Written: August 16, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Line Gauthier
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Afraid of Love’s flame, yet drawn to its name,
I almost said “I love you”, my demur to blame.
Curling my tongue—worrying you'd leave,
Love agony is louder than hope, if you believe.
In silent rooms, holding hands, we glance,
Both aching for a sign, a spark, a chance.
i roll the questions on my lips
uncertainty pierces my tongue
but through it all an autumn kiss
infects the wound it stung
to long for you is simple
to ask is far too wrong
for your eyes, a sign, a symbol
of where i can't belong
the shadows will lay heavy
when i lose my sun, my light
but two flowers can't grow steady
and you look so good in white
take my words as hardships
lose them to the sea
though you toss them off steep cliffs
my love, you shall forever be!
Each year I get a letter
To make sure that I’m not dead.
There must be other ways
To check that info out, instead.
It’s from the T.R.S.*, which holds
Retirement accounts,
Keeping track of teachers’ monies
In their varying amounts.
I guess that sometimes people die
And relatives or friends
Pretend that person’s still alive
To claim those dividends.
So I have to take a picture
Of my government I.D.,
Plus a photo of a newspaper
That’s being held by me.
The headline must be visible
To ascertain the date
And I have to sign a form that says
I’m living and not late.
With A.I. and technology,
It seems that such a shot
Must be easy for someone to fake,
But maybe it is not.
At any rate, I sent the forms
And hope when they arrive,
Whoever checks them out will see
That I am still alive.
*Teachers’ Retirement System
Red Flags
He hides his phone when you’re near,
Fingers fumble, clouded fear.
Notifications off at night,
Darkness veils the glaring light.
Silent whispers in his chest,
Half-truths spoken, half repressed.
“Just some work,” he softly pleads
But trust can’t bloom from poisoned seeds.
Location off, a phantom’s trace,
You’re left to wonder, left to chase.
His stories shift, they twist and turn,
Your gentle heart begins to burn.
In love’s sweet game, we learn to see
The masks they wear so carefully.
A flashing sign, a warning clear:
Red flags appear
believe them, dear.
I SIT IN STILLNESS, HOURS UNFOLD,
THE SKY TURNS SILVER, THEN DEEP GOLD.
A CLOCK TICKS SOFT UPON THE WALL,
A VOICE TO FAINT, A DISTANT CALL.
THE AIR IS THICK WITH MIGHT-HAVE-BEENS,
LIKE WHISPERED THOUGHTS ON QUIET WINDS.
EACH BREATH A PAUSE, EACH PAUSE A PRAYER,
FOR SOMETHING MORE THAN EMPTY AIR.
I PLANT MY HOPES LIKE SEEDS IN SAND,
AND STRETCH TIME OUT WITH OPEN HANDS.
THE WORLD KEEPS MOVING, UNAWARE,
WHILE I REMAIN, JUST WAITING THERE.
NOT ALL WHO WAIT ARE LOST OR WEAK,
SOME HOLD THEIR SILENCE WHILE THEY SEEK.
A LOVER'S STEP, A SIGN, A FLAME,
THE THINGS THAT COME BUT NEVER NAME.
SO I WILL WAIT, NOT OUT OF FEAR,
BUT FOR THE THING I HOLD MOST DEAR.
AND THOUGH IT HURTS, I STILL BELIEVE,
SOME GIFTS ARE SLOW, BUT WORTH THE GRIEF.
i live on Lesterford Street
it's not that i didn't consider other places
too bad I'm eight years old and don't know cursive
i wouldn't know how to sign a rental agreement
i have sixteen pennies in my piggy bank
too few for a down payment
and too few for McDonalds
so the only choice is Cafe Lesterford
where the rule is don't bite the hand that feeds you
even if it the hand feeds you off a knife
i will wait it out
when i find myself thinking,
i have to do it
it is time to ask
why would i want to
lick dinner off knives again
Zig-zag, zig-zag, what’s coming next?
Just corners, twists and bumps,
No glimpse, no signposted clear path,
Just loads of holes and humps.
Day after day, just up and down
And twisting round and round,
No indication anywhere
Of where the end is found.
So much of life zig-zags around
Surprising frights and fears,
Uncertainties, anxieties,
And even desperate tears.
But stop! Just look! A bright new light,
With path so plain displayed.
And there’s a sign, a lovely sign,
So clear, ‘This is the Way!’
Jesus there is always waiting.
Yes, he alone’s the Way,
Troubles he turns to singing,
Transforms the worst of days!
Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” John 14:6.
I could hear her beauty,
The music was just a noise,
The sparks in her eyes aroused my pity,
Denying her my touch could be a curse,
The roundness on her chest is the cause,
Under her black dress was the dance of her titty,
They're full on her chest as if they're 'bout to burst,
No! I rather turn them to my prettiest cuties.
The sexiness of her lips nearly stopped my pulse,
She's just too sexy to walk lonely round the city,
Tho', I know she needs lots of doughs in her purse,
Before her love can be in my kitty.
I don't mind! Her smile is just too pretty,
Her skin also glows and my palms can be its nurse,
Hope my feel of her freshness will not be gritty.
Oh! I'm already dreaming that she's in my house.
Then the music that came on was beaty,
Then I woke up to feel her absence across,
So, love has left me with loneliness to sign a new treaty,
Afterall, I woke up from this sweet dream to still carry my own cross.
Man to man
If you are a homosexual
You need to change—
I present a 'contextual' analysis
Based on a pretext and a post-text!
Your emotion is based on something
God 'your Source did not design'
Therefore. sign a 'new' beginning in your life
Be honest with God the Father and
Jesus can impact your life so that you
Can understand your purpose in life
Homosexuality is a perversion of the truth!
Do not remain perplexed or
You will be vexed with ‘deceit’
I might not understand your 'perspective'
But understand God's 'objective' when
He sent His Son to die for you and me!
Man to man
You need to change!
Homosexuality is wrong
My Government’s (Heavenly) position is clear.
Mark Frank
Copyright 2024
Ukraine and our shame
Now that Ukraine is pardoning prisoners
to join the army, except the violent murderers
(one would think the violent were the right ones)
it tells us of an army scraping the barrel of
recruits, all eligible men have fled, which is
understandable, why fight a lost war, a war
not needed if a sensible head had been heard
After, the then President Zelensky, had agree
a peace pact with Russia, an English emissary
told him not to sign, upon hearing this
thousands of young men hastily left Ukraine
The fact it was an English emissary is typical
the English has hated the Russians, since
a cousin of Queen Victoria was killed by
the communists
It is sad to notice after thousands of young
men have been killed, in this futile war
the West advice is for the ex-president
to find a peaceful solution with Russia
the many newspapers which condemned
and got us to believe in the many lies told
will now tell us the way to end the war is
to sign a contract, with the old enemy
Hidden in my eyes, a season of ice,
With frost-flowers in my hushed chest,
A hope passes through the barren branches,
A frozen dream that has become overly quiet.
A silver river that parts my life,
Flows beneath crystals pondering in the cold,
I await a sign, a ray to rouse me,
In the morning when the gentle poet watches.
A star ignites through the heart's long night,
With a thread of melancholy, it binds me to eternity,
I wish for peace to rise softly in my soul,
Like a tale written in the light of the bewitched star.
I soar across skies with wings of silence,
Among clouds of light snowfalls now,
The dream carries me, floats in mystery,
Each heartbeat is a sonorous echo.
I traverse a dream lost in silent times,
With steps of mist over slumbering lakes,
In every breeze, I feel a song that binds,
Reality and dream, in my sweet glacial night.
Oh, let us write of gentler things
Still wondering why “the caged bird sings”*
Or rise upon a thermal shaft
Of feathers drawn upon first draft
Or watch the sullied surf subside
As clean-up crew of ocean’s pride
Oh, let us dull the razor’s edge
And loudly sign a silence pledge
Deny the forest’s right to live
While sharpening the traitor’s shiv
Or are we but a single voice
Muted by the rising noise
Oh, let us cloak our metaphor
In words both good and bad adore
Hone it with sarcasm's wit
So both sides will lay claim to it
And chuckle as our pens run dry
Our ink the tears that poets cry
So here we go again my friends
A bunch more time has passed
Will the coming year be any closer
To a world at peace than the last?
I highly doubt it dearest ones
That's not the way it works
We think we're making progress
But we have the same old quirks
Perhaps if enough of you fine folks
Step up and sign a petition
I'll take it to our glorious leaders
And explain to them our mission
To see world peace within our time
Where nations put down their arms
For the common good of all mankind
Not another human harmed
You may call me a silly dreamer
Been called that name before
We all gotta step up to the plate
Or we'll just continue with wars
Probably don't have a chance in hell
Of changing a blessed thing
But at least let's make a real effort
So the bells of freedom may ring
I was a record producer and a star-maker.
The call came in on a Tuesday, a deal-breaker.
The wife cannot come, but can you sign a calf?
I thought I had heard him wrong, but not by half.
Did you say calf? I asked the guy named Larry McDad.
Yes, he said, she is the most gorgeous one we have ever had.
I was now confused. A bovine? A cow? A mooer?
Yes, and I promise, I will scrape up all of her manure.
“I am a record producer,” I told him. “Does this calf sing?”
“You are a promoter,” he told me. “This baby has zing.”
I made the appointment for the very next day.
He was right. This little beauty promptly blew me away.
She started out with “over the rainbow”
and she was as good as Judy had ever been.
She sang six more songs just as well,
and we put her back into the pen.
“How do I pay her?” I asked Farmer McDad.
“she likes straw and feed,” he said. “Does that make you mad?”
“And you get a percent?” I guessed right away.
“Yes, “ he agreed. “She can start singing today.”
I bring to you sweet pollen on my wings
You respond with sharp and prickly stings.
For I am here by chance fleeing the crows
While you dance to every wind that blows.
Perhaps for my sake we might sign a truce
for I am like a red light on a spruce,
and in return I’d carry on the wing
a song to praise the beauty roses bring.
And should you build a nest within our thorns
Would this complete the setting of our bonds?
That we might hear the cackling of your brood
While you spend both day and night searching for food?
And yet their hungry beaks would hunt and peck
To snack upon the mites that roses wreck.
So was it sealed this covenant of peace
Both shades of red had lessons they could teach.
©12/25/2022
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