On the edge of tomorrow
Between the wrinkles of dream and reality
Life flows like a stream in spring
Indifferent to whims and folly of time
Virile entity, volatile and voracious
Immortal in its bountiful energy
Obstinate in its determined drive
Nebulous and tempestuous at best
AP: 3rd place 2026
Through autumn morning's misty pall
like luffing sails on ancient ships
and blinding fog in which we crawl
to moor our hopes in empty slips...
Like luffing sails on ancient ships,
the billows drift just off the coast
much like the hauntings of gray ghosts...
And blinding fog in which we crawl,
a stage where nothing seems quite real,
except the silence that we feel...
To moor our hopes in empty slips,
where only silhouettes remain
~ await reality again...
I am walking on a single thread,
I am running out of time,
I am sinking into maybe and once upon a time,
I am focusing out of a silver dime.
The city lights are blinking,
The memoirs are getting blurry,
The colours are running out together,
The world is drifting in motion.
Is this world only mine?
Are your tensions becoming vague?
Are you sinking into the light beneath the balcony door?
Are you craving the signs?
The desecrated smile on your face,
The mistakes are hazy,
My planet is losing shape without your voice,
I am trying to locate your gaze.
If I fall, is that called freedom,
Or just another circle made?
I am not lost or out of focus,
But I don't want to lose my grip on the strand.
Julius Caesar hastened a decline in liberty
Roman rights abridged, from a partial democracy.
A leader can come in, and single handed attack
The freedoms people had, not easy to get back.
Germany was a democracy under Weimar
Then Hitler came in, they followed his star
Mussolini dismantled freedoms Italy had
Democracy is easy to lose, and that's sad.
Nicaragua was a democracy, then voted in Ortega
He said no more voting until we reach the planet Vega.
Venezuela voted in a populist red:
Now people shiver when secret police tread.
Turkey was free until Erdogan moved.
He jailed journalists, judges too.
It is like roach motel, no doubt.
You can check in to dictatorship, but you can't check out.
Some leaders won just enough of the vote
Some took a while to don the dictator coat.
But freedom is apparently not immune
to a strong leader sweeping it off with a broom.
Churchill was on Democracy's side
But said it's the worst system except for all that were tried.
We have trillions in debt, as far as the eye can see
And immigrants who don't all accept liberty.
So there's pressure to enter Roach Motel
Can we avoid it? Too early to tell.
I beseech the sun to
undress the stars,
to pull the velvet off the
night
and let the dark spill into
morning.
Let light be reckless, let it
wander
over rooftops, over quiet
kitchens,
over the places I hold my
breath.
Strip the sky of its secrets,
sun.
Lay bare the constellations I
named for hope,
the ones I traced with
shaking fingers
when sleep wouldn't come.
Let them be naked and
ordinary-
not myths, not wishes, not
promises.
Just points of fire,
Just truth without the ache
of distance.
And of the stars blush in the
daylight,
let it be for me.
Let them remember how I
prayed to them,
how I begged the dark to
keep them safe,
how I finally learned to ask
the sun
to set them free.
So shine.
I undress the night.
Show me what's left
when I stop looking up
and start living in the light.
Wasteland sounds.
My life is-
Craters.
The bridge takes me to unfinished business.
It’s as real as spider smells.
Creaking.
Sinister.
Sap making its way through the maze.
I like rust.
And whatever comes out of gum ball machines.
It ain’t gum these days.
When I thought I needed something to chew on?
I got thumb tacks and rough toilet paper.
On jam and toast.
I am as calm as the skeleton of a swan.
The microscopic.
Jellyfish lungs.
Chopped up fish arms.
Invisible.
Shivering as if I’ll dissolve.
There’s still flowers, fall leaves, and trash cans.
I’m flushed.
It’s October.
So the chattering teeth behave a little longer.
The Robots are here, with more every day
to mimic our actions in work and play.
They're programmed to help in all that we do
and serve with allegiance, steadfast and true.
As time goes by, increasing their score
with added AI, their "brains" do much more!
Expressions will change as eyes flash, beware;
belligerent smiles strip away care.
Intelligence shows a semblance of thought;
programmers express, “what have we wrought!”
Compared to old days of witchcraft fear-
new era of Robots- lord keep us clear.
Those Witches of folklore, evil or not-
won't match the terror of what we begot.
I ended up in this life—I have no idea how—
and along the way, I realized that the room—vast as it was—
had neither doors nor windows. "Had none" is an understatement, for they *were* there,
only behind the windows and doors lay painted walls—
depicting various scenes, various times of day, various faces.
And I swear, I’ve tried so many things in my life;
perhaps one day, a wall will fall,
letting me see the unseen, hear the unheard,
see, feel, hear, and taste the untasted.
But until then,
I must keep opening doors and windows,
because one never knows
what lies behind them.
offstage reflection
ideally astounding
simultaneously
brainwash outwards
censurable stairway
impracticable undress
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 14–20, 2026)
He keeps time
in the front of his hat,
a clock that ticks sideways
and only when it wants to.
The books beneath him
lean like secrets,
each spine a doorway
he’s already wandered through
and rearranged.
He laughs softly,
as if the world
is a riddle he solved
years ago
and misplaced the answer
on purpose.
His silk hat glows
with borrowed moonlight.
His shadow stretches
longer than logic.
And his smile~
that crooked invitation~
suggests that madness
is simply wonder
without its manners.
If there’s a message,
it’s hidden in the ticking:
time isn’t the master
of Wonderland.
It’s just another guest
at the Hatter’s table,
pouring tea
into the wrong cup
and pretending
it meant to.
Before the city grew teeth of storeys,
Every road was once a footpath of dark earth,
Every skyline a village dream feigning height.
The whirlwind arrives like an ancestral drum,
Beating zinc roofs into memory,
While the soil drinks without question.
Maize rises like angry dust,
Crops sleep beneath the earth like buried wealth,
The old iroko keeps census of generations.
We call ourselves urban, as if asphalt
Could bleach the village from our blood,
As if language could divorce us from reality.
Every man carries an ancestral footpath,
Every woman a forgotten rib in the bones,
Every last name is a door to somewhere rural.
The city is only a village that learnt to disguise itself,
And civilisation, perhaps, is merely distance,
From the stream that first taught us to swim.
When the rain smells of the earth,
Listen keenly—the village speaks through you;
Everyone is a village man, even in hired suits.
From Vandeikya to Eko sluthers the same rhythm,
Only the midriff of imagination pats on them.
Do you see the serenity of my
misshaped machete?
A moment mistaken for a musical mystery,
Hold no hopes for this ballad my blade sings to you;
She only reflects the dreams on a dimmed dawn you once drew,
Foolishly flourishing for the finely crafted chaos,
When the writings on her walls bleed for the bruises you prey on,
Rest on the reflection she wove for you,
A closet you’ve locked, she wiggled her way into,
Do the realistic corners of what you seek have no light?
Did my mahogany mirror make you feel a little fright?
Was holding the hands of an echo a suggestive thrill?
Or would you rather have a minute and relearn the drill?
Dare not blame my beastly blade, wear no shade, since you stayed,
So lay your cards and pay the price you played.
On the 11th of September
A day we should all remember
That sad day the Twin Towers came falling down
Crashing to the ground
That fateful, infamous day
When Americans passed away
2,977 unfortunate souls
Went up to become God's Guardian Angels
And let's remember as well
Those who died from the toxins in the air from hell
Those Brave Police Officers, Firemen, EMTs and brave Citizens
To rescue people, went back in again and again
Now, God's Guardian Angels watch over us
As we do dangerous things and such
Things that must be done, understand?
To save people in danger, as many as we can
So, let's bow our heads and say a prayer
For our Heroes who die every day everywhere
Our Heroes who may not always get recognized
But are Brave Heroes none the less in our eyes
When you relax after your day is done
Please remember our Heroic Unlucky Ones
Who are sadly no longer here
To Them, raise a cup, drink a toast of wine, spirits or beer
Remember we must!
Cause when the debris is cleared and cleared the dust
The Terrible War Site is gone
But the Memories live on...
Copyright ©? Jeff W. Watson, September 11, 2026
Dusk
brings a sense of calm
Sultry tones of his laugh
rent my headspace
Wrap around my fingers
like a lightning rod
Flush my face with fantasies
but none are rated family
And my juvenile self wonders
What it's like
to be consumed by love...
I think I'm close.
I for one
I’m being strangled
by the radiance of his half-life essence.
Ubiquitous beauty,
bleeding through my AMOLED screen.
To truly appreciate it
I need this in 4D.
4D? Why not 3D?
Because... for me
I want to exist beside his.
If my beginning and end are the same,
I’d want them both to have his.
And if I spent it all for his
I’d be the happiest frivol.
Surreal Categories
Definition | What is Surreal in Poetry?
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