One door closes, another opens
different phases oft find us half-asleep
Like the moon, they wax and wane regularly
though folks don’t always see
Conditioned to think they’re spread out
they can come in bunches
Disrupting our mindsets
evading our hunches
And when we think we’ve reached the end
another phase may lie around the bend
To shake us from complacency
to stir the pot ~ to bury reverie
Never say never, always say "perhaps;" unless it's a
Wedding, a funeral, or your daughter's v-ball game.
Never say never, instead say "maybe."
Never feel forced to use rhyme, tired is the fad despite the ear's need
To smile at the sound of music; rhymes are for the dullard,
Like Dr. Seuss and Mother Hubbard.
Never say never to your kids lest your aim is to model
Human folly & the grace-skill of Forgiveness.
This will all be over soon so please don't cry.
Y'know this whole poem goes way better with chicken stir-fry.
If to move you, soul must listen, my dear;
let me lie on the grass beside you . . .
I will press my ear to your chest
that I might hear the beating
of the heart I cherish.
Let me, precious one,
stay here with you,
gazing up
at the
stars.
They
sparkle
like sugar
crystals emptied
from night’s bowl of sky
to sweeten the darkness
as your eyes, reflecting them,
dulcify this quiet moment.
Oh, please don’t turn away. Let me stay
so I might stir your soul with silentness.
Written: January 19, 2026, for contest sponsored by Nette Onclaud
**************
Rain falls, a gentle grace, a calming sigh,
A velvety touch permeates the air and soul.
Into the woods, sniffing the damp knoll,
A fragrance stirs a hushed heart and the shy.
Mists and rain showers coat slopes and flow,
Past echoes and soft hints stir what slid away.
At night, flying ants buzz as gusts of wind sway,
Each gale holds the power to heal or to throw.
In twilight halls, I wander, lost amidst the masquerade,
A lone soul unmasked, amidst a sea of painted shades.
They don their facades, a suffocating uniformity,
While I, a chameleon, harbor multitudes, a chaotic symphony.
My essence shifts, a mercurial tide,
Humble servant, raging beast, side by side.
Through labyrinthine corridors, I weave and stray,
A stranger in each room, yet belonging nowhere, lost in gray.
Then, I beheld her – a fleeting glimpse of truth,
A visage unadorned, a moment's vulnerable youth.
My heart, a traitor, whispered sweet deceit,
"This is the one, the soulmate, the key to my crumbling seat."
But hers was a beauty, veiled, invisible to the eye,
A masterpiece of malice, hidden beneath a saintly guise.
She struck, a viper's kiss, a whispered promise of despair,
And I, a willing captive, still believed in love's sweet air.
The arrow's fiery tip, a burning, searing pain,
I smiled, a final taunt, as darkness closed, a suffocating rain.
In death's threshold, I saw her, transfigured, revealed,
The angel of my demise, Masked Malice, my heart's fatal yield.
Do not stir up the bunnies for if you do
you will be fighting their sixty-thousand relatives too
They marched against Easter in 1942
If you do not believe it, ask my Uncle Stew
He said there is no reason to make one rabbit mad
They will bring their relatives, all big, snarly, mean and bad
He remembers fighting in the street with one named Thad
Who pulled off his nose, the only one he ever had.
My auntie also had a tiff with a rabbit one time.
Except she brought in recruits, I think there were nine.
They all fought my auntie, who cannot smell cinnamon or lime.
For she also lost her nose thanks to the evil rabbits nine.
A subtle stir is born in my mind, a dance of thoughts rising,
Like foam finding its place in the azure sky, seeking unwritten answers among the stars,
Yet fearing the earth that pulls dreams towards itself, a merciless magnet of freedom.
We dream in endless chapters, pages full of hopes and fears,
Where the end is a distant echo that haunts us silently,
Catching us in a struggle between two forces: normalcy demanding submission,
And defiance urging us to rise, to be more than our shadows.
Should we conform to the world's demands, living in quiet anonymity?
Or surrender to the sweetness of dreams, losing ourselves in them like martyrs,
Dying for a cause that only our soul knows?
The sun, a hurried witness, wants to see the story whispered by the moon,
About the boy who, with a gentle motion, makes the poles of the metronome of destiny sway,
Balancing between what is and what might be, between darkness and light,
Between desire and surrender, lost in the endless flow of consciousness,
Seeking balance between the dreams that call us and the reality that pulls us back,
Dancing endlessly in a universe of melancholy, a play of the soul through time and space.
the beat
of wings the bells
and merry flight of snow
the flap of angel crew as day
unveils
the drop
of dew the pearls
and birches whisper blow
the hymn of fresh horizon’s born
this morn
the reds
and greens in tune
in sunrise glow and shake
of berries in cardinal’s pine
awake
the beat
of wings the bells
and merry flight of snow
the flap of angel crew as day
unveils
Version #1
She stirs, and with her, the earth shakes,
lifting dust from where silence once lay—
a force long restrained, now breaking loose.
Version #2
She awakens, and the earth quivers,
stirring up dust from the calm that once lingered—
a power that was held back, now set free.
Much of what I say might sound like it’s
stirring up trouble, but it's the truth!
Quote by Malcolm X
stir
the wind changed slightly
that day i picked up a stone
moving some atoms
instead of leaving them be
consequence rearranged me
As though mixing the caffeine of deep desires and wishes
With the crystal water cognizance to make gold-brown niches
Where-from, yearnings, like fogs of fine frankincense, resurrect
Bedecked with the sweet-bitter-blend, filtered conscience effect
Settings get upset; there's an idle-ordeal order.
Foundations, once set, turn reflections on a broken mirror.
Kingdoms and empires are brought to below-ground level dust.
When stirs turn earthquakes, born out of rebellions of mistrust
Time's tumult; seasonal surge; waves of the ocean weather
Stir has set its soul within each fragile flying feather.
The friction set by the spiritual stir, like a sage
Goes on discovering and finding wisdom's newer page
A character study done here.
You always liked to stir things up.
Like a washer agitator
You thought your tactics a good touch.
Stirring, stirring until worn out
A good name you just loved to smear.
The fabric ripped, buttons cracked, gone.
Desiring to ruin a nonsuch.
You'd set the trap, you fishhook baiter.
Carrying on life, minutes later
You'll never change, your ways all set.
But sometimes now at life you clutch.
I had hoped you'd change soon, my dear
Doing your service still your waiter
This is actually a Bref Double poetry form but somewhat the same as Quatorzain.
“Discard oh hermit, sermons of the preacher ~
Know that silence alone, is our true teacher”
~ quote by poet
When we sit in staid stillness, nodes within stir,
whirring forcefully, creating a bliss mist,
best understood as an energy transfer,
whence save God-focus, remains no to-do list.
Grace in-pours when with pulse of love we concur,
shifting from head to heart, ceasing to resist,
that touch divine transforms form as living light,
breath by breath thus heightening our heart’s delight.
There is in truth nothing that we need to do,
save choosing to dissolve ego in the stream,
which happens on its own as bliss beats renew,
as we lose ourself in trance in a moonbeam.
Each hue of rapture is felt by us as new
and though we’re awake, we continue to dream,
stirred out of slumber, by this soundless thunder,
beholding soul’s ascent, in childlike wonder.
"Life can get in the way of life. Make sure you stir in lots of love and happiness."
By Poet
My life
recipe for
a long and happy life.
Many hugs and kisses daily
now stir in laughter and a pretty smile.
Spoonful of love and happiness
a pinch or two of fun.
Make sure you stir
my life.
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