At last count Saturn had 293 moons
One is larger than Mercury, 128 solar system M & M's
But, if somehow we could mount his wings and fly there
We couldn't stand upon the surface and gaze at any
We would sink in the miasma of our own demise
Ingesting vapor rising up from far below
Choking off any aesthetics we might hold
For any goddess that we have imagined
Our ticket to this underworld held over
A head that's thinking we should capture Titan
Artemis, Diana, or Selene might pale before them
But wouldn't pale by what's reflected there
Artemis retaining her ire and her vengeance
Selene and Diana at the crossroads stand as well
Their color eclipsed the while they faded
And we, whose love it is to gaze up at their orbit
Would lose the inspiration of the ages
Aged without the grace of beauty's presence
That our small world o'er time has thus afforded
Size matters... but no more than our perspective
in thirty seconds,
some seventeen thousands dead,
thousands men injured,
and half a million homeless
unlimited God power!!
As I turn away, no tears left to cry
We should’ve talked—I tried before goodbye
The love we laid to rest, now marked in chalk
Not all your fault, not mine—we both did our best
I keep what’s left locked deep inside
A place in me where you still hide
What can be said of the moments of life…
Hoarse voice , and the throat feels as if
someone is pressing it tightly like a crocodile’s grip.
Only the eyes remain open,like a river that has dried up,
yet still wishes to flow.
Nothing appears good to the eyes anymore.
iridescent wings
the size of a bumblebee
~ a large butterfly
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Piglet is small
but has a big heart ~
Winnie's best friend
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
There once was a lady of size
Who used to warm pies with her thighs
The sauce which was free
She kept on her knee
But where did she keep the French fries?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yuletide bells chime~
frost-kissed air hums silver echoes,
a hymn spun in ice.
Deep beneath the muffled snow,
roots dream of resurrection.
The first king-size bed was fashioned nearly two thousand years ago,
Not by Thomasville, Broyhill or Bassett, producers we all know.
There was no pillow-top mattress made by Sealy or Simmons for the bed,
Nor a chenille bedspread or foam pillow upon which to rest His head.
The bed was not located in a cozy Hampton Inn or Embassy Suites,
But in a lowly stable upon a bed of straw sans snowy-white sheets.
The First King-size bed was a simple manger for a Royal destined to rule!
The King of Kings was born whose birthday we celebate this joyous Yule!
Life hangs in the balance
Hands frozen, Scales tippin
Whens the Last time We had fun?
Your hair smells Like fry oil
You lay on my stomach
Til we pass out
dust-hushed
spine-cracked whispers~
words trapped in vellum veins
ghosts thumbing gilt-edged tragedies
quiet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
kitchen ghosts linger~
Mom's china chipped at the lip
still holds pumpkin spice
and the weight of empty chairs...
cornbread crumbling in silence
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a droplet of water trickling down a stone
leaves blowing into a sentence
the fluttering of moths against the windowpane
the speech between the words we speak and write
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
tranquility is white
it tastes like a medley of fresh fruit
it sounds like wind blowing through trees
it smells like ocean mist
it looks like a pool of still water
it feels like you’re floating on air
When I think of food and drink,
it's no surprise
the question does arise,
with booze some choose to let it breathe
and defer their bottle of wine,
I prefer to savour the flavour
and give mouth to mouth to mine.
(Que Syrah, Syrah!)
Some say, “The glass is half full,”
with accent on the positive,
some see the glass half empty,
and focus on the negative.
Two sides to every story,
supposedly that implies,
as for me I see
something else entirely.
And as for size I will apprise,
but, before I do, I beg of you,
allow me one more swig,
“Sláinte, salud, prost, cin cin,”
the glass is too damn big!
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