Put me to sleep, O little god,
spirit of the ancient, healing tree—
a beautiful rustling brewing within the ancestors' plant,
emerging from captivating redness.
Invisible as a shadow, leaving only gleaming, shining bones behind,
the unseen one remains hidden from my eyes.
Yet, it is a tree of lush, vibrant green,
fragrant and sweet-smelling, bearing soft flowers and a hidden thorn.
Your humming sound—a silencing rustle in the night,
in the deep gloom, in the gathering dark—
becomes a dirge for the dead, a hymn of my final rest.
With windows wide open on every side,
I am dangerous and lost,
without origin or protection,
I am weeping,
unveiling a pain of finding the courage
to sleep facing the solitude rather than
hiding from it
Your favorite kind of treat
perhaps its spicy or maybe sweet.
A special TV show
or that quiet place you go.
Some special song you sing
for the joy that it brings.
Holding hands with those
and the bond that it shows.
That little roadside stand
the barefoot walks in sand.
A gentle cooling breeze
the welcome shade of trees.
Meeting up with friends
are good times that we spend.
A treasured memory thought
and finding what we sought.
The warmth that sunshine brings
sweet smelling blooms of spring.
So now to be clear
not all the fav's appear.
But as you see above
some simple things we love!
Another nightly ascent up the stairs towards my solitary bedroom.
Slightly tainted with opiate night perfumes, glistening green totems await;
O souls beyond the time before time was time,
Is there a bright future ahead?
Only the note of B flat spills out of nocturnal batrachian depths.
Strange birds are howling and the black river is almost comatose across the road.
There is a mauve, antediluvian horror clinging to my window pane.
Green tree frogs, watch my sleep as I turn into a star;
I rest in the abode of Orion and my body melts into sweet smelling lilies,
Keep your sorceries around me like green jade amulets,
Trace your rainwater sigils around my bed,
Leap into my dreams and teach me your purple magics.
O pleasures of the nightside borderland,
O silly little green things.
If my body is a temple,
Then my temple is a forest.
A place of worship built by God himself
With arches of thick tree canopies.
And steps to the throne, roots and brush and earth and dirt.
The choirs are the birds, the wind and patterings of prey.
Why isn’t the forest as good a temple as any?
Is my temple less to you
Because the machines have torn down my trees,
Or the blood in my soil upon which life is built
Disgusts you?
But these rampant canyons of trees and sweet smelling wildflowers
Are the offerings I can bring to the one who loves my soul.
And as He brings the sunset
I stretch my limbs to trickle light through the halls of this sanctuary.
It is not as formal
As you would have it.
But it pleases Him the same.
And though I have been torn down time and time,
He constantly grows new life, again and again.
This broken body, He raises up over and over.
Evergreen and eternal.
What could make a better temple than a forest?
With dawn engulfing the morning, bringing light
When the birds wake the day with sounds of greetings.
When the sparkle of the stars disappear from the early sky's.
So is my love for you lighting, inviting always there and never fading
Just the thought of you gives me hope and joy
Knowing that I am not alone in my journey of life and love.
With the gifts of life given freely to us
Just as the ocean cooles me from the burning sun.
So to is your embrace wrapped around me when life burns with confusion.
Not just When your are around, even when being separated.
So is my love for you lighting, inviting always there and never fading
Just the thought of you gives me hope and joy
Knowing that I am not alone in my journey of life and love.
With the beauty of the majestic mountainside
And the aromas of the Lilly's, covering the plains
So to is our love engulfed with sweet smelling, beautiful memories of our encounter's throughout our journeys of life
So is my love for you lighting, inviting always there and never fading
Just the thought of you gives me hope and joy
Knowing that I am not alone in my journey of life and love.
It has been three score and 16 years.
Those life experiences have been mixed.
Through them all, God's Grace was there,
Always reminding me of His loving care.
I am blessed, and I am grateful.
My EYES are great with my friend, 'Glasses'.
My EARS are functioning very soundly.
My TASTE buds are delightful, and
I love TOUCHING and being touched.
I am blessed, and I am grateful.
Never do I take for granted the sweet SMELLING
Fragrance of clean country air befriending
My nostrils as I inhale and exhale. 'Little
Pain has been the story of my life.
I am blessed, and I am grateful.
Called by God for divine endeavour
Blest midst faith's sweet-smelling savour
Gratefully sharing Gospel* with serene fervour.
*For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth...
November 25, 2025
10th place, "1426 BIO" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 11/26/2025
Charlotte the fancy hippo put on airs all the time
her clock was better than most, it had a lovely chime
She had the fanciest laces on her pantaloons, for sure.
Charlotte confided that she had sweet smelling manure
Some believed her but others knew much better.
We had smelled her gas through her jeans and sweater.
Today she is on a swing bragging it is the best around.
Some of us are hoping it breaks and she ends up on the ground.
racy radiant sweet smelling
obeisance to show respect
so sweet aroma is filling
each side and goes direct
* Short acrostic quatrain poem.
the pivot shifted when emptiness gave way
to acceptance that the heart is a treasure chest
of fragrance that comes with perfumed aroma
sweet smelling crises at turning point for love
their union had commenced like pink cotton candy
paradise made in heaven and soft silken sheets
pheromones of adventure passion and longing
inhaled from petals of sentience and youthful desire
as time passed and droughts threated the marriage
resentments fear insecurities and anger resurfaced
and they came to regret not having planted alongside
lavender sage and marigolds to salve and to savour
thwarted by such negligence and self-righteousness
pink blossoms dried up as thorns pierced their hearts
and when they sought refuge in arguments and booze
poison intoxicated what had once been a blessing
cut down to pitiful size at loneliness’ fulcrum
tears alone would not rescue the rose from demise
the rest of such floral narration is written with blood
of salvation and the miraculous gift of honest recovery
Flickering lamps,
a million tiny suns,
piercing the velvet night.
Crackling fireworks,
bursts of gold and crimson,
painting the air.
Sweet-smelling incense,
clouds of saffron and jasmine,
whispering ancient prayers.
Garlands of marigold,
a vibrant embrace,
around doorways, hearts.
Stories of Rama,
echoing through generations,
light triumphing over shadow.
Goddess Lakshmi,
a golden presence,
blessing homes with prosperity.
Mahavira's Nirvana,
a quiet meditation,
seeking inner light.
Guru Hargobind's release,
a beacon of freedom,
shining brightly.
Ashoka's conversion,
a vow to peace,
found in every smile.
Harvest's bounty,
celebrated in shared feasts,
a tapestry of unity.
Diwali,
a shimmering thread,
weaving together cultures,
through flickering lights,
and joyful hearts.
A picture hung upon the parlour wall
Of a brother I'd never met at all
Tony was the eldest child in the nest
Loved, cherished, by parents truly blessed.
Sadly Tony had lived for just four years
His passing left enormous grief and tears
Though I'm one of five sisters, ever dear
How I wish that my brother was still here.
We’d visit the grave often on Sundays
Where sweet smelling flowers each sister laid
We all said prayers asking the Holy One
To gently care for our brother and son.
Now Tony’s sitting on my parlour wall
And my sisters, so that I can recall
The memories we made along life's way
Though none of Tony, so sorry to say.
I often wonder how life would have been
If my brother had remained on the scene.
WILD
At the foot of my garden,
Where nobody goes
There are foxgloves and brambles,
And a pink rambling rose.
There are nettles so tall,
They strive for the sky,
Ivies and grasses,
Sprawling near by.
Buttercups and daisies,
A scattering of clover,
Mosses and meadow sweet,
Trying to take over.
Willow herb, lady’s mantle,
A riot of greens,
Sweet smelling honeysuckle,
A desire to be seen.
Their aim is survival,
So they turn to the sun,
Or seek the damp shade,
Where deep shadows run.
They fight for the light,
And for freedom to roam,
To find their own space,
A place to call home.
Next door is a garden,
So different from mine,
Neat rows of dahlias,
In a straight line.
Fixed to the spot,
No freedom to move,
To find their own joy,
In a place that they love.
A chance to explore,
And play like a child,
To follow our dreams,
And live free and wild.
Love Goggles
My only ambition to count your heart beats,
To watch your chest rise then fall,
to a steady rhythm all your own
Life affirming breath, enthralls.
You need not lasso the far away moon,
Nor swim a vast ocean my dear
For your life entwined with mine
Will give me such pleasure and cheer.
How clever of you to blink your brown eyes!
How magical when you spread your lips!
And dazzle this overflowing heart of mine
When your smile from within you is lit.
Oh! You witty, impressive fellow!
You magnificent, marvelous beast!
To put your handsome head on top
And your sweet smelling feet underneath!
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