Diatribes focus their galvic courses that run pure elixirs through the festival of blithe soon to become ribbons of unfurling sulfur that putrefaction molts sun-like claws of flames that ensconce the sarcophaguses it is in truth a graveyard and a shift to be had in it, the myriad of barbaric strides just caught in the upwelling, so prance beneath the stellar blue moon that visits so infrequently as sure as the night's first bloom.
Sits the monkish owl.
Beneath its own cowl.
If not candled and windowed, lit as
Soft, meditative.
That, wakeful, before
Sinks, wearily, more.
Grass-burnt, sunned life. Flashed too lewd, pranced through.
Dawned; hell-reactive.
The kitchen clock upon the
wall,
Is keeping watch over the
hall.
It counts the seconds as they
pass,
Like tiny grains of hourglass,
And speaks in ticks both high
and tall.
A big green tree stands in
the park.
It has a coat of bumpy bark.
It shades us when the sun is
stark.
Big subdivision.
New houses on ground.
Sitting, just plonked there
with nothing around.
So close together.
How could they cry?
Without the neighbours
wondering why?
It happened before.
On our paddock too.
Homes for others,
all shiny and new.
Some might think,
About times before,
When sun hit the ground
and rain too and more.
The falling of trees
and planting of crops,
The sticks and leaf litter
no longer on top.
The house that I grew in
once wasn’t there,
but I don’t think
that I was aware.
The kitchen, my bedroom
had always been there.
Hadn’t they?
Touch me ever so gently
where my heart once was.
Appease its clinging pulsing ache.
Heal me as only you can do.
Set the night aglow with golden glitter,
your warmth is like a soothing balm.
Come closer and whisper to my ear.
Tell me everything I long to hear.
AP: 1st place 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
Dove sits on a bench,
her feathers glow in the sun.
"Great Scott its sunny!"
Time stops for no one Poetry Contest
Sara Jama
From the first heartbeat to the very last
From the first cry to the last gasp
Life and time rise and then fall
The hands on the external clock never pausing
As the legs of the day keep moving
From dashing sunrises to dashing sunsets
To the everlasting stars and moons in the sky
To the gravitation pull of the tides
Life keeps marching on
Orchestrated like and infinite
To the rhythm of the seasons
To the spins of the earth
Time never sits
Time never sits for anyone
Even when we're gone
As the sands of time
Funnel through our hourglass
Methodically, esoteric, and destined
Each pebble is a milestone in our lives
Each pebble adds purpose to our internal clocks
These heaps of pebbles lead us up the hill and down
From the first baby steps, childhood to adulthood
And to the lifetime of discoveries
From baby blues to aging greys
These stepping stones mark time
And our existence though short-lived
Where our internal clocks naturally yield in the end
As light begets darkness
And only then does the time sit inside our window
Outside nature continues its course
The visitors arrive and I must bear
Their comments are not that I really care.
I stare at them as they would stare at me;
Until they break the ice, act so beastly.
Listen to their litany of abuse,
"Look well, her eyes are closed, having a snooze?"
"Isn't this an invert of a known painting?"
"Nice auburn hair though she looks like fainting."
"Not as good as Mona, now that's a dear."
I cannot understand why they come here.
They dare compare me to that wanton lass
How many men know she was sick, alas?
Finally, they leave except for one man.
I know that I can return his love for me.
If it were in my power down I'd come
Leave this mural, on his lips and kiss him some.
The painter draws our love and endeavour,
Happy; we'll be each other forever.
I had heard about the new gardener down the road for years.
She had been unwelcomed by neighbors because of their fears.
Has a lion for a pet, and sits on him too, one of them told me.
I brought over a welcome basket of fruit and some peach tea.
I would have been here sooner, but I used to work I said.
Now I am retired, and do not care if I wash a dish or make my bed.
She introduced me to her lion, he was docile, his name was Fred.
Strong feelings about getting away came quickly to my head.
He has never bitten anyone, the gardener told me that day.
But we love each other, and he really likes to play.
Would you like to play hide-and-go-seek with us?
I have to go see my cousin, I lied. His name is Gus.
Scottish dog sits on his Celtic mama’s lap
Barking, growling, and lunging at every sap
Who dares to try to court his mama, Miss LaBlap.
You’ll never get married, says her Grandpa Rap.
That may be says his granddaughter, who likes to clap.
But I need my doggie, he keeps suiters from annoying me during my nap.
You are the only woman I know who likes being single said Grandma Rap.
Scottish dog began growling at her too, and lunged at her lap.
There sits the City Gold
Where robbers ne'er grab hold,
Nor rot, nor moth, nor mold.
There sits a lava moat
Not passable by boat
Nor rope, nor writ, nor hope.
Outside the people scheme
As wise as any seem,
To enter, distant dream.
And there the doctors sly,
Sell passage to passers by.
Yet all who purchase, die.
This city, see, is truth.
Those lofty minds in booth,
They're selling dreams as proof.
And yet the saddest part,
When science falls apart,
And might, and math, and art,
Is entrance granted free
To all who'll come and see
This Hebrew on the tree.
She sits on the outer looking in
As the party is in full swing
Another family gathering
With all the happiness and laughter it brings
Her family….children and grandchildren
Her reason since their birth
Nurturing, worrying and loving them
Her purpose on this earth
She reflects back on their younger years
The days of prams, parks and play
Of afternoon naps and cuddles
Forever sharing their days
Always being needed
The apple of their eyes
Knowing their lives entirely
There to comfort their cries
Adults and teenagers now
The years have brought changes
No longer knowing them as she did
Absent are the daily exchanges
Without question their love for her has not altered
Yet the circle of life forever turns
She sits on the outer looking in
A stifled tear falls as her heart yearns
Sitting by your side he sits
“His arm around you and says,
It's okay to let go,
I'll always walk beside you
And lay my head by yours.
Never worry, for I'll always be with you. “
1/28/2023
Haven’t sorted this years poems
And another year is looming
Yet my fingers dance and play
Upon the keyboard every day
Some say the poems that I write
Are seamless, flowing, very tight
Others pass them, look away
Refer to them as cliched, trite
Yet being “kind” I don’t reply
Just shake my head and sadly sigh
For they have missed the subtle twists
Of metaphoric word play trysts
So carry on you daring digits
Whilst the muse sits idle, fidgets
Write on, write on, add one more poem
To last years ever growing tome
John G. Lawless
©12/22/2022
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