Who's that goo
He knows these rules
Been part timed
An hesitant he won't forget
She's his worries
And hurt wisdom
Join with me
His excellence sees
Bring me frees
Poet trees
Some words spring
La la la
In his stead she wakes i bring
Cause everything
Cause winter won't rent for me
Climbing back words maths
Fast friends still say bye bye
Augustus
Pardon, Tia Jenna
Superior Novella pairing at the store lunch bench?
Bambi G rating Kev
Que Mas gratis audience of two
Mira's condolences on the loss of the new balcony
I dragged this cig, my brain went far gaga,
The same cigarette brand that brought me joy;
A puff, and I slipped into a pooh-Bah,
One short drag became enough to destroy.
My legs wobbled, the world around me spun,
I heaved heavily, yet relief slept still;
The fun I sought had never yet begun,
In its stead, I commenced a mental drill.
As I puffed a new *** to chase a fad,
Deeper curiosity did arouse.
How can a mere cigar torture so bad,
A dream taught me the thought in intense drowse.
Later I learned the cig was laced with crack~
The closest I came being a junkie;
That pal later picked madness in bump's track,
Why I never became a crack flunkey.
Craven cupidity, contemptible crow
Your talking is squawking as black as your soul
If birds of a feather would gather your hem
A collection of seamstresses darker than them
Would weave from hole cloth a pattern of lies
From a harvest of calumny dark'ning the skies
Who rates this performance, whose benefit there
With bait this enormous just fit for a bear
Who else in the forest could relish this feast
Galumphing, triumphing, it must be a beast
Wallowing, swallowing, swampy at best
Content to recline there and dine on the rest
Immobile as a trophy, stuffed for display
On future repast, blackened feather filet
Blow hard and bellow with yellowing cries
Gather like fellows who feast on these lies
If chapels had been churches, your cathedral would loom
'stead of gathering shadows in this canyon of gloom
With your bins full of blight and your gather of smut
We hasten to bid you not good night but... what?
We wonder still under quick'ning despair
In search of escape, it must be here but... where?
There must be some light lest this darkness o'erwhelm
We must brave the night til the Good take the helm
You whirl, you whir, a sparkler with no plan.
A frantic rush, chasing all you think you can.
Each flip is fragile, fleeting, never really sown.
A scatter gun feast, that leaves you all alone.
You blaze as if the world will soon ignite.
Your tiny body burns with furious light.
Your haste is commanding, yet what is it worth?
Without pausing to taste the fleeting mirth?
The garden knows your madness; it makes it clear,
That no blossom trusts your beat to linger near.
You skim, you dart, you never claim the whole.
For your shallow sips can never fill the soul.
A slower hand, will plant, endure and stay,
Learning the patient slow cadence of the day.
For haste will scatter, shatter what was planned,
Quickly yielding the dust you cannot stand.
Why do you not linger longer at what you sip?
Your feet are a blur; your body is a whip.
But, why this panicked, fevered, fleeting chase?
What force is driving you at such a pace?
Can menacing winds command you to not rest?
Or are rivals sneaking in, invading your nest?
You know a steady heart, outlasts a flashing one.
Playing slow and stead get the victory won.
For a while, I have been gone,
Not so much for I left my poetry in my stead,
So they read, so they remember...
Yet here I am, alive yet dead.
They look at me with eyes,
Eyes that made mine cry,
No hugs, no hellos, or a faint gladness--
For I am here, alive yet dead.
The house I lived in, now lives another,
neither a friend nor a brother,
A man, they said, had no home to live in.
For I am here, alive yet dead.
The girl in my poems,
Married to another who made her feel
in many ways, all the seasons at once,
Living the life I prayed for in my sonnets.
For I am here, alive yet dead.
There is a sting in my heart
It is silent, yet it plays a noble part
and the dark shades around my eyes
The eyes that have seen so many die
And in the end, they would cry.
What now?
Now there is a darkness nigh
Slowly engulfing me, swallowing me
Taking with me my poems and my dreams
The life I wanted, the family that had hoped
The war that had come, and the lives that went by
including that which was mine.
They look at me with eyes
Eyes that made mine cry
No hugs, no hellos, and no signs of warm gladness
For I am here, alive yet dead.
The noon heat no longer burns like dog days,
Storms now caress the leaves with care and grace,
The roughness of summer night kept at bay,
'Stead calmness, peace and comfort take their place.
The air is hazy, lazy, filled with fun,
Awaiting the chill and darkness of fall,
Now missing kisses of mid-summer's sun,
And cricket's early morning rasping call.
The sky billows brilliant blue with glamour,
The ocean's coolness purifies the air,
Tempting sunbaths silently clamour
For my pale skin on the beach to bask bare.
He was a canvas...a beautiful sight,
An expanse of white, so pure and bright.
Not like the moon that graces the night,
Nor like the clouds that drift in flight
Unlike anything else... but like a swan
Engraved in chiffon.
My feet drew towards him,
Each step etched in the dim,
Crystal chamber of love.
My fingers traced him,
Stroking with hymn beneath the moon,
Coloring a secret wove.
I drew back to esteem,
Stumbled, feeling light-headed, lost in a dream.
Dropping to the cold tile.
Glancing through drowsy eyes,
My gaze stared at him, painted in red.
My blood, my soul
…lost in his stead.
For what charge is this you lay at my feet?
For what misdemeanour or untruth did I afore commit?
Did I steal, did I lie and some innocence fall in my stead?
Did I indeed do much worse and is someone known to me now stone dead?
There is nothing between the daylight and the dark. No grey space for thought or error, no ending, no start.
As I stand here alone in a world I don’t know, as I listen to lies from the truth men in their show. Though contempt I do feel for the meaning written in your eyes. You’ll find Jesus preaching in hell before any truth of my lies.
Love Always Goes To My Head.
But(t)... I'm Sure It's Nothing I Said.
The Troubledest Scoundral
The World Has Ever Bled...
'Cause I Fell In Love With A
Fantasy Loving Endlessness...
In-Stead.
-Gray Squirrel
07-21-2025
Impossible beauty, summer in swell,
Fragrance aflowing and fluttering around;
Though now, I admit, I don’t see it well,
I know – my ears! – all the birds by their sound.
Heaven surrounds me, but only for now;
Howling the winds that shall crash on my head;
Ripping the flowers that live on the bough,
Never see summer return in its stead.
Perhaps I brought fear – not meaning to do! –
Sometimes I fumble, and words aren’t the best;
The winters must fall, to summer renew;
You’ll see it once more, the world at its crest.
Your seasons return – no reason to sigh! –
No, it’s not summer that passes – but I.
Her beauty turned to malison and woe,
As ladies, envious, scorn her radiant face,
Their hearts, inclined to rivalry, bestow,
A bitter enmity, her charm’s disgrace.
The world casts down her fortune with its spite,
Her colleagues seethe when she but speaks to one,
The officers and ministers, not right,
Exploit her grace, their honor left undone,
She faces all the world with matchless heart,
And ward the wolves in men with stead fast might,
Her struggle tames her family’s raging part,
To prove herself a lady of great light
A nation seeking progress shall revere,
Such women, striving still to persevere.
When you stand before the mirror so still..
Do you count the years, against your will?
Trace each line like a fading chart..
And mourn the youth that did depart?
But what if mirrors told the tale..
Not of what's gone, but where you prevail?
Not just the texture, time, or trace..
But every triumph you now embrace.
The silvered reflection that greets your eyes..
Holds not just age, but how you rise.
The laughter etched beside your gaze..
Speaks not of loss, but brighter days.
Those creases carved by love and strife..
Are monuments to living life.
Each shadow cast upon your skin..
Marks wisdom carved from deep within.
We chase what once we used to be..
Forgetting all we've come to see.
The kindness grown, the courage found..
The silent strength that knows no bound.
So let the mirror kindly show..
Not only where the years did go.
But all you've gathered in their stead..
The soul you've shaped, the life you've led.
For beauty isn't bound by youth..
It's found in every deeper truth.
And when you look, may you always find..
The grace you've earned, not left behind.
A word can be kind
A word can be hateful
A word can be cruel
A word can be grateful
A word can be whispered
A word can be shouted
A word can be screamed
A word can be written.
A word can be gentle
A word can be love
A word understanding
A word from above.
It was words that God spoke
By them to create
The earth and the universe
Wonderfully great.
How amazing that day
When he sent his dear Son
He called him The Word,
His Son, only One.
Then that Word on the Cross
‘It is finished’ he said
The Word gave his life
Punished there in my stead.
Jesus!
I drank coffee from your cup—
still warm where your mouth had pressed,
the rim embossed
with your lower lip’s faint crest.
Now rust stains every silver spoon,
fingers drum restless rhythms
on our kitchen’s worn lagoon.
In checkout lines, your laughter flickers—
a candle’s flame in strangers’ whispers.
I turn, but find no spark, no face—
just hollow aisles, silent grace.
For briefest moments,
you almost grace this place.
Time ticks like your mother’s clock—
missing beats in measured shock.
I count the silences
that fold the past into what’s next,
bridging spaces
between love’s loss
and life’s complex.
You were the fever
breaking dawn’s fragile thread,
and I, the tangled sheets
still holding echoes of your stead,
learning to smooth
where hope once bled.
Your voice lingers
in static between waves,
almost here,
then swept away.
I’m learning the weight
of absence, how it falls
like coins in pockets—
weighty, worn familiar,
softly chiming
as I step forward
into morning’s timing.
There once was a clown
who paraded around town
he thought the world of himself
and liked everything to be top shelf
He bought himself a mannequin
he married her no panickin'
soon his humour was delirious
his motives as mysterious
He found himself a throne
and claimed it as his own
he put a crown upon his stead
to cover his bald head
He started waving a magic wand
expecting everyone to respond
his orders grew bizarre by the hour
when he demanded a brand new tower
They moved his throne up to the top
hoping the insanity would stop
but no it seemed it wasn't to be so
then tumbling down they made him go.
AP: 1st place 2025
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