Upon the loam where ancient shadows creep,
a severed vein now yields its vital breath,
and writhes upon the floor in torments deep,
consumed within the iron jaws of death.
No gentle breeze attends its rapid fall,
nor sunlit grace to soothe the tearing pain;
It strikes the rotting moss and scarlet wall,
drenched in the fury of a weeping drain.
Yet watch the fiber twitch, the pulsing spine,
as blind-eyed beetles strip the tender skin,
and carve away the green with teeth malign,
to feast upon the fever locked within.
The forest laughs while slowly torn apart,
and grinds the winter's refuse in its heart.
The tangled woods invite my weary feet,
to step beyond markers upon the stone,
where ancient trees and heavy shadows meet,
I walk into the quiet wild alone.
No beaten trail directs the way to go;
no painted sign reveals the final end.
The mossy ground and ferns begin to grow;
as deeper into silence I descend.
The map I held has lost its former grace.
The rules of old no longer guide my stride,
I find a freedom in this empty space;
with only inner truth to act as guide.
I cast away the maps that others made;
The pathless path is found here, in the shade.
The heavy clouds of gray begin to loom;
to hide the fading sunlight from mine eyes.
The garden we once planted loses bloom;
as bitter winds bear off our hollow sighs.
The gentle petals tear away from stems;
and scatter through the chill of winter's air,
They used to shine like brilliant crimson gems;
when thou didst hold me close and call me fair.
A sudden gust of wind begins to blow;
sweeping away love and warmth now closes.
My weeping eyes reflect the afterglow;
caught within this painful storm of roses.
Yet though our fragile bonds are rent apart.
Thy ghost shall dwell forever in my heart.
Within this ossuary of our breath,
Where time devours the very vows we swore.
I seek a love that triumphs over death,
and haunts the shadows of the evermore.
The sun is but a dying ember’s glare,
as midnight creeps to claim our fleeting light.
The heavy scent of sorrow fills the air,
And pulls us down into the hollow night.
Yet, let the worms consume this fragile shell,
And let the heavens turn to bitter stone,
If in the furnace where our spirits dwell,
I need not face the blackened void alone.
Though all the stars to dusty silence part,
I pray my love, to hold me in your heart.
Upon the threshold of the mind I stand;
grasping a latch of cold and rusted steel.
To seek the wonders of a hidden land;
Beyond the reach of reason’s stern reveal.
The golden key is but a restless thought;
A hunger for the truths we yet deny.
Through dusty halls, the ancient spark is sought;
To light the shadows where the secrets lie.
Then swing the portal wide on hinges bold;
Let strange and sapphire vistas greet the sight.
For when the spirit’s map begins to fold;
This narrow path shall lead to endless light.
Stay not within the cage of what is known;
For through this door, the seeds of stars are sown.
When winter blows a chill and freezing breeze.
Stripping the blushes from the autumn rose.
A flower awaits in silence and pleads.
Now cold and encased in white icy woes.
Her gentle petals dressed in softest hue;
Held tight within a harsh crystalline grasp.
Perfect jewel twinkling with morning dew.
A love that the season cannot unmask.
She waits patiently for spring to appear.
Cold on the outside but alive within.
Listening to each song she longs to hear.
Content to bloom her fragrant life again.
My love waits faithfully for Spring to show.
Frigidly wrapped up in winter's white glow.
The winter’s icy grip at last gives way,
As golden light dissolves the morning rime.
The waking earth discards its coat of gray,
To dance within the pulse of blossom time.
I tread upon the path where moss grows green,
And watch the cherry petals drift like snow;
While hidden choirs of finches, yet unseen,
Sing hymns to all the seeds that stir below.
The silver brook leaps o’er the polished stone,
To tell the reeds that April has begun.
Each bud and leaf, in colors newly shown,
Turns up its face to drink the warming sun.
Though seasons fade and petals soar to ground,
In every springing step, my heart is bound.
Sometimes, I follow faded stars at night,
That whisper ancient secrets as they stray,
Across the sable dome, their gentle light
Guiding lost ships while shadows kept at bay.
Flickering soft, their memories grown old,
Yet draw my gaze along their winding trail,
To dreams half-spoken, stories left untold,
And wishes lost to winds that never fail.
In those silent hours, longing fills the sky,
My heart adrift, still searching worlds afar;
Each distant gleam a question—why, oh, why
Must I pursue what only leads to scar?
Yet, though they fade, I chase those stars above,
For even fading light can kindle love.
When first the dawn doth kiss the waking skies,
Its blush untainted by the world’s design,
An innocence, in newborn hearts, shall rise,
A gentle force, unseen by mortal sign.
No cunning art nor gilded tongue can sway
The quiet strength that purity imparts;
It shields the soul, and turns the night to day,
Restoring hope to long-embattled hearts.
For though harsh tempests rage and shadows fall,
Unspotted virtue stands with tranquil grace;
Her light, unyielding, beckons through them all,
A steadfast star in time’s relentless race.
O innocence, thy power none can bind—
Thy simple truth redeems the fallen mind.
When gentle zephyrs stir the slumbered earth,
And vernal sun doth gild the waking glade,
The buds arise to herald spring's rebirth,
In painted hues, the promised bloom displayed.
See tulip flames and daffodil's bright gold,
Sweet violets blush in emerald shade,
The lilac's breath in purple dreams unfold,
All nature’s tapestry adorned, arrayed.
Yet beauty's reign, though splendid, soon must fade,
As fleeting as the morning’s crystal dew.
So blooms are lost as seasons’ debts are paid,
Their fragrant glory but a moment’s view.
Yet in brevity, spring flowers depart;
A timeless essence, woven in the heart.
Call me not sunshine, for my light is veiled,
A golden mask concealing storms within.
Though outward beams suggest the dawn prevailed,
Inside, tempests of shadowed thoughts begin.
You praise my laughter—bright as summer’s day—
Yet know not how the thunder shakes my heart.
Like petals bruised by winds that will not stay,
My warmth often fleeting and torn apart.
Let not sweet flattery obscure the night
That sometimes falls where even hope grows dim.
To love me true, see both my shade and light,
A love whose candle dances at the rim.
Call my name and leave sunshine off thy lips;
Embrace the twilight after the eclipse.
Upon the gentle plain where dreams do lie,
The sun ascends with golden, hopeful gleam,
Soft whispers stir the grass as winds pass by,
And spirits wake within the field of dream.
Here visions bloom as petals on the vine,
Each thought a seed, each wish a shining star,
In morning’s hush, the heart and soul entwine,
To wander far where silent wonders are.
O muse, attend this sacred ground of thought,
Where aspirations rise and shadows fade,
Enchantment’s touch in every corner wrought,
By gentle hand, the world anew is made.
Let none forsake the field where hope is sown,
For in such dreams, the brightest light is known.
Upon the steamy broth of words we feed,
A spoon of sonnet’s spice, a pinch of rhyme.
Each simmered thought, a poet’s secret seed,
Stirred gently through patient hands of time.
The flavors mix—metaphor, verse, and sound—
In bubbling cauldrons, meaning softly sways.
Within the bowl, lost syllables are found,
And every line a seasoning conveys.
How savory the blend of joy and pain,
When seasoned hearts compose the lyric stew.
From humble roots, a feast of art we gain,
Where every taste and tone is rendered true.
So gather 'round this meal of crafty strains,
Poetry soup forever feeds our brains.
When darkness drapes her veil upon the skies,
Silent shadows stretch long across the floor,
I sit alone where hope and stillness lies,
With naught but night to gently bar the door.
The distant stars in hushed radiance keep
Their ancient secrets, far beyond my reach,
While solemn thoughts like tides begin to creep,
Each wave a lesson solitude would teach.
No voice nor footstep stirs the quiet near,
Save for the whisper of my wistful mind;
Within the gloom, I face my private fear,
And in silence, fragments of me I find.
Yet as the night endures, I learn anew
That peace is oft where aloneness is true.
Poetic Spice Poetry Contest
1/28/2026
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Upon this eve, thy table seeks delight,
A golden disc, from Naples’ fiery womb.
Let mozzarella’s lace in creamy white
Crown crimson sauce from vine’s midsummer bloom.
Tomato pureed, seasoned with loving hands,
Basil, like emeralds strewn ‘cross the round,
A drizzle olive oil from sunlit lands,
And dough, once tossed, now baked to crisp and sound.
Rejoice! Thy order, numbered fifty-three,
Two slices taken, with a gentle smile.
The cost: ten coins and ninety cents to thee,
Paid to the chef within oven’s trial.
So keep this verse, thine invoice writ in rhyme,
For pizza’s pleasure, timeless and sublime.
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