Everything straight I am sure they can be
Picture frames off by a single degree
If off it is something I readily see
I’m uncertain why this is a bother to me
Stockings at Christmas hung all in row
The spacing is critical everyone knows
I put nails in the mantle to show where they go
Important to me that their place is just so
Items at dinner must be in their place
If not a straight line it would be a disgrace
The salt and the pepper then candle stick base
Butter and yes everything cause such distaste
A car parked just barely between the white lines
I don’t understand why to some it seems fine
To find something spaced that is plainly misaligned
It gives me such trembles that race down my spine
I’ve heard them suggest that mine is a disorder
They say I am obsessed if so just on the border
Compulsive I say not I’m just a bit smarter
To see disarray and bring all into order
All in all I say that I’m a fine guy
Perhaps a bit quirky I cannot deny
My positive spirit asks let this go by
But place things in order I so wish you would try
I was asked who I thought was my worst enemy
I hate to admit to admit but it just might be me
A sexual relationship
or an asexual one
depends if the spacing
~ comes undone
In the stillness of dawn, a primal question awakens,
A whisper that dances, a quest that never dampens.
On the blank parchment with lines, I lay my thoughts bare,
Each stroke of the pen, a truth I must share.
You define your font, size, and spacing that is life,
In the chaos of letters, I seek to find light.
In a sense, we are kin—words on paper entwined,
More woven than we know, in the fabric of time.
Shelter in syllables, where our stories reside,
Reaching for heights, aspirations as wide.
Like the ants in their labor, I’ll learn and I’ll grow,
Building bridges through trials, in the ebb and the flow.
Boys and girls, we gather, each voice a bright thread,
Mothers and fathers guide us, where hopes gently tread.
In the tapestry of society, we weave our tales,
Finding strength in our numbers, as each heartbeat prevails.
So why am I, a question that bends and expands?
In the ink of existence, I craft with my hands.
Through the lines of my journey, I’ll seek and I’ll find,
In the vastness of being, the answers unbind.
it is all about perspective I believe
not that my faith is big enough yet
but a short while ago which
seems like an eternity right now
my problems seemed as large
as I could have ever imagined in
self-inflicted short-sightedness
today they appear to me like
a fully grown elephant squeezed
into a miniature bird cage
the feeder quite empty apart
from nutrition for the truncated beast
key thrown away with no way to escape
pull out tray full of detritus
bar spacing tightly wound together
replacement thumb screws digging deep
into my skin parchment heart and soul
they say when it rains it pours
I was not prepared for the deluge however
apocalyptic floods and overflowing torrents
locked in a weir bursting all it contains
one more dry tear
and my drowning is complete
maybe someone can rescue
the cage and the trapped animal
words
emerge organically
as blossom
from
inspiration
&
embrace
a
natural
placement
to
visually
evolve
into
verse
in
a harmonious
dance
twixt content
& form
unfurling
as a flower
in the sun
on
the emotional landscape
of symbiotic
thought
becoming
a
rich tapestry
perceivable
wordplay
indentation
spacing &
line break
woven cadences
of expressive
effect
Before there was light
before there was sound
Gravity wandered
the universe round
Plotting the orbits
of things still to come
Spacing the essence
of all zero-sum
(Dreamsleep: June, 2024)
Finally music
Magically settles nerves.
Sounds all the slower.
Feelings slowly overtake
My innermost mind's own core.
words give a lively dance
not staying on the lines of the paper
or in left to right order
or even down the page order
letters are flinging onto the page in every direction
I just saw a crazed T jump onto a Z's back
C stuck out her tongue and two ran off to tattle
the verbs decide to outdazzle the adjectives
racing, chasing, facing, macing, spacing,
These wild wonderful words are excited and joyful
I happily give up the reins
leaning back in my chair
allowing yet another poem to write herself
as every good poem does
words give a lively dance
not staying on the lines of the paper
or in left to right order
or even down the page order
letters are flinging onto the page in every direction
I just saw a crazed T jump onto a Z's back
C stuck out her tongue and two ran off to tattle
the verbs decide to outdazzle the adjectives
racing, chasing, facing, macing, spacing,
These wild wonderful words are excited and joyful
I happily give up the reins
leaning back in my chair
allowing yet another poem to write herself
as every good poem does
some poems ask to be naked
they have no use at all
for punctuation
not even for an en dash
an em dash nor hyphen
they play with a flowing grammar
that must be read like water
or paddled through on a leaky canoe
the poet can then hide behind
these unchained words
while demanding to be truly heard
while of course
all the suggested literary pauses and in-breaths
can be just a matter of spacing
it is quite a scrabble game
one played with disjointed symbols
on blank tiles
a stylistic approach that can
if done right
be thought of as avant garde
or pointlessly regressive
but
we all like a nude
a form without garb and baggage
and perhaps some of us wish
wish we could walk on water sometimes
In her school The Readily Received:
Staff didn’t let herself be deceived
By flashed smiles finer than “How are you?”
“Last-minute sack letter always slew!”
A Good Montessori’s Love letter
Teachers handed it “See you, later”
And one had flared at me “Betrayer!”
For with speaker I was her payer:
“Miss Janice, time for your envelope
Plus Mummy’s Best Wishes as you cope…”
Tremble instruction I’d obeyed
And back home would lie in brooding bed:
A directoress that promptly pays
But eternally watching your ways,
Not once, not twice bilious anger grew:
A child in Rejected Red, not Blue…
A female teacher in trousers gone:
She shall her finish with Russian Gun;
One in body hug or the sleeveless
A quite mad thing as good as useless;
The Married risking poor child spacing
Their names on staff list to start tracing:
“Serious teachers their salaries need
No dime for ones who often breast feed.”
kitty
s t r e t c h e s
lazily
P.S. A brevette poem is formed by using three words: the subject (noun), a verb, a noun or adjective, in this exact order. The verb should show an ongoing action. This is done by spacing out the letters in the verb. Each of the three words may have any number of syllables, but it is desirable that the poem have balance in the choice of these words.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on May 10, 2025 for contest YOUR CHOICE E sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 8TH
we being aware...means
we are time-ware...meaning
we wear a 'where-ness'...whenever
we who...why's-which what?...when
we knead a...'some-how'
stans sand
Like an artist preparing his canvas and pallet,
I open a file and format the page.
I set the type style and font size and spacing.
It’s an ordinary ritual beginning the process
Of writing something someone finds extraordinary,
Or not. The merit of art is never predetermined.
December brings out the artist in me
When we decorate our Christmas tree
Spacing the lights out just so
Hanging bulbs that glisten and glow
It’s a masterpiece every year
Creating memories precious and dear
I love to sit and sip a cup of tea
Admiring the brilliant artistry
Scent of fir tree always reminds
This the season for joyous times
For goodwill and peace on earth
Celebrating our Saviors birth
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