If a poet writes in a forest,
and no one is around to read it,
does it make a poem?
The jury is hung, the verdict is split.
What’s up out there, darling dear
I’m missing your sharpness and wit
I witness more troubles from here
If this world is doomed to get split
Maybe one of its thousands of pieces
Will be suitable for habitation
A kinder God wouldn’t mind hear us
And softer will be every nation
And your little garden will grow
Bit larger and brighter each year
“The growing means work, as you know
Stop telling me these words of cheer..
You should say I wouldn’t be ill
With such a bouquet of diseases
That I could get over, until
You came with your stupid air kisses”.
Written: July 19, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Margarita Lillico
*****************
We have reached that threshold line,
Where split links and ethics entwine.
Can we mend the crack of the past?
And throw the stones of contrast?
Or do we strike a sudden spark,
To light the waters in the dark?
To vamp the fence takes patient hands,
To heal the shifts in broken lands.
But burnt piers moor the shore in place,
No more feet may roam back to pace.
One choice puts back a time spun,
The past, revived, but bridges undone.
When my personality was split,
I asked myself, which side's legit?
"It's me", an angelic voice then cried,
but the other said, "of course, he lied".
Will these voices flee or take flight -
or will, for eternity, they fight?
"What's wrong with me?", I sighed.
"Gee, I don't know", I replied.
"Wait, Dave, I think I've got it -
our personality is split!"
"That's the dumbest thing I've heard, of course."
"Pipe down and consider the source."
A split second
a mere centimeter
separates champions
from fame's cheated ones
Who came in second
no one remembers
dust-covered records
airless embers
Missed my birth in the sea country
Not as wintery as mine
French Riviera or Amalfi
Something like this I won’t mind
Always lacked the proper context
That could help me to feel good
This life used to be more complex
Than it genuinely should
Could have been a bit less worried
Bit more wealthy, more carefree
Could have known things not as horrid
As I do know things could be
Could have crossed Atlantic Ocean
For no reason but to roam
Moving over without motion
With my face splashed by the foam
None of that did ever happen
In accordance with some plan
Too much struggle with the wrapping
Just to see who is that man
It’s a hybrid thing I’m getting
Cause I’m split inside in two
One of me is here, regretting
Whilst the other’s there, with you.
Losing the battle,
A mind full of rattle,
Yet there's no way out.
Half full of ambition,
Half seeking the vision,
Still, somehow aligned.
Thoughts stir in a pot,
While I sit in the same spot,
Can you turn down the heat? It's starting to burn.
One side aims to be superior,
The other thinks she's inferior,
Please, stop the contrast.
I can't keep up, I'm not that fast.
One half wants to be the best,
The other just craves rest,
Why must there be two hemispheres?
How can a child so calm, so wise,
Grow into chaos, truth in disguise?
The change was unforeseen,
As is the path of this young teen.
They want to lock up Officer Crespo for 27 years
But is the case as it appears?
I got a letter from the Center for Police Defense.
They claim the accusation makes no sense.
Crespo was called for backup, drug dealers were speeding at night
They pulled over and pointed a gun, wouldn't that give you a fright?
He wanted to make it back to his four kids and wife
He managed to shoot first, killed but saved his life.
The court did not tell the jury about the drug dealer's crime spree.
Reading what he did that night, that doesn't seem fair to me
The guy had just beat up his girlfriend and he was high on a drug.
The car was stolen, the gun illegal, not the type to give a hug.
The letter made another claim: that the D.A. dislikes police
If the letter is correct, this witch-hunt must cease.
Cops don't start a day wishing to kill a man
Life in jail for manslaughter is not part of their plan.
If you get rid of good cops, someone else will fill in
You won't like the new enforcers; results will be grim.
I'm not a blind believer, we should follow every clue
But it's easy to make judgements when the gun doesn't point at you.
The longer in silence, the more you truly see,
that life is truly, both you and me.
Nothing matters, as it did before,
the day I walked in silence’s door.
You become center of attention you see,
what moves about, is you and me.
There are time’s I feel, I went so away,
and yet in one place, I seem to stay.
The silence, it has its little games, you see,
it has a way of pushing back, against you and me.
The longer you stay, the more clear you can see,
life is in the living, how it’s mean’t be.
To be wise as a serpent, harmless as a dove,
knowing that the Father, watches from above.
It’s not those things around me, no matter what they be,
it’s how I perceive it, make it reality.
It’s my shadow, that’s always hid away,
you’ll only see him, on a sunny day.
In the silence, things are different you see,
the changes silence holds for you and me.
If for yourself you truly care, silence is the best thing with self you could share.
I’m just saying, ya know what I mean,
it will be to late when we split the scene.
!! !! !! !! !!
!! !! !! " !!
!! !! " !! !!
!! " " !!
!! " " !!
" ' 'dear rain, stop falling—' ' ' "
puddles split the soaked asphalt,
umbrellas take flight
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" ""
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If I could split my soul
I would want a three-way split
one would go into Cher
One would go into Bette Midler
I would retain one
in case the other two never returned
we've always said we go together
a perfect match
you've always been my sun
i've always been your moon
the sun is bright
it shines so big the whole world can see
important in everyone's lives
the moon is bright too, in another way
a calmer way
a gentler glow
the perfect balance of each other
but the thing with the sun is
you get scorched if you're with her for too long
and she shines brighter than anything
with both her warming expression
and her fiery rage
the thing with the moon is
she's softer, subtler
still shining bright, just not as intense
her glow radiates peace
but her sorrows wash over her like the tides
the sun and the moon
so similar, yet so different
they're both important
in the sky at their own times
individually is perfect
but together would be too much
maybe that's how we are
perfect on our own,
but not together
Like an Axe Used To Split Kindling for Fire
Like an axe used to split kindling for fire,
Her beauty repeatedly strikes at my heart,
Encouraging sparks of desire that inspire
Me to bravely approach her without swagger.
I, in livery, and she, robed in fine cloth,
Comport in accord with that which is proper;
Express youthful, sentimental, foolish tropes,
Indulged in cautiously during our rapport.
Blustery adaptations amuse our spirits
At her pleasure, confident in my prescience.
We play charades insouciantly within limits,
Aware of time and place and our adolescence.
Music warms the heart’s revival of remembrance;
Our minds exploit these encounters with exuberance.
Written August 21, 2025, for Brian Strand contest
Sound Split
Why cry?
Goodbye.
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