In grand lehengas, women gather beneath the waiting sky,
Thaali in hand, their hearts filled with faith and love.
Their voices rise together in melodious bhajans,
A chorus of prayers carried softly into the night.
The day has passed in fasting, patience and devotion,
Now every eye searches for the moon behind the clouds.
For the moon is the long-awaited blessing of the night,
The silver signal that turns fasting into feasting.
Slowly, the clouds drift, hiding and revealing its glow,
Testing the patience of women dressed in festive splendour.
Then, little by little, a white ball of light appears,
A milky diamond glittering in the dark sky.
The thaalis shimmer, the prayers grow softer,
And love waits for the moment of breaking the fast.
A little water, lovingly offered by the husband's hands,
Becomes a sip of affection, faith and togetherness.
Gifts follow, smiles bloom, and prayers turn into gratitude,
For a husband's long life and a marriage filled with love.
Moon, come out soon—shower us with your pure light,
And bless our married lives with bliss, love and everlasting light.
Soon to be replaced by AI
Some poets curse
Others yearn for
the 'good old days'
of wracking our brains
for just the right metaphor
or the perfect simile
So. I plead guilty to writing facsimiles
~ ‘cos NONE of the above applies to me
may starts summer off.
june best month with birds singing.
july a 250 birthday.
aug is summer ending soon?
fall dressed in pretty colors.
For egregious war crimes against fellow Australians, on fifty seven counts' injecting bio-hazardous substances, false
Imprisionment, false information terrorisomg a whole
population, creating un-law.' Denying
Recourse to medical records to ascertain
Causes of death, and how funds were
Allocated, just a few events and actions
Here, all the best to Steven Spiers as
He gets his case together, which i feel
Hardly needed, as recent history corroborates all claims that will be brought.)
The sun stays out longer than usual
My shoes dusty from the road
My ice cream melting quickly in my hand
Music plays softly through my earbuds
The air slightly smells warm after the downpour
Kids laughing all up and down the street
The pool water shines all shades of blue
My friends out and about after sunset
We talk about random, interesting things
Sometimes summer feels endless
Every year it feels too short
I miss my friends more at night
Fireflies glow in the darkness
The sky, pink before dark
I watch the clouds coast by slowly
The ice in my drink melts before I finish
Late nights have my mind racing
Old memories come easier than other times
I smile more during June days
Everything feels lighter for some reason
Even sad thoughts feel softer
The night air feels calm and peaceful
Summer always leaves too soon
Soon and very soon
I will see the king
I hope he will
Take away my morning blues
Yes I am still tired
I wished I could go back
To bed
But I can't
If I do that my king
I won't sleep at night
So I must stay awake
Yes my king
Every night I go to bed early
I never stay up past my
Bed time
Because if I did that
I would only get a few hours of sleep
And I would not be ale to function
I would have bags under my eyes
President John Kennedy,
A very wise man was he,
He spoke about the moon
And won the election soon.
These fowl and these fish
Skyey and stream-clear
Marked as by a group mind alone
To move as one.
These two, grasping
Overhead, below
Intrigued, but their feeling-nature.
Love's own space does lure.
Inklings of spring begin to stir
through the chirps and twitter of a red tailed messenger
hidden amongst the dawn and bare-boned branches.
It sings like a soul that breathes into long dreamt things,
nurturing the pulses waking with the stirring streets,
kissing the sky with its sharp obsidian beak.
It carries pockets of sunlight beneath its wings
like the soft swaying promise of budding flowers
inching towards the evergreen.
Kept in the quiet quarters of the morning,
echoes of birdsong scatter and return; they rise,
yearning for the warmth of the climbing light,
opening the Earth petal by petal
until the world unfolds into a pathway to spring.
Hugging my oak; vibrations of Spring,
tingling of potential and potent buds.
Robins and woodpeckers inspecting;
a hawk dives, evens out, sees life
on the ground; seeds twinging with
excitement, ready to break ground.
We are in the waiting room. Buzz of
monotone before the sun goes full throttle,
and dandelions and daffodils delight us.
Rose petal brushing on rouge and lipstick.
Ooh…ooh…ready to breathe in the snow
and cherry blossoms of tangible trees!
So, so ready to walk in the zeal of zephyr,
to whirl around the buzz of bees and chirps,
those lovely birds rejoicing with one another.
Put on your Easter bonnet! Why wait! Praise!
Waiting patiently for spring's arrival.
The snow is melting far too slow.
Dreaming of colours and sunshine.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 3rd place 2026
I was warned of this time
Inevitable, they say
I wasn’t really blind
But shooed those thoughts away
Others loved to poke
And taunt, the end was nearing
I would nod, as they spoke
Knowing, while not hearing
You’re girl’s almost a teen
You’re far from her best pal
Though the fortunes did sting
I just upped my game and style
Perhaps I felt exempt
From the shunning other’s knew
Adolescence may not tempt
Our bond was far too true
But now I sit alone
While she’s locked in her room
Her least favorite person
It happened all too soon
I’ve been unashamedly holiday focused,
everything fit together like a puzzle,
all febrile worries were pardoned,
we took haven in our comforts.
I slept shamefully late,
We weaponized fun.
The world seemed parasitology free,
pharmacology, pathology and histology free,
if not entirely anatomy free wink wink
and except for my mom, assessment free.
It’s been great, it’s been Christmas!
But soon, my cares will, again, be fined tuned
by the Gordian knot of learning
and it’s ungentle reckonings.
If it weren’t all asked for - I’d be pissed.
.
.
A Song for this:
Coney Island Man by Swing Out Sister
Elderly man in a hospital bed,
terminal ticket to wherever.
Doctor enters cubicle
looks at chart, vital signs,
sighs.
Dying man opens his eyes,
points a weak hand, finger extended
to whatever. Speaks:
"Google me"
Patient falls back onto pillow
death already rattling.
Last words are weak, but clear.
"Oh, I forgot, Google sucks."
It's a puzzle,
one put down to deathbed dementia.
The year is 1990,
seven years before the launch
of a monstrous mind manipulator.
Our LORD is coming soon,
Let us get ready,
Morning, night, evening, noon,
Anytime, said He,
His beloved children
Will fly on a whim,
The race, those who still run
Will meet up with Him,
In the blink of an eye,
The trumpet will sound,
The dead will be raised high
From the shackling ground,
Archangel's voice, no doubt,
The heavens will rend,
From heaven with a shout,
The Lord will descend,
He'll come in like manner
As to heav'n He went,
Dead will raise in honour,
We'll join the ascent,
Caught up with them in clouds
To meet Him mid-air,
Go missing from the crowds
Who'll wonder and stare,
His saved children, we'll don
Immortality,
Death swallowed up in yon
Christian victory,
Let's comfort each other,
We'll be with the LORD,
Dead and alive together,
To JESUS restored.
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