Tie me to your tongue
and let me speak truth like you
when you tell my tales.
Winner: 3rd Place, Boulevard of the Beloved, Ink Empress (Sponsor), 9/17/26
Tethers float & tickle like feathers
I'm aloft unaware of outside weathers
Evening enhanced by colloquial pleasures
Malleable & manipulated
Esoterica like yours specifically stipulated
"Tie me to your tongue" I sing
Oh I utter the strangest things!
Yet I must admit I'm fully focussed
Overjoyed at this conversational hocus pocus
Unusually laid back & vocally gushing
Rampant points of interest gain further pushing
Tantalise & give me traction
Obligated now to end-goal satisfaction
Nerve endings sever in hyperspace
"Great subject matter expert kept perfect pace!"
Unbiased reviews are fully flowing
Eloquence like yours has me all glowing
Cicadas drone their sun-drunk, tireless hymn
as July swelters, gold and overfull.
the driveway steams, the plastic buckets brim,
and heat, like dye, won't sit still or stay dull.
We cinch the cotton tight in twisted rings,
as if a knot could hold the blazing tide.
but sweat and color are unruly things:
both spread, both stain, both won't be denied.
Cerulean and crimson breach their line,
seep into one another, slow, unplanned,
and thicken into a hue with no design,
no name the rubber bands prepared it for.
The soda ash unlatches what was sealed;
the color doesn't sit, it moves in deep,
past cotton's threshold, till it's not revealed
but lived in, permanent as things we keep.
So heat unstitches winter's careful fold,
loosens what was buttoned, cinched, and pressed,
and turns the plain, repeated days to gold
the way a fever turns a body's rest.
Unwind the bands. Let August find the proof:
a swirl no ruler's hand could have designed,
the driveway's stain, the sun-bleached, faded roof
of summer, fixed now in the changed mind.
It was quite a hot day in July.
Joe came to our picnic in tie dye.
That shirt looked so crappy
we all lost our happy,
and the little kids started to cry.
“Take your shirt off if you wish to dine,”
we then told him, but things were not fine,
for tattooed on his chest
was what looked like a vest
with his shirt’s awful tie dye design!
The sight of open flowers
Spectacular from towers
Tender petals that amuse
With kaleidoscopic hues
Landscapes in several tints
Resemble modern art prints
The brows of pellucid lakes
Glittering glossy snowflakes
Beautiful divine sunrise
Scintillating brilliant skies
Burning yellow tinged twilight
Sprinkling moonlight as fluorite
Swaying panicles with blooms
Exotic whiffs of perfumes
Originate from one womb
In vivid shades they illume
The lush green blooming valleys
Active fauna with rallies
The alighting garden sprite
Relaxes with much delight
An expo of July dyes
Mellifluous tunes of flies
Nature's astonishing fete
Offers a visual treat
Place: Honourable Mention
Tie-Dye in July
Everyone has different colors inside them,
and they express them differently.
Personally, mine would be:
Red for love,
Blue for sadness,
Yellow for happiness,
Purple for dreams,
Black for pain,
Green for growth.
See, when people only see the outside,
they create theories and make a whole story
and start judging other people by their color—
not only their color,
but the story they create about who they are.
Sometimes I just wish people would get to really know a person,
so much that everyone’s colors could combine
and make a big rainbow,
so that we could all put our differences together
and make something beautiful.
Even the people judging have colors inside.
Everyone has different colors,
and they express them differently.
tie dye in July
swirling summer memories
back to school halts this
It was the summer of love. I was eight -
south in the California state
with discipline, the War, and hate.
I wore a button down shirt
and hard black shoes that always hurt,
but in my heart, no one could deny
a tie dye in July.
Ten years later, I was released
to freedom, love, and peace.
made of real cotton, not of fleece.
A rainbow appeared, my mind was split.
I took a California sunshine hit
at Venice Beach, eight miles high,
wearing tie dye in July.
On time's pedal, someone hit the gas -
ten years gone, not all things last.
George once said, "all things must pass",
so, at a corporate conference
a cool free shirt and pretence -
something was awry
as I wore tie dye in July.
As we two, in a poem's words unite,
I'll tell you my best memories, tonight.
They were rainbow colors, ever bright;
and, whatever it all meant,
when, to Heaven, I am sent,
I hope that I will fly
wearing tie dye in July.
Tie Dye in July
Like Phulkari women in July
I dye the plain days
then stitch gold flowers where the sun burned me
Like dyeing fabric with turmeric indigo and madder root
I carved yellow joy under the amaltas bench forever
Singing while embroidering with messy thread on the floor
Summer heat reminds me of sorrow
curved in black thread of thorn
With wounded fingers I make the woman
who wore burning coal on her feet
The vibrant red reflects my emotions
and love for my past life
Then I turn to another phase
when shibori binds me in July heat
sashiko mends me with white thread
tie the chaos stitch the light back in
Every color blends and comes together
like a rainbow after rain
Memories are crafted with grey ash
and sometimes with vibrant amber
Healing and wounded
like a storm stuck in a heaven star
Dampen a white T-Shirt till wet.
Twist into a pinwheel, then get
The shape to stay round
And pat until sound.
Bind the edge with tape till it's set.
Split the circle space into three-
Red, white, and blue for all to see!
Dye one-third dark blue;
Bright red, one-third too.
The rest stays pure white to agree.
Unfolding it shows the design!
You're ready to celebrate, fine!
July Fourth is live!
Receive a high-five
As your shirt and honor combine!
Morning slips in sideways.
Moonbeam dips a cotton shirt
into a bowl of dyes~
colors blooming outward
like shy creatures
learning their names.
She lifts the fabric.
Droplets fall in bright plinks,
each one a tiny skipping stone
across the warmth of July.
On the clothesline,
the tie-dyed shirt sways~
a small carnival of swirl and hush,
its spiral turning slowly
as if practicing
for some future miracle.
Moonbeam hums.
Not a song~
more like a friendly spell
to coax the colors
into behaving.
They don’t.
A streak of green wiggles free
and settles into a shape
that looks suspiciously
like mischief.
Wind arrives,
ruffling the hem
with the politeness
of a guest who knows
it’s early.
The shirt answers
with a soft flutter~
a tiny applause.
By afternoon,
the spiral tightens,
gathers itself,
and glows faintly
as if July tucked
a secret inside it.
Moonbeam takes it down,
presses the warm cotton
to her cheek,
and laughs.
Then she slips it on,
and the swirl settles
against her like a tame comet
choosing a shoulder
to rest on.
Through everything
Everything
I always had the last connection.
The last breath before sinking,
The last finger on the sill before falling.
The last oasis in the desert,
The last step before the cliff.
That connection was so dense and enveloping
The fog shrouding everything around it.
When it was severed
Cut
Dropped
Left
And the mist dissipated
All I saw
Was nostalgic desperation.
They played "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" at the nursing home
People in their eighties clapped and sang along.
I paused nearby and listened before proceeding on my way
It was a ray of sun in a cloudy dismal day.
They played "Tie a Yellow Ribbon" when the POWs came home
Vietnam behind them, the eagle had long flown
From 'hell in session' to a divided land
They deserved our thanks, so strike up the eighties band.
(Chorus)
Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree
It's been many years, but heart's stay free
The world is getting smaller, friends have come and gone
Sometimes a song can help a weary soul hold on.
They played "tie a yellow ribbon' for freedom in Hong Kong
Funny how a romance tune became a protest song.
We've already forgotten those romantics in the street
A song can't beat a rifle, no matter how upbeat.
They played "tie a yellow ribbon" when our hostages came home
Women wore one in the Civil War when the cavalry was gone
Home is where the heart is, and if oldsters can laugh and share
The rest of us should regroup and try to self-repair.
The inner self is a clean lake,
Reflects blue of the sky,
Even when we sleep, it`s awake
And marks a divine tie.
It is ever clear bright
Leads on the path of light
Mirrors the truth upright.
Let`s not the inward depth forsake,
The inner self is a clean lake.
You open your mouth
And my breath comes out
My heart spilled on your chest
I know what happens next
Fingers intertwine
I’ll let you blur the line
As our souls collide
You are me and mine
It’s destiny, magnetic force
It’s only natural, I got no choice
It’s co regulation, a chemical bond
I’m tied up, and down, there’s no way around
If there’s no one to hear it, it still makes a sound
In the dead of night
There’s no black and white
No me and you
No wrong or right
I’m scared of my pen like I was born to write
That we’re two halves
Of a different whole
Trauma bond, alcohol
Dependency and Tylenol
Spin in a circle cause the daze gets me high
Truths and a lie
We’re getting by,
year by moment
wipe your tears on my chest
I know what happens next
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