He Was a Child Once, Too
He was a child once, too—
before the dusk outgrew the dawn,
before his little hands knew
how much a heart could carry on.
A face once lived beyond his sight,
then slipped away from memory’s light;
and childhood, like a fading tune,
grew quiet beneath a borrowed moon.
He became a roof in someone’s rain,
a little warmth against their pain;
he gave his flame so others could see,
while darkness kept a place for him silently.
He wore the years like a borrowed coat,
kept every storm inside his throat;
and though the world saw strength in him,
I know the child still lives within.
To me, that man is not merely strong—
he is the real hero of my life.
I love you, Abu.
— Zehreen
ALEX FORMENTON
BRIDGE TOO FAR MAYBE THIS ONE
SOME FANS SAY ARE DONE
The Difference Between
Me And You Is: I'm
Not You.
This Time.
You Can - I Can't.
Perfectly Balanced!
The Difference Between
It And Not It...
***Draw A Buncha' Maps***
***Dogs And Ponies In A Show***
***Steal A BOAT!!!***
-----please pipe down----
IS NOT IT!!!!
----nothing isn't----
IS Undefined.
---too simple---
Yet.
(Slippery.)
Let Go.
-Gray Squirrel
09-13-2026
A yacht would be the cherry on the daiquiri
but a tad too opulent for me
Give this admiral a sturdy old dinghy
let me row my way out to sea
A mansion with all the trimmings
six carports, servants quarters separate
Then again, with my aging Edsels
why invest now; I’m not desperate
Ah, a round-the-world cruise
just the tonic to soothe
Yet relaxing at home on my couch
I peruse the planet on TV, munch and slouch
So, just let me alone and leave me be
bathroom breaks ~ adventure enough for me
You couldn't find God, because you've become too serious.
You couldn't see her, even though she's everywhere.
I call your God her, and you're fast to correct it.
See how serious you've become?
Cuz even them, they don't care about their pronouns, titles.
But us human, we fight, we create 'movement' for such things.
See how serious we've become?
God is playful and creative.
He plays hide and seek,
Behind trees, clouds, mountains
In the eyes of the children,
and on their smile.
God is never serious.
We've built concrete structure, surrounded by walls, separated by fence, languages and religions.
And we call it the House of God, in all different names.
Our nations, our territory, our race...Don't we forget that the very foundation we are on, the Earth, it's part of his Kingdom?
God is never serious,
but don't we see, how serious we've become?
DucIndaDeep
Each past, an echo not our own,
worshipped as the most and best.
It's a crowded cemetery, yet alone
we lie when put to the test.
Canyons carved by a vanished rain
will also crumble under their own weight.
Every bend records the strain
of water passing through this date.
Sifting the ashes of a dead fire
where warmth no longer exists.
The remains no longer inspire
as nostalgia grows and persists.
when you lose track of time and life starts slipping away
arilus . caliculus and cyclopia complain that the cheeseboard is to zesty but they are impious from brewing wineberry ! their in psychoanalytic reform
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 17–23, 2026)
So you have to accept someone else’s concerns
If you still care to go abroad
Are you corrupt, do you get the returns
Do you hide them as an experienced fraud
What they call a survey is an interrogation
There is no presumption of innocence
You are pledged guilty because your nation
Is all badly spoken which shortens the chance
To get anywhere you would want to fly
Because you, and not somebody else, just you
Must stop the war, so they'll decide
If you’re worthy to taste their national stew
Isn’t it quieter to take a bus ride
At home, with no worries about bank statements
About who are your parents, dead or alive
The driver won’t bother about their status
None of that humiliation is guaranteed
But isn’t it too clever that people get stressed
For intention to travel abroad, when they need
Just a fortnight break for a much deserved rest?
All the people who are gone
All the ones who learned to fly
They all flew on passed the sun
They all were too young to say good-bye
All the people that have died
All the people that passed the moon
We all try to wonder why
Why all these people have died too soon
Were there lives just meant to end
All the people who have gone away
Why isn't it us instead of them
Was it just meant to be that way
All the people that we loved
All the people that we knew
They were all too young to have to die
When they said good-bye to me and you
Some were family, some were friends
Why did they have to pass so soon
Why'd they have to pass the sun
And why'd they have to pass the moon
All the people who are gone
May they rest in peace where they lie
All the people that have passed
They were all too young to have to die
collectors of nuts
scavengers by nature
endless shell casings......
We were two stars
From each other, too far
With worlds between our beams, it seems
Destiny sadly found and broke our scheme
Which put my fragile mind at war
Cutting my heart to a new scar
I wish we could collide and reunite tonight
Our bright light coming to ignite
Instead we’ll have to lie alone in the sky
And slowly die with our desperate cries
Two stars, too far
Even if we had a chart, we’d remain apart
Through each of its high climber's
And its low diver's
Adored looks, fixed in wonderment
Earth, too, has lovers.
Whilst in return, for stroked claw*
Wrapped tendril, stings more*
Fighting off whose own advances!
The sensual deplore!
* Falcon's, raptor's
* Jellyfish's
What if I can't get out of one
to squeeze into the next?
My son and husband fish
while I sew the table runner
badly back at home
My dying dog looks at me
sarcastically
from between
dirty couch cushions
But before I sat to sew,
I dreamt I ran down hallways
of beige obscurity
Bowie’s ’Labyrinth’
did not invite me
I have to trim
the leaves of cucumber plants
tomorrow
to keep my life in order
In this dream,
I find perfectly aligned
portraits of Presidents
Those dripping clocks never melt
and crooked tables are still good
for Russian Bank and War
(card games)
Ben beats me every time
"The Persistence of Memory"
is always yours, Dali
It is August of another year
and the mockingbirds
keep singing
The same neglected siblings
are biking down the hill at nine
The boy belts out "I know why you run!"
(when | came down the hill)
"I know I can run faster!
My lamps are already upside down
where Heaven is supposed to be
Shoes never take me
where I want to be
But the goldenrod is growing
I see it on the greenway
coming home
A barred owl changes branches
in a mimosa tree
They’ve built bridges
wanting to cross them
to conquer the other side
where the grass is greener.
They want what they can’t see
and will go to great lengths
to lay claim to the other side
where the sky is ever bluer.
Men’s dreams entice them
to reach out to distant shores
convinced what lies beyond
is infallibly better.
AP: 2nd place 2026
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