plopping down ‘midst marshmallow grounds
the bunnies advanced by leaps and bounds
ahead of the hounds who the marshmallows found
~ tastier than bunnies pound-for-pound
It's been many months since I saw 'Malice'
In fact, she was hard to recognize
There's a faraway look in her bloodshot eyes
She resembles a Michelin man with loads of spare tires
Her blue and white dress is strained at the seams,
Good god she's put on so much weight
It must be so annoying
that she can't slip through the wormhole
to cause havoc with useless debating.
Perhaps, her ego needs deflating
How I'd love to burst her bubble
after she's caused so much trouble.
A runner plagued
by endless thirst,
tried all manner of things
to end the curse.
A camel bag or bottle
slowed his pace.
His yen for simple,
lasting relief, became a race -
Relentless!
Seeing smooth pebbles
in the bed of a stream,
he took a pea-sized one;
stowing it under his tongue.
His saliva flowed;
his thirst was gone, up-aweigh!
Until the bump, the trip;
the slip from tongue -
Breathless!
He slipped away? Or did they take him?
Stranger things have happened, have they not?
Why do I ask so many questions of myself?
Or am I asking questions of him?
I could make statements.
He went off of his own accord.
This is one of his stranger happenings.
I have to ask so many questions.
So, this could be a question.
Or is it a statement?
This is why I ask what I should say.
Am I happier quashing questions?
Is this so? Yet surely not.
They took him. He slipped away.
Did he slip away?
Or did they take him?
(placed 15 Jul 2025)
Before a misty morning mirror
above a half-filled basin
such cold water was I braving
simply to lave my face in
but the coldest cut of all
and it only hurts when I smile
I severely slit myself while
I was busy shaving
but did my frozen fingers fumble
or was it just a rusty razor
which sorely needs replacement
that figured in my defacement
as there were many a slip
'twixt blade and lip
M-any
Y-ears
L-ooked
A-t
F-alling
L-eaves
O-f
R-apid
H-ours,
E-ven
R-emembering
E-ach
D-ay's
E-rased
R-ecent
O-pportunities
©bfa060125
Monocrostic (Birthday of Mylaflor C. Heredero)
Why do we do the things we do
of all the everything under the sun
why do all those crazy things can’t ever be undone
it's beyond belief if it's not one thing it's another
between you and me don't know why I bother
sometimes we slip stumble and fall
trip tumble and fumble the ball
that's the way the cookie crumbles
why do we say the things we say
when there's everything else instead
why use such stupid words can’t ever be unsaid
until you go out on a limb you’ll never know the view
it's nice from far but far from nice
true from far yet oh so far from true
when thunder rumbles here comes the rain
no umbrella soaking wet again
that's the way the cookie crumbles
why do we choose the things we do
with all the everything else to choose
why decide on pointless wrongs can't ever hope to use
it's beyond belief if it's not one thing then it's another
and sometimes it's both why do I even bother
be it ever-so humble as if that's not all
give it the gas and the car will stall
hey that's the way the cookie crumbles
I don't leave all at once, but slip away like ink running off old pages,
Like a song you swore you'd never forget, until you do.
It starts small—your name becomes foreign on my lips,
Your messages remain unread, not out of anger, but from a strange helplessness.
You don't ask why, maybe you don't notice, or maybe you just let me go,
And that hurts the most—not that I faded, but that you watched.
You let me dissolve into silence, to become a shadow of a thought,
To lose the weight of my name, to become an echo lost in the wind.
Tell me—did you ever truly see me, or did I disappear from the start?
A silent dance of shadows among memories, each step a whisper of goodbye,
In this labyrinth of silences and echoes, I wonder if I was ever more,
Than a blurred dream in a universe where words scatter like leaves.
We remain prisoners of our own illusion, searching for meaning in the void between us,
A void that deepens with each day that passes without us touching,
And in this silence, questions dance like stars in an endless sky,
I wonder in the quiet of the night if I was ever more than a faded dream.
I have learned to exist in the shadows, to slip through glances,
To be invisible in a crowd of faces, a different face for every room,
A sweet smile for strangers, a false tenderness for lovers,
A deep silence that echoes in my soul, an emptiness I keep only for myself.
I have been everything they wanted to see in me, a sculpture shaped by expectations,
But never something I could live with,
A collection of roles, a theater of others' desires, an echo without its own voice,
A soul that cannot find its place in the mirror of lies I've worn.
I wonder if I will ever find that corner of peace where I exist alone,
Where I can strip away the masks that are not mine,
To look myself in the eyes of sincerity and accept my imperfections,
To learn to live not just for others, but to be myself, to be whole.
Avoiding earthquakes
on sidewalks,
hill climbing with blind moles,
trekking between
heaven and hell.
All this
while eating
an ice-cream cone
in a midnight furnace.
Lightly
we walk a tightrope
of visibility,
sliding through
an ever reborn
birth canal.
why… how come…
the world’s not at peace
~ egos unchecked
When did it all slip away,
How did the world and life I
Remembered simply go
Astray?
Friends that shared memories with me are now all gone ,
Leaving me here to sit and wonder why was
I left to carry on.
Carry on to what and why I do not know,
And left me standing here a stranger
In a strange land not knowing where to go.
I ask you please show me the way,
Bring me out if the darkness
So once again see the light of day.
I ask you only show to me,
The path out if this darkness and to my new reality.
i carved on the stream
seated on her mossy edge ---
monkeys were watching
The rote shivery wind is Winter's maid—
she breaks heart to own the season's floor;
via frost's degrees in my throat,
while my glean lancet's chills burn.
I tape her over my
skin; my fingers in
our stitches show—
her peel true.
Gloves are
off.
Speaking ill of others, gossip, carrying tales
the quickest route to hell's fiery jail
for the mightiest weapon of war is the tongue
Who lives, who dies -- a civil tongue's praises are sung
or for lack of same on the gallows is hung
Related Poems