“The Ten-Year Drift”
Ten years buried,
Like a cabin under frozen snow.
Surface: A sudden knock at the door.
A return of ten years.
Suspension of consciousness
I am relieved. Twist of fate;
An icy chill on a white blanket
slate, fresh skin; a new life.
As the sound of snow sonic,
pillows over the cabin.
There sits our picture.
Fades to old blue.
Once a shared shadow.
Becomes an instant replay.
We sat looking out of the window
Sharing an age-old bourbon.
Stirring in clouds, inside clouds.
A jewel in this moment,
Old friends together again.
she was half heartedly putting on lipstick and mascara too
a little bit of rouge, what could a single father do?
He did not feel he could make suggestions, she was ten after all
Isn’t that the age girls begin primping their faces into a porcelain doll?
here are my rules, for cartooning and painting
1. Have fun
2. Have fun
3. Have fun
4. Have fun
5. Have fun
6. Play
7. Be daring
8. be bold
9. love what you are doing
10. If you do not love it, stop
The tree of the knowledge of good and evil
The tree of life and death
The green apple is poisoned red
The spools of light spoilt on murky depths
Este morning star
Esterification bedrock brooks
Limb for limb
Right eye to the left
Commodiously windswept
Wynn takes the cake
Ten thousand apologies do no good
should the offense injure me
Delicate, the affairs of my heart
~ think before you cleave them apart
as the clock ticks on
time to wrap everything up
work day almost done
Thou shalt consume, consume, consume.
Thou shalt not think.
Thou shalt watch crap on TV.
Thou shalt eat crap (and like it).
Thou shalt feel inadequate.
Thou shalt hate others.
Thou shalt feel helpless.
Thou shalt only think of thyself.
Thou shalt feel superior to nature.
Thou shalt see fear as true and love as false.
Bugger that!
He who gives
to the needy
lends to
the Lord
What the moment
forgets
Heaven
remembers
Fortuitous
bounty
awaiting
us all
When giving
not taking
eternity
— tendered
(First Book Of Prayers: January, 2026)
wedding ring on my finger ...
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Memories I have from long ago
shine through brightly of falling snow
The winters were long and the snow was high
We'd climb frozen mountains up to the sky
Angels fluttering on the pure white ground
children catching snowflakes on their tongues all around
Mr. Snowman silently waits
as we roll up his wife and family of eight
We skated until we could not stand
then we would crawl back to land
Dawdling home at the end of the day
all worn out from a long day of play
There was the aroma of cocoa waiting for us
at bedtime for wasn't any energy for fuss
The next day we'd start all over again
I think the snow was deeper when I was ten.
You are reading this in future;
I write this from the past.
Don't look back here with sadness, through your rosey tinted glass.
Im In the field right now! Trust me, I can see the grass!
The wind is cold! Theres wolves about, and vipers slither past!
Its still right now I write this from, though I am in the past.
Im here right now, you're here right now; so why you feeling sad?
You wont remember these things, in the future, looking back.
So just memorise this poem, it's called the 'Rosy Tinted Crack'.
Pain managed; not at T E N!
Nor at two, four, six a.m.
Not so much a squeeze
as a labor-like pain.
Intensity of calf cramp,
beyond imagination’s stretch.
Worthwhile epidural; we will see.
Something replaced the relief.
Invasive ivy wraps around my right.
Leg in turmoil; spoils of success.
Information relays that exercise
can exacerbate; cut me a break.
Steepled hands, then knuckle hug.
How can we manage to get it right?
God knows. God knows. Good…
all that ails me will be used for good,
but meanwhile it’s very bad. Sorry
for those who groan in suffering.
We share a sun
from ten thousand miles apart,
me enjoying a beautiful day,
you huddling in a shelter
out of harms way.
We share a moon
from ten thousand miles apart,
me relaxing around a bonfire with friends,
you taking advantage of the darkness
to gather food and supplies.
We share a day
from ten thousand miles apart,
me traveling as I want,
you caught in the crossfire
of another senseless war.
We share our lives
from ten thousand miles apart,
me praying for your safety,
you hoping to be out of
the hell you are in.
Death, Death, Death
It's laments to the every living bodies
For souls it's devoted...
Highs..highs to Lows..lows
The master unwavering chains loop times of the old
Unhidden unhidden unhidden
Dark lord airs it with pride.. to nobilities ,
Old, young....the good and bad
More more more ...quest...quest
It thirst for new souls it haunts...
Who challenges it's quest from the new sun?? to new moon....
By lubega kenneth
he signs death like he signs autographs—
quick, proud, no eye contact.
the ink smells of burnt orange peel and sweat.
he’s got the sun behind him,
and a pen that tastes of rust.
the papers call it “justice served,”
but i see a man trying to outpace his own shadow,
killing the ghosts before they vote again.
he changes the rules—
twelve men in a room,
now only eight have to agree
that a man deserves to die.
he smiles for the cameras,
says it’s for the victims,
but the ghosts nod off in the gallery,
too tired to haunt the living anymore.
they say it’s quicker now,
no more appeals that last a lifetime—
just a warrant, a date, a needle.
a machine that hums efficiency
in the land of oranges and hurricanes.
he calls it strength.
the newspapers call it leadership.
the preachers call it divine.
but the dead call it silence.
you can’t see mercy in the muggy air,
only steam rising from asphalt
and the sound of another man’s name
being crossed off the list.
politics is a blood thirsty business,
and power drinks best from a warm vein.
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