Underdogs are today’s true heroes
defeating impossible odds they surpass wild expectations
~ proof dreams do come true
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
What a long hot year here,
the cactus are wilting.
Cement is getting soft,
birds in the trees are cooked.
Long hot days with hot nights,
must stop for everyone.
Let It Rain-cool rain now.
I owe it to myself
I need to open up express myself
~speak my truth my mind
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
My legs feel poor in an unkind way
I don’t want to talk about anything
I don’t want to talk about anyone
Hoarseness will ingest lungs
Loss will be learnt from rot
I [will] have no eyes
I [will] have no tongue
I [will] have no heart
White Heat...White Hot
Night Heat...Night Light
Nice Seat!...Red Hot!
Red Heat!...Fight Night!
You don't have to stop the sea to make me feel you've chosen me,
for I've lived moments of dreams, yet loneliness has embraced me.
I won't ask you to stay where you don't want to be,
I won't hold onto things that don't cling to me, I won't insist on keeping them.
But if you want to take your time, my only concern is,
to be gentle with my heart, please be kind and understanding.
Be gentle with my heart, my dear, and I will do the same,
there will be days when we are in darkness, but we will follow the stars along the way.
So, be gentle with my heart, and I promise you the same,
we will seek the light in the night, guided by stars, dreams, and desires.
For in this journey, with our hearts exposed, vulnerable,
we will find the strength to love and rediscover each other, always, unwavering.
Roses never smelled wilt quicker,
For the roses cry and since tears are salt water,
And salt dehydrates, the roses shrivel.
In addition, the whole plant might rebel against life
all because no one stopped and smelled the roses...
So if you ever spot a rose bush make a beeline for it
And sniff every single blossom.
I won't lie to you to fake emotions I might feel
and tell you things you want to hear
In this give-and-take, no lie, that feels
lobsided and askew, sometimes like a tug of war
Breathlessly waiting, life in limbo
one toe in the water overly cautious
holding back ~
Stuck behind yield signs and stop signs
the occasional yellow lights
foot on the break ~ go but not too fast
Everyday is a lazy Sunday afternoon
we're out in our sporty lamborghini
dillydallying in life's slow lane
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
He says –
“Your place is in the kitchen,”
I say –
“My place is wherever
my thoughts can reach.
No curtain will confine me,
no wall will surround me.
My words will become swords,
my steps will rewrite history.
I have learned –
to fight without fear,
to live without bowing down,
and to turn dreams into reality.
I am not just a woman,
I am a revolution –
that neither time can halt
nor society’s chains restrain.”
Anita Solanki
I cradle you in both hands—
the cup is hotter than the blood in me.
I sip until my tongue blisters,
as if pain is the only proof
that I can still be filled.
The table is a witness—
its pale skin bruises under you.
You leave your halo of tannin,
a brown eclipse widening,
seeping into the grain like rot that knows my name.
I line the coasters in military rows,
little shields of cork and cloth,
but you slip past their defenses—
a siege of warmth,
an invasion I invite.
Soon the whole table will be dark.
Soon my palms will smell of leaves and ash.
But you seep through everything,
and I wonder if love is not the cup,
nor the hand holding it,
but the stain that stays after.
When I’m having a bad day all I want is peace and quiet
I just want a sigh of relief
A soft hand that’s not afraid to linger on every body part
Tell me about where you’d like to start?
I’m daydreaming about your body on mine
I want your loving from the front, the side, and behind
I’m not afraid to give my all to you
Let me give you what you need
I want you to love all of me
When you take me
Be gentle please but pull my hair and give me all you got
Give it to me and don’t stop
You can’t stop time for a moment
You can’t make tomorrow today
Your yesterday’s gone now for ever
One moment the limit of each day.
Sometimes how you wish you could go back
And do what you did much better
You wish you could take back those spiteful words
And say something nicer and sweeter.
But what’s said is said
And what’s done is done
You’ve just got to pick up the pieces
The wreckage of the battle you won.
But wait, stop and listen.
The Teacher can sort worst of things.
My Jesus can solve every problem
He is after all, King of Kings.
Read 1 Timothy 6:15 in the Bible
Pundits preachers politicians
you may see
attorneys too
and even agree with me
I think you'll find
all have an agenda
with an axe to grind
lining their pockets
feathering their nest
keeping their cards
close to the chest
saying one thing
doing another
I'd take 'em out and shoot 'em
if I had my druthers
and then there's censorship
where one man's word rules the roost
to remain silent would be
a gag order self-induced
Bricusse and Newley had it right
when they wisely wrote
'Stop the world, I want to get off!'
a verbatim quote
You can't hold it both ways, In meaning.' You
Are either direct.' Or directionless..And thus
In a mess.' No less-en-ing, yet less kenning will ensue.' Though
You deny..Its more obvious..Showing through'
True.' Reality denying.? I find it at best tedious'
Not to mention trying.! And now cov-idiocy is
Really dying.' Symtoms seen, idio-tantric bouts
And much de-crying..Tantrum-atic antic's its
Virtuless incandesacnt-cy liquid spleen venting, venting' yet never airing.' Instead there
Is resenting and vitriol..And severe dis-connect, much fruit less conversation, born.? that really
Cripples the formerly upright soul; struggle of noble
Nations...How do I quantify.? Highlight the prints of such scorn.!
Standing on a rusted platform,
I look towards the looming, tarnished steel clock,
Ticking away my final moments of existence.
Oceanic eyes swell with liquid salinity
As a hollowing whistle booms in the close distance.
The scent of petrol mingles with midnight paranoia.
Placing a shaking hand upon my vibrating chest,
I can detect the trembling of a trepidatious heart,
Whilst the monstrous whistle is getting louder now—
Signaling the next, next stop: ruination.
Pulling up, two ghastly doors creak open,
Heralding me towards finality.
Stepping inside, all that surrounds is a blazing fog,
Like some surrealistic, dreamy haze
Engulfing my every gasping breath.
Choking on the ashes of all the sins
I have branded onto loved ones’ flesh,
I slam to the floor as the tempo of the train accelerates,
Jolting over a swinging bridge,
Taking my corrupted spirit
Over a modern-day River Styx.
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