She sits there perfectly serene.
Her heart is at peace.
Her soul basks in harmony.
She soaks up the sun divinely blissful.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Life's storms help us grow.
The raindrops all come and go.
Sorrow soaks, lingers.
But the sun soon shines again,
Bestowing us a rainbow.
Most clouds have slipped away
pushed south by evening wind sways
in the brief raindrop spin,
breezes remain wide and thin
sliding through the rain
as the outer darkness gains;
by morning light
gone is the leftover black of night
eased as the weather soaks in and dries
in the slowed passing of 2026 July.
Off in the distant trees, locust repeat their calls
repetitious then silence falls,
but for the gatherings of crows
cawing loudly to the earth below,
birdsong melodic rhapsodies explode
in the cool of morning's flows
into the warm of sunlight clothed.
The blue skies return again
speckled with wispy white trends
puffed up clouds push in and out once more
revealing harbored glimpses of heaven's door,
there comes a calm, a peaceful paused interlude
as the sun the moon pursues
that will soothe the day's vermouth
with sweeter ingratiated fruits;
Noon arrives as nature thrives
all in living grateful to be alive
pulled into the rapture of life's inebriated delights
save for the fools whirling in constant human flight.
Scrolling is easy
You give into gravity
You need no compass
You endlessly go down
First goes your mind
It’s stuffed with gold and garbage until it bursts
Then your bleeding organs await maintenance
Then your gray heart and your dried up soul
Get caught in a wheel that is being continuously turned by you
But you have no control over it
And every voice that matters gets put on low low volume
So that you won’t be distracted from the deafening incoherent loop of nothingness and soul numbing diarrhea because your brain craves a reset and you run it low power til it dies
And you have so many tools and no supplies
And an inability to take truth from the lies
And when your cup overflows with poison it can seep into places of importance
And you use your brain as the sponge that guards your heart
That sits down at your stomach
And it drips and it soaks
And it leaks and it never stops and the noise
it never leaves
Maximum time for minimal attention
Nothing of note is worth a mention
It comes only by reflex and invitation
when I open the front door on a crisp morning and the warm sun soaks itself into my clothes and the doorway behind me; the feeling of undoing my hair after a long grueling shift; the feeling of pulling soft laundry out of the dryer; the feeling of laying down in a clean bed after a hearty meal; all the things' people find comfort in I find myself looking for you. you are my comfort. I like it here where its comfortable. I want to stay here where its comfortable.
While places vary across earth,
there is one where grief’s waste piles.
Atop gravestone where whispers flow,
it drips and drags where gravel bumps and scripture is engraved,
leading to fertile land
where one’s lost heart lays.
Where sheets and feather tangle,
screams and hair pulled and caught,
it is breathed in where fabric makes tracks,
and soaks the pained resting eyes of a lost heart.
In sterile and dreaded halls,
performance forgotten and all weight shifted,
and life’s direction now unknown due to ignorant laxity,
onlookers and a greater shift keep the lost heart internal and silent.
Our world spins but our sinews,
our tissues grow damper as we cry
whatever reason may be
whoever we call out for saviour,
we bathe ourselves as systole squeezes grief to the world.
soaks sunshine shimmer
fiery slant flower of joy…
golden glow showy
I pull out my watercolours
to try to paint what I’m feeling
Vibrant red stained by brown
Bright yellow blemished by grey clouds
But the blue, isn’t blue enough
No matter how much i try
Should mix in my tears
Or breathe in a sigh ?
My colours comes to life
Dripping onto my fingertips
As my hands sob onto the canvas
Puddles start to ebb and flow
The red is shocked by electrifying oranges
And seemlessly the ocher dances
The emotions glide through the water
Rippling in ever corner
My paintbrush soaks up the shadows hidden in
The umbra of my nights
The ones with which I put up a fight
The vista of shades become a philharmonic conversation
A babble of acute sensations
Dribbles of passionate abstractions
Mirroring my great sollitude
They wash out into the pot
and merge into a muc of liquidifyed spleen,
Gunky disquietude ready to be pored out of me
As i stain the paper and myself too
I giggle because now I really am blue
These stains stick to me
And now you can see
The true colour of my melancholy
I peel it slow, no rush, no shame
my body’s fire, you’re the flame
A snap of lace, a smirk, a grind
I leave your breath two steps behind
The room is thick with want and sin
I drink it up, it soaks my skin
A slip, a slide, a daring bend
I don’t perform, I just transcend
Make me man as soon as my youngster
knowingly receives their very last coddle.
The unconditional love curdles from
your loving mother’s teat.
Make it matter despite what you moo to cattle.
Prod the brittle; the previously dilly-dallied say,
“Tagalongs, hogtied stowaway freeloaders with
the trade inside loading and shipping containers.”
Longtime division produced its remainders.
A cove far off the oceans cost.
A cove in a periwinkle sea,
frothing with a bacterial foam
whipping up these sweet
whipped creamed treats
and other delights.
A fondant atop it all
till the klutz ruination
curses cause clusters of
curse wordings together,
finding their bindings.
Shame soaks the rag that wiped away
a distressed and disastrous look upon face.
Words impact with a continuous compound fracture
under the masterful tongue's dismantling of the
peace talks upheld on the other hand.
Tranquil sea soaks the stardust,
sparkling sequins dance on waves.
Silver lattice spreads on satin beach
with effervescent pearls of rapture,
adorns my serene shore of soul.
If forgetting is to life as remembering is to death; my fate is uncontrollable.
I can wish to erase memories and detach your existence from my mind pointlessly if I dare.
Though id much sooner give my breath up to have spent the last one reminiscing on everything you are to me.
If moving on is to forgetting as being stuck is to remembering; consider me comfortable in my place.
Accepting the idea that our story together has ended, that I should speak of you in the past tense.
The soul built on hope and bittersweet naivety that soaks up and creates my being wants to believe that this isn't permanent.
Given the opportunity I don't have faith in my own capability of seeing past all the pain I've been left to relish in.
Knowing you, the chance won't present itself.
A bridge I'll never have to cross, only one I can stand solemnly at the end of.
As the sun awakens over the trees
Its beauty shineth upon the jagged sharp rocks lay upon the dry path thirsty for salvation.
Birds too are perched upon a sole tree branch of no leaves to give it color in thus time of spring..no songs of joy no blue skies above as the time of spiritual dryness is upon me.
As I look upon the water of healing, as the rocks are transformed by the rivers current shaping their jagged sides, the birds are beginning to sing, Heavens skies have opened up, a steady sunshine shower soaks us in HIS repentance of GRACE..
As I look up,
A lone eagle has landed in the tree, seeking a resting place as to partake in the feast only GOD can provide, a pike fish sacrificed itself as to feed HIS creatures, as too my SOUL is renewed.
My feet I soak in Christ running brook, for it was by Jesus blood and water that we HIS children must drink and HIS body to live with HIM for eternity..
My life is not mine but For HIM.. I love you Jesus with all my heart.
I deny myself as to carry my Cross and follow YOU.
Crawdad soaks in mud
Luxuriates is the word
He smirks in silence
The night rain cooled the following day, making it feel like winter. Climate change continues to wreck the weather, and spring days bloom in winter. Earthworm carcasses rot in drying puddles. Freshly cut grass soaks the air and drowns the lungs. A murder of crows pecks at the bloated insect bodies floating atop the grass. Their joyous caws echo across the overcast sky. The feathers on their swollen bellies gleam from my car's headlights.
"I'll have the 3-piece chicken strip combo with hot sauce, and a medium Cherry Coke." A crow waits below the drive-thru window.
"Here's your order." Medium Cherry Coke crosses the facing windows. "Than—" The crow strikes the brown bag and spills the order on the floor.
"Please pull around to the front, and I'll redo your order." The crow's laughter reaches the front of the building and follows the fast-food server back inside.
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