Politeness, Manners, Civility
Empathy, Decency, Dignity
have all given way
to oinks, squeals and brays
Vulgarity carries the day
(5-21-26 For "Snapshots of a Night Scene" Contest Sponsor - Nette Onclaud)
Dusk slowly approaches, as their energy finally begins to wane. Half flat soccer balls
speedily sent down a grassless, asphalt field by crooked, knobby sticks.
Stubby chunks of chalk - pink, yellow, blue, white. Hopscotch squares already fading
Frayed jump ropes swinging up, around, and down,
their satisfying soft smacks on the ground, keeping rhythm.
Delighted squeals of joy, laughter, calling out of names to friends, classmates, neighbors, siblings...
Somehow, this view left me remembering
my days of young, pondering the timeless satisfactions and yearnings of youth.
Gentle raindrops begin to splat red and orange leaves, partially painted the weed-lined pavement
Small shadows scatter and go wherever it is they go when the night sets in.
The source of the tree is a communal rock.
Rock fixes the partitions against the biting storm.
Storm turns to gossips where the hearth stays one.
One stimulus of disagreement breaches the prehistoric beam.
Beam fissures and squeals as the roof initiates bending.
Bending to the quietness where the obscurities now squawk.
Squawk of the ghost in a room without light.
Light cannot spread through the glass changed into sand.
Sand is the dominion that cascades in the darkness.
Poem by Mugisho N
Laughter peals and at the same time heals
Cats romp with their usual pomp and chase
Each other with their tails swirling and whirling
Kids run and play and enjoy the sunny day
The shadows bend and mock and the sun shines and
Bounces shapes from one side to the other
While the ringing squeals and peals of laughter
And screams of delight pepper the air with light
And the day becomes a giggle fest and the birds watch
From their nests, content to be alive on a spring day
With the world at play
A free bird
Bounded by cage
Shackled by the bindings of
Time and circumstances
Fluttering,
Trying to get free
Its beautiful colourful wings
Turning grey
Red, yellow and shades of blue
Turning to ashen grey
Dreaming of soaring the skies
But its life went astray
The only colour which remains
Is the red in its vein
The final attempt to bring colour
oozes out his veins
Finally he is free from the shackles
Soaring in the red hellish sky
Free at last
On his own accord
"Let Death embrace me"
He said
Better than turning grey
In the cold rolled steel of my cage
His master now squeals and weeps
Oh my what have I done!
I should have gave him a bigger cage
It would have been better than this one
Can you hear the children shout and play?
Does it remind you of yesterday?
Take a moment and close your tired eyes.
Remember an ancient sunny day.
Now, hear those happy squeals and cries
harmonize in a sweet reprise
of a childhood that was so much fun
on the schoolyard with the girls and guys.
Red rover and hopscotch 'neith the sun,
friendships and crushes just begun,
youth's excitement, which we once knew,
and the joy to race and skip and run.
Now, open your eyes to today's view.
We grew up and we grew old, we two.
To those days, although we can't return,
I'm glad I can relive them with you.
There lived a girl named Greta
Oh, wish we'd never met 'er
She squeals, complains - a hero
Yet end result is zero
December 16, 2025
three little people scampered up the attic stairs
I followed more slowly, almost reluctantly
I am older, and have been here before
Fearful because of what I have felt up there
happy squeals of delight flow down to where I stand
I am about to take my last two steps
I enter cautiously, remembering the killer doll
disguised in blue ruffles and deceiving lace sleeves
Grandma, look at this! Grandma, what is this?
I explain things they have never seen – an iron, a victrola.
Grandma, look at this doll!
I turn.
There she is. The doll that used to terrify me
Staring brown glassy eyes giving me my worst nightmares
She has the same killer smile
I feel as terrified now as I felt sixty years ago
Can we take this stuff downstairs?
I start to say they can
Until one of them reaches for the dol
A sleeping sow rolls over one of her piglets
it squeals, the drama is quickly doused
by guttering shades of drowsiness.
Eyes unglue behind their windows.
The goats are stumbling off their knees
instinctively looking for a hill to climb.
A clock in my head stops ticking,
it opens its face, summoning me
to the fields,
where there is nothing to look upon,
until a dawning sun eats the night.
I turn to feed drooling mouths,
beasts that stare back at me now
in their daylight dreams.
Cackles, snickers, chortles and squeals ease life's weight.
Laughter can completely reset our composure.
Humors random salves of mirth can ease feeling states.
Past times of paled poise were health fueled by laughs ardor.
Laughter can completely reset our composure.
Acute giggles often cause worthwhile tummy bunched aches.
Past times of paled poise were health fueled by laughs ardor.
Bonding laugh episodes can mold sweet memory shapes.
Acute giggles often cause worthwhile tummy bunched aches.
Laughs can floor lay us to mirth quake over and over.
Bonding laugh episodes can mold sweet memory shapes.
Laughing steers peace of mind like a kind chauffeur.
Laughs can floor lay us to mirth quake over and over.
Humors random salves of mirth can ease feeling states.
Laughing steers peace of mind like a kind chauffeur.
Cackles, snickers, chortles and squeals ease life's weight.
Contest sponsored by Nette Onclaud
25/06/25
Puddle-jump stomp step.
Squeals of joy – can’t stop.
Little kids frolic in a gumboot dance!
Plip plop!
Drip... drop... drip!
A wild unpredictable stormy night
Harsh wind squeals through window panes
Random deafening claps of thunder
Lightning illuminates the night sky again
Disgruntled angry waves crash loudly
Heavy rain pounds on the roofs slate tiles
Mother nature is enraged tonight
Unrelenting , unforgiving , hostile
Inside the walls of the old stone cottage
A sacred wood fire blazes bright
Radiating great warmth and infinite comfort
Providing sweet solace as Guardian of the night
She smiles like a mission statement—
all vision boards and decaf compassion.
Says she’s rooting for you,
then plants rumors like heirloom tomatoes:
carefully spaced, watered just enough
to grow wild in someone else’s yard.
You know the type.
Squeals I'd never
right before she does—
but soft, with mittens on.
The kind of sabotage that
leaves no fingerprints,
just your name
smudged under a headline
she pretends not to read.
It's embarrassing.
She curates concern like a lifestyle blog.
Screenshots your grief as hers
for group chat empathy drills.
Leaves the door open on purpose,
then texts you
how sorry she is
that someone let the cold in.
You never asked her to stay.
But you notice—
she always stands in the same frame,
just close enough
to gobble up the good lighting,
to crop you out.
When the poem became tears
As the ink drips,
I have become an emotional basket case.
My keyboard squeals, as the businessman's anxiety climbs
At the sound of the opening bells,
Tariff wars targeting the poor,
Evil Eyes merges with the Texas Tycoons
What is the poor trader's offense?
Going once, going twice,
To be poor is to be honest,
How can honesty be the best policy
Knowingly, a poor man can never win a war with a rich man
Going once, going twice no deal
Tariff wars targeting the poor:
“They fought with them, we feel the pain
Forget the old saying, you scratch my back
I scratch yours, what are the poor man's justifications
Tighten your podiums, ring your bells
And remember the words,
“They charge us, we charge them,
Why is the world upset?
Aggression, depression, and the will to survive
Inferior and permanent: listen to
Bob Marley's “War song we will always be in war”
Goth mood’s not right, not bright enough.
Fountain of sea, rapt in darkness.
Crepuscular ink blocks sunlight.
The cursive waves doth strain the wrist.
Fa-la-la rhymes, leaping and lowing.
Counting the black sheep - times not slowing.
Fountain of sea, deep in darkness.
Coarse keys, ivory black, musing.
The cursive waves doth strain the wrist.
Resist of playful sounds - thirsting.
Fa-la-la rhymes, leaping and lowing.
Counting the black sheep - times not slowing.
Coarse keys, ivory black, musing,
and refusing to budge - lines spurn.
Resist of playful sounds - thirsting.
The burn hisses and squeals; smudges.
Fa-la-la rhymes, leaping and lowing.
Counting the black sheep - times not slowing.
And refusing to budge, lines spurn.
Crepuscular ink blocks sunlight.
The burn hisses and squeals; smudges.
Goth mood’s not right, not bright enough.
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