This summer found men mortal
I’ll miss the better nature you find at the beach,
but goodness isn’t always a physical thing.
In the scene wherein we played,
—earlier this summer—
the sky was an azured theatre of taming heat
all colours seemingly washed too bright
and true to the ramping prophecies of science,
vital waterways shrank, and forests burned
with the devil’s own violence
Equal scales weigh though
both on the world’s beauty
and the miracles of men
though one’s a lower brand of perfection.
I know things of relative value when I see them, hold
and feel them, like the indisputable metric of gold
While nature has sand and majestic suns,
men, as sovereign masters of base elements
invented air conditioning, and Fruity Pebbles.
Should summer be invited back next year?
.
.
A song for this
the boys are back in town by thin lizzy
No one knows the trap,
Cloud ignites to make you stop.
Savant soldier awake at rest,
Knot the wood to make it best.
Beliefs dilapidated the truth for lies,
Devoted followers shrank what they glorified.
Even then, you praise me to suffocate,
Not a single drop showered to show your hate.
These ten points I surely bleed,
Even a monster enters just to leave.
Till death do us part, to be received,
Only the vows I ought to keep.
They put her in a hospital bed
Just for observation
She stayed much longer than they said
an estimate inflation.
Her muscles shrank, her bones got thin
Joints got bent, delirium.
We tried to stand her up, she fell
Is this what they call getting well?
The weaker she was, the harder to move
The less she moved, the sicker she proved
She got bed sores, more spinal pain
No rehab in house, Medicare's shame.
Lack of walking caused constipation
Then urinary blockage, more complication
Dehydration followed, so saline was applied
But the catheter had germs, so she got a UTI.
Her legs so still, she got a clot
A cluster of disasters, who lost the plot?
Not all countries do it this way
incentives in the U.S. contribute to decay.
Then we pay for months of rehab care
cheaper per day, once you are there
But in the big picture it makes more sense
To prevent deterioration, before its immense.
The above patient is a composite of many poor souls
Usually there are confounds, the argument has holes
However, it's true that this happens and can't always be reversed
Let's address the incentives first.
take heed; the bell
a call to church
or needless knell
the village prank
pews of ghost town
the bodies shrank
need a pastor
that draws them in
could be faster
the ring and shout
it’s loud and clear
bring love about
None of that was love.
Not the control.
Not the silence.
Not the way you shrank to survive.
None of that was your responsibility.
You were not the fixer.
Not the shield.
Not the explanation for someone else’s damage.
And none of that—
not one bruise on your spirit—
was your fault.
You’re unlearning that now.
Slowly.
Like pulling splinters from memory.
Like teaching your body
that raised voices
are not weather you have to endure.
You are naming the harm.
You are naming the pain.
And the naming
is a kind of rebellion.
You are stepping into a different kind of truth—
one where your mental health matters.
Where your boundaries matter.
Where your safety
is not negotiable.
This is not selfish.
This is survival
turning into self-respect.
This is you
choosing yourself
without apology.
The golden climb, with brook beside
The autumn hill, betook from my bedside
No sickly mange would stay my pride
I’d sit there where she lied
Those days of yore
Our hearts entwined, we swore
To set sail a golden shore
And live our days in golden rays,
Eve’s moonshines on the floor
Through the curtains near drawn closed
Never wanting for more
E'er the gods apposed
But hoar winds blew and change pursued
Our happy aisle shrank from view
The day I lost you, a silence crept
They bade me speak, e’er I wept
E’er the gods apposed-
I loved you
Atop the hill in autumn's chill
In nightgown, cap and playful will
The willow gloomed the evening shade
Bringing thoughtful tears, the vow made
I’d had her hand - as we had planned-
Living off the golden land
A fiery hearth had given birth
A heaven built on earth
Yet I lie in clover, the moon high over
Her willow glooms her stone
And far away the angels play
While we lie close and alone
Calm is strength.
Silence says everything.
Bend, don’t break.
Healed, not hiding.
They didn’t see me coming—
because I never
needed to announce
myself.
Softened, not shrank.
My silence
wasn’t surrender—
it was strategy.
I became too whole
to fit inside
their opinions.
My strength
is a river—
steady, shaping stone.
Not loud,
just unshakable.
I wear peace
like armor.
My crown
is quiet,
but it shines.
I held my fire—
and lit the way.
They built walls;
I planted roots.
They looked down.
I looked within.
I never needed noise
to matter.
I did
what I wanted.
Kay wanted a hippopotamus
for Christmas,
nothing else would do,
her family bore the witness.
She did not want a fancy doll
or a fuzzy teddy bear,
She did not want a frilly dress
or sparkles for her hair.
Santa crossed the isthmus
with water on both sides,
he found the mighty river horse*
and shrank it down in size.
Santa made his run
on snowy Christmas Eve,
Placed the beast below the tree
and turned around to leave.
Little Kay was standing there
wiping sleep away,
She hugged pink hippo very tight and knew
her life would once again be gay**
* "hippopotamus" comes from Greek words meaning "river horse".
**”gay” meaning “lighthearted and carefree”.
Yes, it is I that you have reason to thank,
and you who are so rude and rank.
Why do you say that my friend?
You will remember me in the end.
Though many times we laughed and drank,
in all honesty, I thought you stank.
Yes, we two, would, our elbows bend,
oh, the excruciating time we'd spend.
I think of your merits and draw a blank.
It's from your odor I always shrank.
You have no honor to defend,
as a human being, you at most pretend.
Why do you ask me to walk the plank,
I asked as I then slowly sank.
Within the cemetery they'd wait
For him to walk fast past the gate.
They knew he had an inward fear
This cemetery was haunted here.
A joke his friends would play on Jim
Would hide away unseen by him.
So, when he hurried past they'd yell
Jump up and cry "You'll go to hell."
But, Jim got wind of their fun prank
Crouched in a big white sheet he shrank.
Ran up behind them, yelled out "Boo"
A mess they left! I'm telling you.
Once well-intended
morning sun alarmed my rise
voices stirred the field
tasks like steady watering —
enlisted day's living work
Then the old gates closed
the pathway seldom walked choked —
soil forgot the spade
plants shrank back for want of care
petals curled back deep within
Left unattended
the garden grows weeds of woe
memory withers —
branches sag beneath own weight
the reek of neglect lingers
Yet the ground still sighs
waiting for hand to return —
the soil lies furrowed
awaiting seeds cast resown
to sprout green in silent spring
Time to grasp the rake
kneel again between the rows
weed the listless out —
let gardening be mind's cure
for hiatus after frost
You can’t defeat me!
You can’t stop my crimes!
I’ll someday get it right, you see,
I’ll even do it speaking rhymes.
I can rob a bank.
I can end it all.
Your hero powers have been shrank -
Or is it shrunk? I can’t recall.
That’s besides the point.
I’ll still win this day.
I’m so sorry to disappoint,
This will be your demise, I say!
Why destroy, you ask?
I don’t really know.
I haven’t had a tragic past.
I guess it’s fun to be your foe.
It is a pleasure
To rob this here vault.
I do not need all that treasure,
But I do need the extra…salt!
Yes, you are a salty,
That’s what makes this fun!
I love this strife and your faulty
Attempts to stop what I have done.
But you can’t win me!
You can’t stop my crimes!
This time I got it right, you see,
And I did this while speaking rhymes!
Written: February 03, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Charles Messina
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This clock let forth one painful scream
Bliss time shrank, as a speck of dream
Just one drop of rain ruined peace
Must hide from massive flash near trees
Charm of winter was freezing love
Smarm melted as spring leaped above
If that was love or sigh, it's slow
Stiff time—season fleeting the glow
It was a big backyard,
big enough to hold
the imagination of a boy -
trees to climb,
sheds to explore,
a large lawn to swing a bat
or kick a ball
and in a quiet corner,
a sanctuary for prayer
when my grandmother,
bent over and groaning
with angina, had me
go there and ask God
for help.
There were long summers
of almonds, plump grapes,
peaches and apricots
and cold winters bursting
with big, bright oranges.
There were places where
you could heal a hurt
or hide when bruised and full
of fear. Sad how it grew
smaller with the years
like an old religion,
less important to life,
ignored until it shrank
to the size of a lemon tree
nourished only
by the beer filled bladders
of teenage boys back from
the local pub,
dying for a pee.
"Show and tell suggestions the opposite, that sometimes their way doesn’t work." Quote by poet
Mimsy Loved to Mimic
Mimsy so pretty
Loved her little kitty
So very bitty
Mimsy so very witty
Followed and tried to mimic
Her little kitty
Mimsy played with its toys
That made lots of noise
Kitty moved with enormous poise
Mimsy’s mommy gave kitty
A bowl of milk
Mimsy wanted a bowl of milk
Kitty lapping its milk
Mimsy on all fours with milk
On her face tried lapping the milk
Not a drop in her tummy and a blank
Face, Mimsy frustrated and thirst, sank
Shrank her shoulders, picked the bowl up and drank.
9/10/2024
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