Sentenced to a lifetime of repeats,
rewind repeat rewind repeat
I see it written on the walls
of my mind
the sentence keeps me caged
like a bird dying for light and freedom
of the open sky of endless blue horizons
but it is only a window of illusion
upon which I stun myself trying to escape
and still it stays secreted away
written in a language I can see
but can’t understand
even the doctors are helpless
with their potions and powders
and endless talk talk talk
please just read it and translate it
and tell me what it says
this run-on sentence I can’t erase.
golden doodle wants to be a lap dog—
muddy footprints on her blouse
I climbed in bed
to wait for death
the past
a fleeting memory
I pled the case
in my defense
whose verdict
found me guilty
My sentence cast
without appeal
a victim of
my trials
Alone to die
in hope belied
my condemnation
— final
(The New Room: January, 2026)
they said it was justice,
like a clean knife through the heart,
but I’ve seen laws drunker than sailors
and meaner than a kicked dog.
they wrote it down neat,
black ink on white paper,
as if death could ever be civilized,
as if morality had a gavel.
they called it premeditated—
like love, like birth, like failure,
as if we plan our ruin
while the sun still shines.
a man kills a dream,
a woman has a baby,
and they suffocate them for it.
mother and dad brings a baby into this life
knowing the world will eat it alive—
and nobody calls that murder.
florida just found a new god,
and he likes his laws clean,
his gallows polished,
his prayers whispered through clinched eyes teeth.
somewhere, a baby cries then dies
somewhere, justice is laughing at he grins.
J-ust
O-ne
A-nd
N-o
S-ubstitute
A-fter
L-etters
U-tilize
N-ame's
D-irection
A-s
G-uide
U-sed
I-n
T-hinking
©bfa042625
Monocrostic (Birthday of Joan Salundaguit)
M-essages
A-re
U-sually
R-elayed,
E-xpressing
E-very
N-uance
U-ntil
R-eceivers
S-imply
U-nderstand
A-ll
©bfa051825
Monocrostic (Birthday of Maureen J. Ursua)
There is a fair measure in things
there is a middle ground in everything
there must be order even in the mess
est modus in rebus
A true sentence
As Hemingway said, start with a true sentence
the roof of the school building, I can see from
where I sit on a cloudy day is grey as lead
when lit up by sunlight that has broken through
the clouds, it turns silvery and pleasant to see
That is, a true sentence about what I see, but it
is not what I'm thinking is a love story that
began a summer's day, lasted with its drama
when days got shorter and the wind bitter
leaves shrunk and fell on a rainy street
The true sentence is the gripping sadness
the knowledge that the best of my time has gone
Life is not a short street
with a single address...
Life is a long road with many
addresses along the way
The final sentence that I wrote –
Ragged words I could not speak –
And so the sentence for me spoke
The letters written on the sheet –
The words I wrote but could not speak
Read my sentence back to me
Like shards of glass in bas relief
Spoken there for me to hear –
It read my sentence word for word
I dared not breathe – I could not speak –
‘Twas worse than I had ever heard
The words I’d written on the sheet
And though I wrote what now I heard
– The sentence and the words it spoke –
I could not take it at its word –
I took the sentence that I wrote
And dashed it on the rocks! The words,
The letters, fell – the sentence broke
And as it broke my spirit stirred
And something pure – in me – awoke –
{"I convicted myself into a death sentence when it came to dote on, bear the witnesses because they saw me alleviate the tears nobody had reconciled or dared to wipe away; they simply did not.
The smoke is flaming inside of me, and it isn’t dwelling away or even sufficing. They replenish my lungs in exasperation as I flunk to inhale a tad bit of reinvigorated air.
You slaughtered me in a way nobody has. Whereas now they beg for the forgiveness of the broken. They measly take a stand and testify against it. I whisper to myself like a madman, for you shan’t be convicted of manslaughter, and I shan’t forgive you in any way probable.
Your actions don’t merit punishment behind bars,
you deserve death as I have reached my own demise a million times over; bear the burden I have felt, one that cannot slide open the portico and make a legitimate run for it. I let it in me, fused it, relived it.
I inhaled the smoke of a Cigar and let it ruin me all in all, then I testified against all odds;
‘It is what it is.’"}
People should be warned, people should get wise,
Or else they might find, a nasty surprise,
Early hours, Tuesday, sirens broke the peace,
That was the sound of Poetry Police,
Rushing to the door, I asked “what’s my crime?
You know, that I, take my books back on time”.
Politely smiling, they brushed me aside,
Only then I knew, that I couldn’t hide,
Loose leaf, single sheets, gliding to the ground,
Incriminating, alliterative sound,
Crying in the dock, I said, “Judge you’re wrong,
Everyone knows, this sentence is too long…”
Fear less fearless, you will lose freedom;
Rejoice with real revolution;
In the atoms of a bomb
our disturbing past blasts
with a renewed rage;
A death sentence
of silence
filled with
tears.
Back and forth the monkey paces
Alone is his small backyard cage.
He did not make his cramped cage,
But the small cage makes him.
Far away, he sees children in a park
Running free and laughing.
He also sees birds flying free
And singing far from his small cage.
But in his barred cramped world,
He can only take short paces
Then swing rhythmically back and forth,
Back and forth, among the bars,
From day to day and year to year.
The monkey does not laugh or sing,
And no one plays with him.
Long ago, when he was young,
He ran free in a jungle with his brothers.
But now, he only takes short paces
Then swings back and forth,
And back and forth,
Waiting for a solitary death
That may not come for years.
The jury sits stoic and pensive with unwavering eyes
Set upon me like a lock on prey
Persecution for the crime of being small
Groundless accusation I have yet to discern
Though it seems the world has already done so
I am by fault a timid being
Created, it seems, by a mind set on juxtaposition
I am neither here nor there
Neither bright nor shadow
I stand with shaking knees
Sit with shaking hands
Interrogated for moments or hours
I’ve been forced to shrink
Forced to fold into myself,
But I am the one standing before a judge
The verdict readies itself to change a life
I receive my sentence with salted, glass eyes
Doomed to life without a chance
-s.grace
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