Somehow, she appears from nowhere
to dominate the darkest sky,
her glow, suspended in the air,
will mystically bring on a sigh.
Her magnetic vibes are wondrous:
the shifting of each ocean's tide,
and also, somehow moving us-
she steers how minds and feelings ride.
Manipulator is our Moon.
Our months, divided each by stage,
are how her phases stay in tune
to regulate how hearts will gauge.
Full moon and love are tied as one-
Romance and moonlight, hand in hand
maneuver closeness that is spun
as Cupid seals what she has planned.
A force of nature, to be sure!
For ages, she's been on a throne
with mystic strength that does allure-
to mysteries still unbeknown.
Line of inquiry:
“a heartbeat pulsating as living light
free from each and every limitation
I Am that dwelling in unbound delight
the source wherefrom arises creation”
I am that I am, and for sure
I am blessed with a heart that needs
to share my gifts, as to assure
God's light exists in all my deeds.
That light inspires me to fuse
whatever way I can to say,
most often thought of as my muse,
the visions that my thoughts portray.
Creation stirs from special light
and steers the soul and heart to act
and from this source comes inner sight
how inspiration will extract.
And, so my words pay homage to
the source of light that turns my mind
to image life in ways that do
profess the gifts I've been assigned.
Within me was raw matter, and not cold suet,
Another’s fat denies my juicing muscles neat;
Hormones - chemistry kissing crude physiology,
With cells bursting in sociology’s colour - biology.
Never harming the idempotent individual as god,
Nature veers and steers, within, away from tod;
Yet claiming rugged, sheer beauty, by piercing air,
Exquisite scenes of eloquence give glimpse fair.
Primal mover’s first move appropriates the span,
Whilst questioning the prerogative by his face tan,
Freedom twice reminds the kin of liberty’s quest,
Enveloping the partaker, guest, in free will, blest.
Truth never fetishes, fondles, or offsets in grief,
But is there, existing in differentiation in belief -
Never superseding its personable chief of portrait,
It sculpts the panorama reckoned in true straight.
Birthday
blest ray...
God's gift*
life's lift...
Joy cheers
Greet steers...
New year
glad gear...
Day's mirth
month's worth
Work's cent
well-spent...
Faith grows
love glows...
Thanks shout
praise-route!
*Ecclesiastes 5:19 Every man also to whom God hath given riches and wealth, and hath given him power to eat thereof, and to take his portion, and to rejoice in his labour; this is the gift of God.
August 11, 2026
2nd place, "1495" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 8/18/2026
Rising above my fears,
Steers my projection,
In the direction of my reflection.
A collection of experiences,
No one has clearance to,
Creates my personal view,
And situations i go through.
Repeating until i learned what to do,
The true reason you feared,
Clearing it from the wheel.
Feeling free for just a moment.
"ENCROACHMENT"
An event triggered the scent,
It went even faster now I'm bent,
Sent reeling into emotions,
A commotion you could hear,
Draws the fear offsides,
Inside pressure is rising,
Deciding how its revealed,
Really hiding a dig deal,
The solution concealed,
Until the pollution is cleared,
Another fear goes down,
I'm bound to find more,
When exploring why I'm here,
Steering clear from what I know,
Getting lost in the shadows,
Growing towards the light,
Fighting fears in my sight,
Face-Everything-And-Rise,
You might get a surprise.
Om is the eternal gong,
that carries spirit along,
fixating our attention
in all-time meditation.
Even when we lose focus,
we flow along the locus
of magnetism within form,
silent thunder, a bliss storm.
The initiation done,
by the light that lights the sun,
we gently metamorphose,
whilst poised in blissful repose.
Deep wisdom unfolds in time,
as we bloom betwixt love’s chime;
our unvoiced prayer, God hears,
Who by His hand our life steers.
they fell in love like only bovines can do
had a huge party down by the cattle auction loo
the dance was attended by heifers, and steers too
there was a lot of bull, said my cousin Nancy Sue
Heart’s at peace in our sunset years,
which is no mere figure of speech,
since reduced are desires and fears
and heaven’s light seems within reach.
Ambling along in witness mode,
heart’s at peace in our sunset years,
wherein singing to love an ode,
we’re suffused with bliss that endears.
Our destiny God Himself steers,
for now with ego cravings gone,
heart’s at peace in our sunset years,
with each life breath ushering dawn.
According to conscience consent,
going wherever bliss throb spears,
simply by following the scent,
heart’s at peace in our sunset years.
Stay strong
live long...
be well
health's yell...
keep on
till yon...
God* cheers
faith steers!!!
*Psalm 18:32 It is God that girdeth me with strength, and maketh my way perfect.
May 8, 2026
5th place, "1470" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 5/10/2026
Ford dear
Vision in my eyes
Sounds in my ears
Drowning in my tears
She steady coming near
Never causing fear
Wind in my beard
Smooth changing gears
When takin care my steers
She’s my Ford
She’s my Ford
Tough but dear
When thoughts ebb, ego disappears,
yet presence remains self-aware,
of its power, which life’s dream steers,
which is the clear truth, stark and bare.
God alone is, the all there is
and we in body are His spark,
propelled by thrust of a bliss fizz,
as light that banishes the dark.
By letting go of, we get to,
point of awareness which we are,
a simple truth we never knew,
that God is within, not afar.
To wake up is to merge with God,
be it here or outside space-time
but even in form, when heart’s thawed,
we sense within it, bliss beat’s chime.
The crown as always takes pole position,
with the permission of our heart of course,
being the centre of bliss ignition,
which moment by moment steers our life’s course,
guided by God’s hand without use of force
and so there is no cat we need to bell,
as we awaken in mind-body shell.
Sometimes love makes no wink a prompter
That steers nothing in proverb
Just as accusation bets to cluster
To course lie a divest herb
Sometimes love fears the acclaimed politician
In whom assurance is reach an Everest
Forfeiting the maimed academician
Which arouses hope but to shatter it
Sometimes love is cruel
To affirm its case off benefits
Bursted out of the duel
Wary of trust on high twists
Sometimes lust is loss
That looses heart's crown
For servant chances toast's roses
Rolling to set sighs off laughter fun
Sometimes love consumes
It costs aging kindness be thrust
To foster blindly for homes
And key the heart's distrust
Sometimes love fume to entomb
That gladden craze; fists doom pleasant
The untold fair treatment costume
Never ceased to coil craze just
Before that comes to being
One must have neglected many a warning
That signals letting go as bravery
Which would have been savory
Watch the doubler tongue
Foaming adaptively to stung
Ego focuses on the body-mind,
be it senses or our desires and fears,
an intermittent feeling, best declined,
shifting instead to light of Self that steers,
our consciousness in which God’s light appears.
Resting thoughts, focus on the gap instead,
strobes of bliss beats where we’re by God’s hand led.
Since humans surfaced from the slime,
our art has always turned on time,
on measurement, and not on rhyme –
so Solon says (I’m with him):
the heart of art is rhythm.
You want to waltz? You need three-four.
And verse that’s truly free’s a bore!
The drumkit forms rock music’s core,
and Rhapsody in Blue has
wrought classical anew (jazz).
Our architecture, uninspired,
was looking – feeling – somewhat tired.
Then Frank Lloyd Wright, completely wired,
transformed it, not for profit
– have you seen his soffits?
The painter had become a monkey,
just reproducing portraits (clunky)
and soulless seascapes. Things got funky:
what stirred the stiff Sargasso?
A samba called Picasso!
Those Western movies grew so dull,
the steers were ready for a cull:
Italians dispelled the lull,
while Hollywood said, smugly,
“no-one wants good, bad, ugly!”
So, whether you sculpt or you sing,
you groove to The Beatles or Bing,
you think Nat or Elvis is King,
it don’t mean a thing
if it ain’t got that swing!
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