The closer we became
the scareder I’d become
Inflicting pain
with the slightest look
No remedy in any book
One missed beat
a day, a night go by
Snarl at the other guy
Pause now in the dark
~ life is meant to be a lark
I wonder if my eyes have the strength to carry the dusk of my dearth.
They say eyes are the window to your soul.
But could the silhouette amplify the accosts of my void you claim with tangibility?
Could you name the poverty of my shadow within the dilation of my pupils, as they expand with a willingness unseen beneath anything but the weaves of your labyrinth?
Could you caress the convolutions of my heart, so twisted by the absent twinkle that determines the lifespan of my irises?
They speak a language so extraneous to the snarl of desperation; a hope clinging onto a surfeiting glut of insomnia.
They speak in syllables of a pitiful, pathetic articulation; a fleet of a cascading deluge.
They speak in a dialect so degrading to the ponder of my wondrous conclusions.
Not the ones you see in classrooms.
Not the ones you see in lectures.
But the ones you wish to lapse into; something as condescending as the melancholy of my amber.
And something as demoralising as the delinquency of my destiny;
The windows to my soul.
We fairies of frailty dream in the daintily dazed daytime,
We fairies of frailty surely shalln’t awaken to the morning shine,
Alight with the grace that surely shalln’t be mine.
Sleep to surmise a break to the eventide
To but breathe mine worries into the shallow moonlight
Say this can’t last forever when your stomach harrumphs like the rolling thunder
“So is life, and life is so”
We seem to spake the stars with a snarl,
And await a timely death beneath the growing snow.
“So is life, and life is so”
So one shall recover, to discover in the morrow,
The morning glow.
21//1//2026
If you are in your seventies you might remember
the movie Babes in Toyland that came out one December
The movie stars were in an enchanted forest with diabolical trees
Tonight, on Halloween, I could not help but think of the likes of these
Because down the lane where the party was twirling by the hour
Was a haunted house that had come alive, and had a super power
With a witch-like nose, she had a snarl, a sniffle, a sneeze and a sneer
I am not so brave, so began to shiver and shake wanting not to be here
What is wrong? Queried the house in a persnickety, evil, mean way.
I could not stop my quivering feet, they decided to not stay.
But try as they might, they could not move, let alone run away.
The haunted house held us down firmly on that terrifying day.
Engines snarl the quiet open. Our street forgets its name and becomes a dare. Headlights stitch the midnight dark too fast to hold, mailboxes flinch, trees lean back.
Tires scream first, then the sirens, blue red prayers bouncing off porches, windows waking like startled eyes. Someone laughs. Someone swears. Time skids sideways.
The cars vanish, but the echo keeps racing, heart still pinned to the redline, long after the law and the boys are gone.
Afterward, the street exhales. Oil hangs in the air like a secret. Dogs bark at nothing. A loose can rolls, applause with no hands. Tomorrow, chalk lines, rumors, scorch marks, proof that for seconds, speed owned us, and we let it.
© daniel miltz
We're just hand-me-downs,
dogs on the porch,
growling at something we
can't see yet.
I learned from you,
learned well,
that tenderness is the
sacrifice for safety.
I will wear your snarl,
from time to time.
I fear the hounds - ever they chase;
I must keep my pace or risk their overtake.
I fear the hounds, their hurtling pursuit;
I must watch my path to avoid rock and root.
I fear the hounds - ever they follow;
My feet must not fail me if I’m to make it to the morrow.
I hear the hounds, frantic as they bay,
My life the spoils they scrabble to claim.
I hear the hounds, and I wish to just rest;
I’m so weary of fleeing and giving my best.
I hear the hounds, and the temptation is great;
I slow my pace, and my end I embrace.
I see the hounds, and my blood runs cold;
They snarl with triumph and sprint to take hold.
I see the hounds - love of pride, love of me,
The easy path, wide and sloping in gentle degrees.
I see the hounds, and myself I revile:
Am I truly that tired, or just lacking the will for self-denial?
I flee the hounds; I lengthen my stride -
I’ll give them no easy victory tonight.
I flee the hounds - oh, they howl in rage;
They were just within reach of snaring their prey.
I flee the hounds through the brambles I run,
With faith that I’ll rest with the return of the Son.
I'm grumpy and I'm lumpy
Be nice to me or I'll snarl
Hurry up and feed me
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Oh, October, you fickle feline
A silenced garden holds its breath
Rose petals tremble in your chill
Maples bedecked in hoar frost white
Soft clouds rise from long idle chimneys
Cold worms wriggle ‘neath softening leaves
Squirrels draw maps of hidden treasure
Sparrows skate on the ice crusted bird bath
Oh, October, you stealthy creeper
Your shadows book flights for the geese
Scar-faced pumpkins snarl as you pass
Knowing your demons will soon arrive
Yet still you quietly purr
A harvest scented song upon cool winds
People
surround
but I’m always
alone
In naked
seclusion
fleeing
the throne
Caught in
the snarl
of their
consonant rhyme
Shunning
all
overtures
— fields still unlined
(Gardiner Montana: August, 2025)
Bark, snarl, moan
DON'T howl at the moon,
howl into charcoal night
where darkness hunts the hunted,
Where consistency is metaphor
barking from the trees.
Tip toe, nibble
20lbs of everything,
but when is wolf more than just a sheep?
Or when ignorance asks,
" how do you feel? "
So bark
snarl
moan,
then snap!
HOWL into the moon.
Good night, sweet kitty.
It is time for us to sleep.
The moon is out, the day is done,
It's time for us to dream.
What is that crash, oh furry one?
You say you see a bug?
I've looked and looked, nothing is there,
Are you sure it wasn't a dream?
I'm startled awake by an apparition,
a screech, a snarl, a scream
A furry streak of puffed-up fur,
a wailing and a keen.
It seems I forget to leave out treats,
Oh, how bad of me.
As the moon watches the exchange,
the cat reprimands me.
Here's your treat, my goblin child,
Oh, please forgive your servant, me.
Checked by www.howmanysyllables.com>syllable_counter
**************************************************************
Lost
The sun sinks low, the shadows grow,
No moon is out up high,
A chilling breeze begins to blow,
With stars up in the sky;
I wearily wade my way in vain
Across serpentine lanes of a forest,
Speckled with thick thorns and thickets,
But each time tumble at the same spot;
My heart is sore with seams of strains,
I feel lost in the night,
My feet are tinging with deep pains,
No pathway greets my sight.
Most of the trees seem to sneer at me,
Some to snarl like wild woeful winds
Treating the spot as their enclave,
A guarded setting of their own;
A voice soon whispers in my ears,
A voice from inner self:
“Move straight without a grain of fear,
And steer ahead yourself.”
Some other people’s dogs bite, snarl and snap like turtles on speed.
Our young puppy Beau dances, twirls, and bites his tail as if he’s on weed.
The other dog, Buddy, is a gentle giant, over a hundred pounds of love.
He was sent to us via a dumping, from angels who live well above.
It is no accident that God and Dog have the same three letters.
Beau, our deranged puppy is one of those romantic go-getters.
Being a retriever, he fetches everything – leaves, sticks, or a ball.
We are such dog people, we have four dog beds lying in our hall.
They might want to drink water, so we have six gray water bowls.
Buddy sits calmly while Beau digs enormous muddy burying holes.
They have personalities that keep us excited, they fill us with joy.
They want to eat our slippers and remotes, ignoring every dog toy.
Mister Misanthrope had given up hope
On the entire human race
He'd bark and he'd bleat as he walked down the street
With a grimace on his face
Each day he would howl with a snarl and scowl
Most folk scurried as he neared
He'd chortle of death with foul rancid breath
Which was exactly what they feared
The skies became gray the birds flew away
Even rats would turn their backs
The locals weren't dreaming went running and screaming
To avoid his verbal attacks
One day in the valley down tornado alley
There formed a massive cyclone
With joy they saw Mister riding that twister
Into the great unknown
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