Your lips, like the hues of a rainbow light,
Your white skin, stained in a milky glow,
Your dazzling hair, swaying upon the meadow bright,
Your skin, softer than the softest falling snow.
The rainbow light, beholding your lips of grace,
Fades away, leaving only a scarlet dye,
While the milky glow is buried in your skin's embrace.
Your dazzling hair shines brighter at the meadow’s silent greeting,
And the winter snow, touched by your beauty, turns to a gentle flurry.
In a midsummer night’s dream,
I met you and became a flower.
Offering all my scent to you,
A petal's kiss, like our very first hour.
Your lips, like a blossom of scarlet hue,
Your skin, stained in a milky glow,
Your eyes, like the falling flakes of snow.
Since all of this is but a passing dream,
Kiss not my petals, I pray,
But pluck me by the roots away,
And plant me in the pot within your room.
For I shall offer all my sweet perfume
Unto you, and you alone—
So cast away all other scents you’ve known!
An ethereal resonance
materialized.
A lingering echo beckoned.
His distant call vibrated.
Across the vast, celestial
architecture,
A whispered cadence
fractured through the gloom.
An unexpected, phantom
architecture,
Dispersing shadows in my
quiet room.
That auditory silhouette
suspended,
A vocal silhouette of warmth
and grace.
With every breath, the
quietude appended,
Illuminating all this empty
space.
It was a vibrant, sonic
invitation,
A gentle summons from a
hidden shore.
It sparked a strange, internal
inclination,
To seek the melody I once
ignored.
Is it wrong
to want to kiss your collarbone
Knowing it is an impossibility
Is it wrong to
Want to be yours
To hope against hope
for something that cannot be
To want to etch the shape
of your eyes in the back of my mind
to want to remember them forever
Is it wrong
that I recognize your silhouette
In the distance
to want to caress your face
to be able to hold your hand
to want to hug you
when I feel like giving up
Knowing it cannot be
Is it wrong
to be feeling this way
I am a silhouette of myself
feeling prickly and ornery
a whisper of a shadow of the real me
I float wordlessly through caverns of my mind
hiding emotions from the entity who claims me
answering the phone is too much these days
going for a walk is about all I can muster
depression keeps me down in shadow form
Saw an eerie silhouette of a young witch
her background being the moon so full
jack-o-lantern laughed so did the switch
she rode a straw broom, during the lull
Harvest moon was yellow, bright and rounded
night was pregnant with anticipation, eager to please
a Halloween sight to mull, I myself was astounded
some saw the witch, others feigned a tease
what witch? I have no idea what you are speaking of
But I could still see her there, riding her broom above
my relatives try to ignore things like this quite a bit
If it does not make sense to them, they claim to not see it
A velvet skin, a golden glow,
Where the savanna breezes blow.
The eye is caught, a pleasant sight,
But perfection, they say, is not quite right.
If the chest holds fruits of heavy prize,
The seat is small, a modest size.
A bust that whispers
Look at me
Leaves the hips a slender tree.
Yet, if the hips do softly sway,
And the "Yansh" takes over the day,
A shelf that stands with gentle pride,
The bosom small, has nowhere to hide.
Yet in this dance of form and grace,
A unique beauty finds its place.
Each silhouette, a story told,
In patterns vibrant, brave and bold.
With strength that carries through the years,
A laughter that dispels all fears.
The elegance of every stride,
With dignity and inner pride.
No single mold can ever hold,
The many wonders to behold.
In every height and every line,
A radiant spirit starts to shine.
So walk with grace, with head held high,
Beneath the vast and watchful sky.
In every features' soft release.
Draped trees, etched in crimson fire,
Sun’s last kiss, as day retires.
Scattered clouds, in dazzling dress,
Raindrops hang, a jeweled caress.
Rainbow’s Bridge, across the blue,
Violet-green, and reds anew,
Sahara’s winds, a whispered sigh,
Hot sand dances underneath a fiery sky.
Snowy peaks, in crystal light,
Flakes like stars, taking flight,
Frozen frost, upon the pane
Winter breathes, a chilling reign.
Warm mist rises, soft and slow,
Kissing earth, a whispered flow,
Fog ascends, a silent shroud,
Nature’s secrets whispered loudly.
Hailstones ping, like needles fine,
Tiny tines, a silver wine.
Thunder cracks, a lightning’s tear,
Gray skies weep, the winds hold fear.
Hurricanes, with winds that moan,
Ocean’s wrath, upon the stone.
Trees uprooted, in twisting dance,
Twister’s fury, given a chance.
This silhouette is a stage so grand,
Nature’s drama is close at hand.
From fiery dawn to frozen night
Her beauty is vast, her power, bright.
So let us stand in awe, and humbly see,
The silhouette of nature, wild and free
weary at dark o’clock
lantern light finds the path
to your silhouette
Falcate glistening moon tonight,
upon the starry sky shines bright,
the satin smooth milky moonlight,
flowing through Himalayan heights,
silhouette of Shiva in sight,
a time to pray in god’s own light,
heart is calm within and quiet,
crescent moon’s divine bright midnight.
Placed first
OXYMORON Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
01/September/2025
The bloody stranger stank of rank grass and
Animal grime and strutted unnoticed on
Our threshold on a long, misty night.
Lightning, unaccompanied by rain,
Exposed his grisly image,
Comprehended quickly by the village griot,
A humepenthe with seeing eyes, though blind,
Who could smell danger even from long-dug holes of
Doss-houses from distant caverns.
A common, vile dictator is abroad tonight!
Dancing in my room as the daylight fades
my silhouette turns pirouettes on the window shade
how much love does it take to break the spell
and shake this gloom I know too well
rainy days I've had my share
the outlook it's not always fair
searching for a way reaching out for you
'til you return and make the sun shine through
slipping into dreams as twilight falls
my fantasy's reality 'til tomorrow calls
how much faith does it take to make amends
and wake this love in you again
lonely nights I've known a few
that cold cold wind it cuts right through
looking for the good hoping for the best
wanting all your love getting by on less
and I'm talking to the man in the moon
telling him I'm missing you
walking with the man in the moon
wondering if he's ever been this blue
a whiskey stained silhouette outlines your figure
and the spiced smell of your breath lingers in the air
drunken lies in the late hours of the night make us both forget about how bitter, our lives taste
filling your soul with fire and regret every sip you take
swallow the flame, it sets fire to the heart
the burning sensation takes away the heartache
at what cost is this okay?
you’ve lost yourself
a mere lifeless clone of your body
walks around without a care in the world how his actions affect somebody
They see my outline, never my core
A silhouette against their expectations.
Their whispers trail behind me like shadows,
Interpretations I never authorized.
I speak in colors they refuse to see,
My words are distorted through their clouded lens.
When I reach out, they flinch from phantom claws,
Reading threats into my outstretched hands.
I am tired of this constant translation,
Of shrinking myself to fit their narrow frame.
The wild truth of me beats against my ribs,
Demanding air, demanding space to grow.
Beyond these walls of judgment and assumption
Lies a world unmarked by their definitions.
I long to shed this skin of their perception,
To step outside and breathe without their gaze.
Not exile, but freedom that I seek
To be neither monster nor myth,
But simply myself, uninterpreted,
Authentic under an open sky.????????????????
From where she headed
in an unknown direction
Since that moment,
I haven't been able to get
in touch with my relatives.
So far nothing is known
about her whereabouts.
In the breadth of madness,
A silhouette twisted by illusion,
Flows the molten stream of evil,
Into the chasms of his gray dreams.
The rebellions of flesh, heavy with indolence,
And the barrenness of bleak thoughts,
Scratch at the dignity that follows sin.
The insanity of a mirage,
Rising from the depths of the soul's cellar,
Unleashes its poisonous whip,
And whispers, again and again—
You are sinking;
You are sinking.
And the threads of survival,
Somewhere beneath the roots of belief,
Are shrouded in moss.
Ah,
You are sinking,
And the reflection inside the mirror
Bears witness to a cold, bleak corpse,
With hands long past their trial.
I wander slowly,
Let the mirror whisper my name,
yet the reflection, it seems,
Has been possessed by another voice for years—
A voice that abandoned me
In a place amongst decaying thoughts,
Fighting for a belief
That was never truly mine.
And now, I hear it,
Behind leaden coughs,
And smell it,
Amid the fragrance of dried flowers.
And I see it
In a spring
That has long since spat
On the balance of the seasons.
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