defeat.
May i eat from your table,
I'm barely able to rest.
Is there another test?
Pestered by the enemy,
It was within my own entity,
Hurting what I couldn't see.
I damaged the best of me,
Ravaged a perfect body,
Mismanaged my priorities,
Quietly waiting for the end to be.
Please forgive me my friend,
I hope there's time to mend,
Bending time to start again,
Doing better where I can,
Striving to be a better man,
Everyday sticking to a plan,
The human very resilient,
Sentient,
Heaven sent,
We represent our creator,
Changing now is better then later,
You are your own Savior.
Tired of being afraid,
Of the path I've laid,
I may have strayed,
And been dismayed,
Time is delayed,
Played into my own hands,
A life full of demands,
I don't even understand,
Was the fear planned,
I stand before you bare,
Unaware of whats out there,
Sharing every part of me,
So that everyone can see,
Laughing privately,
About what they think of me,
I feel all their energy,
Every time we meet,
It's hard to be discrete,
I'm tired of the deciet,
Defeating myself over and over,
My shoulders are growing cold,
Breaking away the mold,
i'm tired of being told,
Being scolded for what I do,
I'm tired of being afraid of you,
And the next thing you send through,
So I stay true to me,
And just wait and see.
If I do, you are one of very few
They say its nature to speak
So why is it impassable for me
I accept myself, I accept my defeat
To speak is hard, harder for me
People question my silence
people merely encourage me to say
Though the same don't support
when I say.
Whenever I say my mind
each time I try
That little spark of joy is
blown away by the people nearby,
I am questioned, I am denied,
I am scolded for my words.
So why not I keep them
Why should I try
Why should I speak to be free.
I am questioned regardless
I am hurt regardless
...maybe that's why I cry.
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