listen to the sounds
leaves rustle, oceans roar
natures symphony
DEAD FLOWER'S SYMPHONY
Sitting beside the smallest grave,
With a wrenching heart, and broken soul.
It smells of fresh grass, a tear I gave,
A sigh in my heart, where grief takes toll.
When shadows fill the memory jar,
My dreams blur, everything turns to dust.
When fog’s sword cuts each single flower,
I take deep breath, in grief and silent trust.
Aiming to touch you across a mile,
Our invisible red thread makes me smile.
I pick up grave’s dust with grief and pain,
And sing forgotten song to heal, to mend.
I wish not to reverse the ticks of clock,
Nor change the fate’s design, I must amend.
But cherish memories of what was once mine,
And mend my soul till sorrows meet their end.
I hope I marry a man who loves me in ways the world can see.
Not just in quiet words spoken when no one is around,
but in crowded places where his eyes still search for me first.
A man who brings me flowers for no special reason,
on an ordinary day,
simply because I crossed his mind
and he wanted me to know.
The kind of man who waits for me while I get ready,
leaning against the doorway with a soft smile,
watching me as if even my smallest habits
are worth remembering.
A man who loves me not only in grand gestures,
but in the unnoticed moments—
the comfortable silences,
the gentle touches,
the way he reaches for my hand without thinking.
Someone who makes the ordinary feel extraordinary,
until the simplest days with him
become the memories my heart holds onto forever.
I hope I marry a man whose love feels like home—
steady, warm, and certain—
the kind of love that never has to be questioned,
because it is shown in a hundred quiet ways every single day.
The Morning Symphony
by Kevin Davis 2025
Right before the world awakens from the dark,
Before the sun provides its first bright spark,
Nature sings—a melody through the air,
A thank-you for the night, serene and fair.
If you find yourself listening, still and aware,
Wait for the crescendo as dawn paints the air.
Give thanks for the beauty surrounding you here—
These gifts are presented for your eyes and ears.
The world’s symphony is fresh and new,
Ready for joy or sorrow’s hue.
A command performance, bright as dew—
This moment exists for none but you.
No one else will witness it quite the same,
A fleeting gift that whispers your name.
Hold it close, remember it clear—
The morning’s song will always be near
The Morning Symphony
by Kevin Davis 2025
Right before the world awakens from the dark,
Before the sun provides its first bright spark,
Nature sings—a melody through the air,
A thank-you for the night, serene and fair.
If you find yourself listening, still and aware,
Wait for the crescendo as dawn paints the air.
Give thanks for the beauty surrounding you here—
These gifts are presented for your eyes and ears.
The world’s symphony is fresh and new,
Ready for joy or sorrow’s hue.
A command performance, bright as dew—
This moment exists for none but you.
No one else will witness it quite the same,
A fleeting gift that whispers your name.
Hold it close, remember it clear—
The morning’s song will always be near.
A silver symphony of sins shine
Like a star from an envious heart
Where words wither when ingenious
Hoping to hide in their colorful presentation
Faking sincerity in hopes as vague cloak
To cover the insanity of violet vanity
We waste turquoise time battling
Twisted vines of self serving lines
That trap instead of offering freedom
Of speech despite the sands on beach
Sinking underneath shuffling feet
Weary from karma’s treats or defeats
Trying to keep up with the Jones’s
Not realizing or ignoring that they too sin
Therefore in the end we must learn to
Appreciate our jaded journey of learning
Set jaundiced jealousy on a shelf
In a jar beside hardened heart
Reaching for the light and enlightenment
Don't let anybody put out
the bright, ardent flame
of your enduring faith:
call on His holy name,
He's worthy of each beautiful praise,
He's worthy of words that amaze!
In this grand symphony,
let's find our grace
with another delightful phrase;
in this grand symphony,
let's join angels faithful to Him,
praising His stunning creation
with joy and adoration,
showing that courage
despised by earthly lords,
by vile men that swing their swords!
It's the true God we joyfully proclaim!
Don't godless people without kindness
look for pleasure, for that quick substitute
to replace their worthless emptiness?
Have they ever expressed gratitude?
Don't they look for instant gratification
in wicked deeds that bring damnation?
In this grand symphony,
let's find our grace lost to sin,
once prey of Satan's trickery;
oh, let's return to the God
of holiness and mercy!
There's no sweeter song than ours,
it's an angelic hymn
resounding in the halls of Heaven:
where no sadness is allowed!
TO A NEVER-ENDING SYMPHONY
OF EMANCIPATION’S RECONSTRUCTION
Stomping cautiously
Along the erratic cadences
Of slaved-based racism
And its quarter-note overtones,
We groove from one oppressive
Barred-beat to another:
The scored freedom sojourn
Filled with negative rest stops,
Designed to decrescendo
Wailing staccato, rhythmic screams
Of jazzy, flowing notes, echoing
With rebellious metered sounds:-
Bypassing silent apathetic rest stops,
With a crescendo of rumbling faith
And sassy melodic hopes,
Renewed booming sounds of liberation,
void of waning half notes,
Loudly burst into vibrant whole notes
Of modulating fixed purpose:
Creating a never-ending
Symphony Of Emancipation,
Conducted by spiritual directing,
Exacting melodic notes
Of an ultrasonic pulse,
Echoing a never-ending concert
And its encore sounds of
Liberty’s total reality:-
Under neon lights and polished floors,
Where innovation hums behind grand doors,
A city of brands in banners dressed,
Each booth a stage, each pitch a quest.
Voices rise in a rhythmic flow,
Of deals to spark and ideas to grow,
From handcrafted builds to digital dreams,
Every corner bursts with vibrant themes.
Designs that dazzle, bold and bright,
Structures rising in a single night,
Stories told through shape and space,
Each exhibit a brand’s embrace.
Footsteps echo on carpeted aisles,
Strangers meeting with knowing smiles,
Cards exchanged, connections made,
Opportunities bloom in the trade show parade.
Screens flicker with future visions,
Products born from bold decisions,
From modular forms to custom art,
Each booth reflects a beating heart.
And when the lights begin to fade,
And the grand displays start to wane,
What lingers still beyond the view—
Are the ties we built, the dreams we grew.
For a trade show is more than display,
It’s where tomorrow finds its way.
The Moon plays a cello made of blue cheese,
While comets dance tango with the cosmic breeze.
They bow to the planets in top hats of gold,
As the stardust serenade starts to unfold.
Pocket-sized nebulas hum in high C,
Pouring silver syrup into the Milky Way tea.
The Big Dipper ladles out shimmering dreams,
Sewing velvet night with neon light beams.
Orion’s belt buckles, too tight, snap in two,
Sending pearls of wonder directly to you.
The meteors giggle in bright, sparkling showers,
Waking up sleeping, astral sunflowers.
Shh... hear the dust particles sing in the dark,
A quiet, bright song of a shimmering spark.
The silence is dancing, the stars are in tune,
Serenading the world with a spoon and a spoon.
So catch all the dust in your pocket of sleep,
Where mysteries slumber and gravity’s deep.
The serenade ends when the purple dawn breaks,
And the sun eats the stardust, for goodness’s sakes!
A tapestry of fire, woven through the night,
Each thread a world, a beacon burning bright.
Mercury, swift and nimble, dances close to the sun,
A silvered droplet, forever on the run.
Venus, veiled in mystery, a pearl of jade,
Her surface scorching, secrets yet to be laid.
Earth, our blue marble, a jewel in the void,
With oceans sapphire, where life has been deployed.
Mars, a rusty warrior, his colors fade to red,
A whisper of water, where once rivers flowed and bled.
Jupiter, a king, with swirling storms unseen,
A giant's gaze, forever on the scene.
Saturn, ringed with ice, a crown of diamond light,
His moons a dance, in endless, starlit flight.
Uranus, tipped on his side, a frozen turquoise sphere,
A tilted world, where whispers of ice pierce the ear.
Neptune, a cerulean dream, distant and serene,
His winds a fury, a tempest unseen.
And Pluto, banished king, a dwarf in the deep,
Where darkness reigns, and secrets forever sleep.
Each world a story, a canvas painted bold,
From fiery sun to frozen cold.
A symphony of planets, in the cosmic grand design,
A universe of wonder, where knowledge intertwines.
Whimsical Symphony
Orchestra enriched
Instrumental sinfonia
Phenomenal performance
Sounds that moves the crowd
Sculptured to perfection
Many years of practice
Disciplaned talent
Rivers torrent beyond therapeutic
Stillness nightly and calm
Beautiful melody
Rendered serenity
Drum bass ending
Golden stage over powering
Dressed in black
Breath taking
A spectacular moment mid-night evening
Serene piano hues
In awe with a standing ovation overview
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I found your silence first—not the hush
of snowfall or stopped clocks, but the raw
unraveling of a symphony mid-note,
the bow still hovering above the strings.
What composes you? Not the obvious:
not the freckles like tossed pennies,
not the laugh that cracks like thin ice.
Deeper—the way your shadow hesitates
at doorways, as if it remembers
a threshold it once couldn’t cross.
Your hands are not just hands:
they are the aftermath of holding on,
the creases where light lingers
like a rumor in an empty room.
I trace them, learning the braille
of all you’ve clenched and released.
Sometimes, I catch you staring
at the spaces between things~
the pause before a downpour,
the breath a mirror steals
when it forgets your face.
You are the almost, the not quite,
the symphony that never resolves.
And yet~
when you turn to me, unfinished,
I swear I hear the music
begin again, and I fall
in love with you
all over again.
I found your silence first—not the hush
of snowfall or stopped clocks, but the raw
unraveling of a symphony mid-note,
the bow still hovering above the strings.
What composes you? Not the obvious:
not the freckles like tossed pennies,
not the laugh that cracks like thin ice.
Deeper—the way your shadow hesitates
at doorways, as if it remembers
a threshold it once couldn’t cross.
Your hands are not just hands:
they are the aftermath of holding on,
the creases where light lingers
like a rumor in an empty room.
I trace them, learning the braille
of all you’ve clenched and released.
Sometimes, I catch you staring
at the spaces between things~
the pause before a downpour,
the breath a mirror steals
when it forgets your face.
You are the almost, the not quite,
the symphony that never resolves.
And yet~
when you turn to me, unfinished,
I swear I hear the music
begin again, and I fall
in love with you
all over again.
You're my favourite daybreak melody.
I wake soft sips to your aroma.
Ready to take on the day.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
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