You see them rise while still in the suburbs,
the rings of hills, the wilderness buffer;
smaller, more round than what waits further on,
some sport cabins atop with views quite long.
Down on the road some houses still pop up
for folks who hate the concrete, noise, and trucks,
and at crossroads, small stores with country themes,
selling jerky, t-shirts with wild scenes.
Then small motels folks claim on the weekend,
cars with kayaks, across the ponds to wend.
Just down from that, a smallish petting zoo,
with local critters strutting in plain view,
the kind you wish you could see in the woods,
but they all hide, and that’s for their own good.
Then a small lake, stubbed with second homes,
the kind that you hope someday you might own,
weathered docks and fishing boats on the lake,
could the trout here be big enough to take?
But now the peaks are stretching for the clouds,
buildings thin out, the road the forest crowds,
the foothills gone, these mountains your escape,
a wild land, the kind owned by the state.
Her serene beauty was unparalleled.
We could only watch in blessed awe.
With grace she morphed into a butterfly.
Gently she flew far beyond our realm.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Tireless is time, we know.
Transient is each second.
Today, yesterday’s child,
Travels twice round the clock.
Transition, it likes most.
Timepieces stop for none.
Ticktocking they move on.
clement weather shift
with rainbow tinted festoons
dried leaves' canned laughter
men with harvest, birds in tours
time for thanksgiving gala!
Place: 2 nd
The truth, the passion, and the Poet
Ridin' high, the truth is told, passions and poet collide,
Igniting the shadows with fire and light!
My heart is open, free to decide,
I break to the open and soar with the bold!
Passions collide with the woman I know,
The fire is rising, I let it ride,
No longer walking with stories untold!
I've crossed the wild and rocky range!
The fire is lit and I let it glow!
My heart is free and it feels so strange,
Untied from the stories of my former age!
Passions collide as the high winds blow!
Feeling the heat as my fires rage!
On top of the world I fly,
With every heartbeat I feel the pride,
Kissing the past a sweet goodbye,
The truth, the passion, the poet and I!
— Debra
A lesser moon I can quite well withstand,
A gentle crescent grants a gracious smile,
To all the world, an honest helping hand,
And friends well know I'll go the extra mile.
But then there comes that shining disk of hell,
And buried in a hole, I feel its flood,
And then regret my wit and sharpened smell,
And all that lusts the rip and flowing blood.
And one may say I should not be a wolf,
As wolves have said I should not human be;
I am the thread that spans across the gulf,
The day and night it seems the world must see.
And so there lies the deep divided one,
Each half despising what the other's done.
"OUR LIFE PATH SONG"??
(written by Michelle L. LeBlanc
April 26 & May 4, 2026)
Life goes on and on and on
Just as sings the beautiful song
Communicating on different planes
Soul connection forever strong
Meanwhile, amidst it all
Between your world and mine
We are finding ways to exchange our love
Beyond the rules of time
I don't need to wait till I cross over
We're learning the codes here and now
Exchanging our heart messages
And all I can say is wow!
I've seen it slowly coming
At first, subtle, seeming so small
Others guessing coincidence
But you and I know above it all!
Matters not what others think
That's part of my soul's path
Learning to let go of the anxious mind
Opens me up to the spiritual math
As we look at the horizon together
We know it won't be very long
Our connection to strengthen even more
Learning the melody of our Life Path song!
I love you so much Jayden! ??????????
____
Written in Memory of my Sonshine:
Jayden Donald LeBlanc
July 14, 2006-Sept 4, 2022
I am in that in-between space
where nothing matters
yet everything does.
So much noise around me
while something quietly died inside.
Is it a magnetic frequency?
Misplaced energy?
Not to speak in codes—
I simply do not know anymore.
Surrounded by many,
yet still lonely.
Never truly understood.
No support from anyone.
Are we alone in this universe?
Do we pray to a God who does not exist,
or one who chooses not to listen?
Sometimes
I feel like a broken-winged Pegasus.
Will my wing ever mend?
Will I ever fly from this cliff—
to admire the stars
as the calming wind touches my face,
soaring higher
while the valley grows smaller below?
Tears run to my lips
as I watch the sun setting,
feeling the warmth of its fading glow.
At least that is what I imagined
for a wounded warrior
praying for days
of peaceful existence.
I still wonder—
will it have
a happy ending?
Roses are red
or so we’ve been told,
a neat little truth
the world likes to hold.
But I’ve watched them linger
past crimson and flame,
softening into purples,
into vintage, into almost-gone names.
Roses are red
until time has its say,
until petals grow tired
of being bright every day.
I love them in bloom,
all full of their youth,
open and fragrant
and certain of truth.
But there’s something holy
in watching them fall,
in colors that whisper
instead of calling.
They teach me that beauty
is not just the start
it lives in the fading,
the breaking apart.
Roses are red,
yes... briefly, it’s true.
But they’re also most honest
when they’re changing too.
nothing to say
yet restless in silence
the quiet merely perceived boredom
uneventfulness at best
a pause on auto repeat
with the mind rearing to go
where to and why at all
parody of Nirvana
longing for more here and now
ego inflation with a
misplaced puncture kit
Shangri la waiting to happen
a rainbow in slow motion
one step at a time
patient in gratitude
without fear nor entitlement
a gentle river flows without push
the pull of gravity signifies lightness
and being means more
than frantic disorderly movement
From a mother's womb to an earthly grave
we make the transition being so very brave.
Not knowing between what there is to attain
because of our ignorance we suffer the pain.
_________________________________
I witness the camouflage of leaves.
I hear the soft sighing of the breeze.
I touch and feel the golden wheat sheaves.
I cherish the buzzing of the bees.
Trees strip themselves with tentative ache.
They weave novel, flamboyant garments.
Singing autumn songs, robins awake.
Meadows put on fresh floral ornaments.
Blue topaz shades embellish the sky.
Birds and flies and bees play hide-and-seek.
Summer seems to say a mute goodbye.
The sun slowly comes down from its peak.
Signs in nature are seen far and wide.
Are these keepsakes of my eventide?
My new shoes came in today.
After what felt like a hundred months of waiting.
They were just sitting there, anticipating—
looking forward to all the new adventures
and traveling.
I could not wait to put them on.
But first, I had to
stop escaping.
From my past.
From certain people and places.
So I walked barefoot for a bit—
felt the grass and dirt between my toes
while stretching.
I kept going until I saw something.
There were my old pair of shoes
at the side of this bridge.
Never realized how torn and tattered
they had become.
Why did I wear those for so long?
They had holes in the soles,
and the rest was barely staying in place.
I was glad to say farewell
as I tossed them in a nearby trash bin.
I then washed my feet
in the pond underneath the bridge,
then happily ran across
to meet my new pair.
They were so soft and comfortable
as I put them on.
Perfect balance—
I even felt taller.
Amazing what happens
when shoes come in at the right moment.
Like a guide through the journey
of life,
love,
and every transition.
The heavens have opened the clouds above
Raindrops are joined by a windy shove
Leaves are dragged to the ground
After the storm, only a few are found
Clutching the trees, waiting the drop
As autumn comes to a sudden stop
A poet sees what the sun can’t!
Future, we foresee, with our vision;
Transition of the world we work for.
Ink, we spill on papers incessantly,
Depicting the defects of the land.
Keeping our life at the altar,
An endless war we wage
Against the tyrants of the world.
We advise people to be practical
And stay away from superstitions.
The art of questioning, we teach,
How to be vigilant, we preach.
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