I was sitting in sub-zero temperatures in the Northern Arctic
As one does when you're a Swedish spy
Caught between conflicting ethical codes...
Stuck in my tent I stumbled upon a poem
Pondering the experience of Hot British Tea.
The poem was long and decorous with adjectives.
My lips were stuck and frosted together in parts
As I murmured along with teeth chattering
With the rhythm of an African cheetah.
Though the words buttered into my soul.
"Steep," "simmering," "piping," and "warming"
Warmed my innards and radiated outward,
The imagination muscling forth the reality.
"SNIP!"
"SNIP!"
"SNIP!"
Crikey. Long-ranged silencers. I've been found.
(Hungarians.)
"SNIP!"
"SNIP!"
A butterfly I chanced to spy
Would share my journey happily
While walking on a path nearby
A butterfly I chanced to spy
And so I thought that it did try
To follow me that I might see
A butterfly I chanced to spy
would share my journey happily
Written, June 17, 2026
For The Contest, “A Triolet To Make My Day”
Sponsor, Andrea Dietrich
Fuchsia petals stretching towards sun
Lavender fragrance as aromatherapy
Onyx feet in grass on a barefoot run
Whimsical white wind blowing trees
Emerald green eyes play game of I spy
Red roses strike poses in the July sky
Mark's response:
"I've seen drooling women
before. Ben! You want pulled pork
for dinner?"
"Mark!" You don't know
anything."
How do you know
she's a druid?
She is out for a run
with a fistful
of leaves and branches.
Dead giveaway.
It’s not much further
so hurry! Hurry!
Keep up!
The bats are scattered
across the sleepy,
pink sky.
I scared a frog.
I know it, because
I heard it jump into
the water, stealthily.
I prayed to God
and kneeled
by the start of water.
May all the wrong things
in my little life turn right,
please.
A bird I don’t know
sang in response.
I hope someday
to learn what kind it was.
On the ceiling (or under the ceiling) the fly went for a walk.
Thousands of his eye-lenses flashed at the scene below:
Secret handshakes, paper-bags, signalled deals, muffled talk.
On the table, over the platter, with his six thin feet for taste,
Puking and sucking jewelled berries, and ten gold apples of youth,
He observed the ice-bucket’s potential to collect the retching waste.
A fly on the wall, approaching the window, he planned to slip and tell;
But, the heat, the glare, the greed, the airless room
Sent him in circles, a swoon, a spiral. He fell.
A dead spy on the window sill.
A Chinese Sonnet
They call me impimpi*,a word fraught with scorn and smoke-
Yet I am the echo of truth inside the brewing storm,
Engaging the law,though no law guards me,
A river trembling by myself and singing my song.
Mount Moorosi keeps my secret vigil high,
While comrades who danced once for freedom's flame,
Are now com tsotsis who trade justice for comfort and coins,
And call betrayal what was birthed before courage,
From Kanaland to Zululand:I love Mzansi enough to bleed,
Love is treachery and betrayal,-love is truth, love is the light,
Still,I am unseen, they can unalive me-I shadow the moon,
My corpse lies,humming Freedom's hymn under the nations' feet.
*Impimpi or mpimpi---A S African term for a snitch or police informer
Mount Moorosi---A town in Lesotho
Kanaland---A munucipality in Western Cape Province in South Africa
Mzantsi---A colloquial term for South Africa
baby is crying
the three year old is “why-ing”
daddy fell off his pulpit
one eye spied red-blooded male
thought it okay to take life
If a wall had eyes,
What would they see?
Rooms filled with clutter,
And messes of debris.
If a wall had eyes,
How would they look?
Would they see a villain,
A hero, or a crook?
If a wall had eyes,
Would we see them peep?
I wondered what they’d see,
A body stuck in sleep?
If a wall had eyes,
Would we feel them glance?
Staring at our souls,
When they get the chance.
I sit and I ponder,
If these walls had eyes.
While Staring at a wall,
I listen for replies.
I hear my conscience,
Whisper in my ear.
Look into the mirror,
And a wall will appear.
Sitting and crying in the waiting room
They face a life of gloom and doom
The father from another gang, was a spy
So the Man ordered that he must die.
You don’t spy on the Man
He kills you because he can
The Man has all the power
Because you, he will devour.
He will train you well
To serve him until you fell
If by now you can’t tell
You have chosen a life of hell.
He will tell
If you don’t serve him well
Serve him good or serve him well
Your days will be spent in hell.
On the street he will have his way
If he slips up, this will be his last day
He is afraid of the Man
So he does the best he can.
One day he started to cry
Like his father he has become a spy
He knows he is about to die
Next to his father’s grave he will lie.
These days I'm a double agent
Nothing exciting like being a spy
I'm just living two very different lives at the same time
I don't know who I am from one moment to the next
Will you see me or my armor?
I wear the mask of bravery waking up to face each new day
During the course of conversations
The light behind my smile wanes
under the heavy weight of this disguise
I'm baring this cross to the best of my ability but I won't ask for help out of fear of your pity
And the other things that I don't want to be forced to feel
So who do you think you see, me or my armor?
Numbness poisoned flowers
spooky nights serenaded
with chattered cowers,
wounded grasp cascaded
panicked voices bloomed
mother's smile paraded
with gleams doomed,
yearning hopeless answers
as death roamed.
Never careful here
I saw smokes from uphill
Our foes drawing near.
I knew a spy who told me her truths.
She told me her lies so I could never surmise where the line lies, the line of the spy. The words and the eyes. The live and the die. The strange life it must be, the life of a spy.
I knew a spy who lived life a lie. Gambled with fate as easy as choosing the food that she ate. And would look at the dark like it was light. Would stand in the rain to camouflage the tears from her eyes. To stand in the rain to wash away the pain.
I knew a spy who would to me wink with her eye. Carrying a smile with long flowing hair and stylish in the clothes that she’d wear. But never a line did she cross.
Her life was a line, a line as sharp as a knife.
I knew a spy, I wonder where the sun shines on her smile. I wonder where the real person is free. What she gave to serve her country. I know she’s alive from the cards and messages I see with my eyes. But can she ever be free? I know that life wasn’t for me.
Badgers were planning a picnic extraordinaire!
Red Jell-O mold towered high in the spring air.
Shall I put a cherry on top? Asked persnickety Claire.
Why not? Said another. Baby muskrats are here.
Where is your mama? Asked Mrs. Badger then.
The babies giggled and rolled and hung down a chin.
I hope she is safe, Mrs. Badger told her husband man.
If not, we have three more orphans to join our little band.
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