Squint Poems

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is when you play your mother’s
favorite song, in a strange city.
The cement road tickles like sun-kissed grass.

is who you see in the mirror
every time tears run without permission.
In the salted blur, you can taste sweet blueberries.

is what the sun carries
oceans away, the love that nurtured you
basks you in warm wishes from the land of pines.

is how the city’s lights flicker when you’re
in the mountains, if you squint—
Imagine, in your reach, reflection of a galaxy.

is where white flowers peek through
cracks on a brick pavement.
Different lives, but same life—
a foreign land, yet one sky.

The Mirror

As a youngster
I used to pull faces – 
‘just because’ – 
and practiced it in front of the mirror.
This morning the mirror took revenge.

At the rebellious age of thirteen,
I sneaked eyeliner past my mother;
squinting for ages in front of the mirror
to get a fine line in equal lengths.
Now I squint to put in my contacts lenses. 

I practiced how to say ‘No’
in front of the bathroom mirror – 
just in case the ‘wrong’ guy
should propose to me.
The fly marks on the mirror don’t come off.

I inherited the cracked mirror
on the bathroom cabinet
when I moved into my flat
after the divorce.
I own seven years bad luck - one more year to go.

My eyes change colour
depending on my mood:
it is deep azure when I’m happy,
but grass green when I’ve been crying.
The mirror tells me my eyes are jade green.

I grabbed a towel 
to clear the steam off the mirror
from the refreshing shower 
after my gym session this morning.
I would not do that again in a hurry.

It is my birthday today
and I need to spruce up a bit
for the occasion
as the children will be here soon.
My mother looked out at me from the mirror.

Spoiled Pets

Just like kids, kitty’s and bunnies, can be spoiled by
a constant onslaught of attention. Ooh, kiss kiss,
rub rub, hand feed and lots of toys. Oh boy!

But leave those buster browns alone for too long,
with pom-pom or twisty tails between legs,
where their only encounter with two legs

are the strangers, that feel like intruders and thieves.
No wonder they hide. Whiskers frown, almost
teardrops hit the ground, and fear feeds the sweet beasts.

You return to mayhem, anger, cold shoulders. Your pets,
now need, a shrink, a ghostbuster, the police! You thought
they would survive while you lived it up at the beach.

Furparents, you should have trusted friends and family
with them from time to time. Now the furbabies are
sheepish, gun-shy. Each creek of the door, like fingernails.

Now, you may never leave because you feel ashamed,
lame, not the same. Oh yes, those cottontail eyes
will tell you lies, and the suspicious cat will squint.

FOOTLE 'E'nd of 'L' ine 'F'orm - 2 forms in one-an innovation

SENIOR MOMENTS.                                          FOOTLE
Here I am at a very great  old age with    same chat
for these days I can only recall old tales,    off pat
Toothless now and decayed so no,             long kiss
for that's certainly something best,              to miss
Reading with a magnifying glass in ,         large print
with very strong glasses for close-up,       or squint
In my chair most afternoons having,              no sap
having to pace myself or without doubt ,      need nap

Sun

The sun begins to bite my skin as the sea water evaporates
The last drops of moisture on my shoulders turn to salt
I squint in the bright light that bounces off the sand 
The warmth on my back and my legs

Tangled

There’s something horrible about the tangles. 
Like- everyone can eat the curly strands. 
But no one knows what it costs. 
When I had more than two eyes. 
And the laundry got put away every day. 
I could still laugh like that. 
The face tangles up when you squint. 
A burning, quick idea. 
When you eat more than one burger in a day. 
And the deadly mustard takes you. 
Face tangles. 
Eyes, and ears, and who else is here?
He looked at me as if there was nothing. 
Curly, destructive, wailing facial features. 
And the ocean. 
Pulled me away again. 
There’s something horrible about the tangles. 
Flailing arms and waiting on the coast line. 
There’s nothing like having eyes. 
Which get scribbled on every time.

Free as can be

the sun the wind the freedom
as surface childish passions
the urge to be adventuresome
expectation of lollipop rations

nothing holds me back
when i hear summer’s call
you’ll laugh at the silly jokes i crack
while swinging high and tall

i squint my eyes
and look up at the skies
youth seeming omnipresent
timeless and filled with wonderment



AP: 3rd place 2025

Dark Reflection

Tragic
to know
but not
recall

What lies
within
that darkened
hall

With
every squint
and fact
unfound

Old feelings
search
through memory
— bound

(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)

Envision

(Prompt: Wisdom is not enough to calm your fears.)


The kinetic world is on a great sprint.
The silent seer stares at with a squint.
He feels distressed for the occurring harms.
With a solemn demeanour, he alarms.

Identity crises among nations
Contending with insecure relations
Keep their voices go with sonority
For comfort and self-based priority

Within countries, separatists conspire
Catastrophes are adding fuel to fire
Forcing uniformity – a threat
It's never too late to change the mindset

Creative destruction is invited.
Creating mess is to be indicted.
Agape love can alone wipe away tears
Wisdom is not enough to calm your fears.

Television News Reporter

Cinnabar remittance ailerons squall federal cobblestones. Lank alpine squint modest. Nectarine grimace, cloys toothsome.
Coiffure chain rod composure anemic, primogeniture Swedish cotton murk optics

Rodeo riding maiden broadcaster network metaverse falconry. Boreal voyages legalese.
Simper treacle blanched anecdotally. Goofy balm, beardless tease, healthy as a horse, real bee knees.

Wild Is The Night

A squint of brilliance, blending seamlessly
Within a palette of dark and light shades
Melt and fade a harmony and balance
Of mastic glitziness splendor and charm
Within the spectacle stage of the night.
Wadding deeper, meditating calm space
Reminded, draws in untold delight breath
Slowly release arousing the wild night
Stirring hidden romantic emotions.

Manifesto

Deprivation of my rights and freedom
Bodily autonomy, tossed out of 
a terrace window, seventy-third floor 

of a building in New York that touches
the same ground I walk on, yet reaches much
higher than I could ever imagine.

I scream to them, giant politicians, 
but the shadow of their business loafers
overhead      scare the sound from my pursed lips.

My individuality      exchanged
for a man’s practicality; it seems
as though they've had their fun     suppressing us

Toying with my consciousness like a cat
praying on a field mouse, so innocent.
They say: so innocent!      Could I be, too?

or shall I wear my curiosity
like a garment, like an oddity for
men to squint at, confine my mind and bones

to the idea that women shouldn’t 
bare the decision of what lives within;
     shackles on my reproductive organs

dig into my skin like the words they spew
from hot mouths, pouring into the laps of
women, alphabet soup spelling, “no more”.

Let us breathe in the possibility
of respect and dignity,     the promise
of true liberty and justice for all.  

     Far too powerful, they fear, women are.

Dust to Fire

I slip into the morning light
Catching the wave of the dew soaked breeze 
Giving up the fantastic fight 
Choking on the earthbound wheeze 

My friends all wait beyond the gate 
I see them when I squint my eyes 
A color brighter than the fate 
that made me always question why 

This body just a vessel sent 
from God for us to learn; 
our skin and bones are here to rent, 
eventually we all will burn 
 
Ashes to dust, dust to fire 
I lift my spirit from earthly bounds 
I will no longer mire
in the clock that never wound 

Time is the illusion and my body the effect   
My spirit here eternal and my shelter wrecked

Everyone Should Care

Everyone Should Care 
Miracle Man
8/24/2024

Just squint with one eye
Keeping one on the person
who just doesn't care

Completing Infinity

And comes the time, oft many sought with blinded eyes that squint into the dark, searching for that in tight grasp with faithless hopes that it be found. 

No grudge shall I bear as a traveler his mug, that holds within above a cracked below, a drink for the voyage whose starting is the ending to the eye and mind. 

In the open sky I shall hide all that has been, is and no longer morrow. 
To remind a scribbler to forget friends and foes. For the mind’s cask shears upon such thought of great appeal. 

My time.
To no longer will, but bend, or even break. To be deaf to all, with only hearing for one with a deafening whisper. As the tongue exits its cave, loud be my scream as the bewitching hour. 

Search no more. 
By your follicles, you would tell as words deny you might… of this scribbler you once grappled in sight. 
As he dissolves in his dry ink, I beseech thee again.

“Search no more”.

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