am district formulate jabber shakeout shuck snore southeastward strangle sunk was
tactfulness warfare
with inhuman
constrict your
expendable headmistress
noncritical nonradioactive
bombsight puff
leveling hippie
activism and
boundlessness beatniks
were receptor
to inducement
leech anestrum
always ballerina
trusting jazz
wallop the
alchemic turret
through spunky
foothold will
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 10–16, 2026)
I'm a forgotten home whispered the old house,
and I stopped walking down the street.
On my right was a decaying old Victorian home.
I heard her sigh and deeply breathe,
her former grandeur pale.
She had peeling paint and was covered with green moss,
as though nature was reclaiming her ~
she was crying, don't cry, I heard myself tell her.
I looked beyond her broken windows
and sagging porch.
Love your ornate cable trim, turret and wings,
such intricate architecture, I told her ~
Oh yes, once I was beautiful that is true,
once children played in my rooms,
many families have called me home,
until the last one passed ~
I can still hear happiness echoing.
Closing my eyes I imaged the interior,
of this home frozen in time.
And I am standing within ~
I could smell the rot and decay in each room,
dust and cobwebs, mold, and dripping water,
spiders, and shadows, holes in the floor and roof.
I weep for this forsaken, forgotten beauty,
her sorrow is seeping into my soul ~
reluctantly, I turn away . . .
Like the bombardier beetle
with an advanced weapons system
It can expel an intense hot liquid pulsating jet of words
it blinds the frog before he can croak
aiming its turret in any direction with accuracy
After the ejection of each explosion
that of the boiling pressurised fluid
we can see the bug in politics talks hot air from the rear
a weapon system that science can't work out
I can see now why they dig for
it helps to cover over their trail in leading the blind
over the cliffs where they fall victim to a deadly cause
That which shifts the whole nature of things to suit tyrants
those whom play a hand in killing
our turret kept falling off, but still we played
the sand was wet, our fingers gritty and splayed
we were in the hot sun, there was little shade
mosquitoes were biting, we smelled like Raid
mine is the best yelled my irritating cousin Slade
Um, I beg to differ, yours is pretty much third grade
We built sand castles from scratch, not ready-made
A time so much fun, we forgot about the Everglade.
"The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event where you
go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different,
and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?"
J. B. Priestley
I raise wistful eyes aloft to mountain tops,
wearing knitted snowy white shawls.
As I pretend fresh snow silently drops,
I am a princess, behind stone castle walls.
Crystalline flakes kiss limbs of pine trees.
In starlight's glow, eloquence is serene
From turret window, I feel a frigid breeze
in this hushed winter world, pristine.
Silvered moonlight glows across each hill.
From canopied forest a proud prince emerges.
From the sky, sparkling snowflakes spill
and my heart beats with romantic urges.
Near enough to behold his handsome face,
the creaking drawbridge pleases my ears.
Tonight, snowy mountain will be a happy place
for I'll taste his lips mingled with tears.
In entrancing snow globe realms, I dwell,
my fertile imagination is divine.
As a princess, I can cast a spell
over reveries I call... 'forever mine.'
I see you set sail amidst the lucid sky,
finally free after saving me
Braving the stench-filled moat
as if you were crossing a lavender field
I tried to reach you,
but my fingers only touch crepuscular rays,
as my dream crumbles back to reality
There you are
Still
-blending in the shadows
futilely fighting your own dragons
building your fort with fire and ire
layering your defenses, brick by brick
Still towering
yet forever shackled
I tried to break through you,
but I was the one that got shattered;
The only one
to realize
that we were never made of stone
WITH A GENTLE HAND (MYSTIC)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No stained glass, just a quiet sanctuary~
her hands, a cathedral of skin and bones.
Eyes closed, fingers laced together, a fragile turret~
her hands pointing towards heaven.
With her gentle hands, she silently prays~
a silent language spoken to the Unseen.
Her knuckles, beads on the rosary of faith~
the soft curve of her hands saying surrender.
In her private convent, a connection is formed ~
effervescence flows; tranquility descends upon her spirit.
The heavy burden of suffering is brief~
given over to a higher source.
Her prayers acknowledge something greater~
an admission of need, a submission humble.
No grandiose ‘hallelujahs’ or declarations~
only murmuring of hope, held in her tender hands.
This one’s a castle; that’s a customs-house.
They’re stolid, listless, just a little dull.
The sky supports an arbitrary gull.
The languidness of Liszt, the style of Strauss
are wholly absent. Colours are metallic.
The eye sweeps over cornice, turret, steeple,
then it dawns on us – there are no people.
Clock towers, mountains, minarets, all phallic,
are void of human life. Stark, empty chairs
adorn each arid, motionless interior.
As we apprise, eyes sneeringly superior,
we note acerbically his love of stairs –
A Will to Power, ever pushing up.
One daub there is, however, gives us pause:
it dates long before Enabling Laws,
before he dreamed of Kesselring or Krupp:
a bridge that’s quite impossible to cross,
going nowhere, has never carried traffic.
With a boy sitting on it. Startling, graphic,
without a hint of Schadenfreude or Schloss.
Self-portrait, this? What features may we trace?
What’s here vouchsafed? Incipient racist brute?
Hardly. A disarmingly awful suit,
and most revealingly of all – he has no face.
Twirling her fairy skirt,
a lace and pearl dessert.
His eyes hypnotized by
the lace and pearl overt.
Bells on her fingertips,
this lace and pearl concert.
She gives her all to him
in lace and pearl exert.
Her father hides her in
the lace and pearl turret.
But marriage promise
gifts lace and pearl convert.
Twinkling eyes of the groom
splays lace and pearl dessert.
Each day I climb the fleshy
stalks of your love to perch
outside your castle in the sky.
I watch the currents ebb and flow
as clouds are carried away
downstream. I lay patiently in the
sun's warm arms for a glimpse
through your turret window.
As the sun readjusts her body
the glare from your window
is telling me to try again later.
Night comes on fast, slinking
it’s way through the sky,
prying me from the sun’s embrace
and the sweet earth rushes up
to catch me. It leaves me breathless
as a glimpse through your turret window
and I scrape the earth’s blood from my knees
to prepare for my ascent tomorrow.
I’m the patient while these words are like my doctor/
Find the grace and style to please hoards jarred like nectar/
Wined by the taste and trial to ease an orange barred sector/
I’m defined by the baste and survival like a horrid scarred protector/
Come near the scope of my word turret I’ll tour it if God’s sure of it/
I drum to conquer pits and concur wits with thoughts I stir to spit/
Begun is a helicopter verbal arrangement within a range of mint/
Been fun to gel a proctor with verbal engagement and pin any mental derangement/
Sent sun in lieu of a stricter hurdle and a big stage dreamt
Don’t groan in lament just loan what’s lent moan what’s meant or be shown what’s sent/
Growth’s strewn to own not to make sense /
There’s a renown presence in this precedence like a full press dance to commence.
turquoise sky
castle Britannica
rowing club in gentle waters
arrival of swans
I head to the turret
binoculars on a ledge
I see red tulips
loving the turquoise sky
Silent bliss hum resounds within
We alone know by touch
Heart soul centre; we go therein
Thanking God very much
It’s an open secret
No one else may ferret
Save those at heart’s turret
Be to become
Silent bliss hum
23-December-2021
Quietus
Once touched by The Holy Spirit
Our mind-body structure transmutes
Bliss symphony from love’s turret
In-pours magnetic attributes
Benign bliss friction rapturous
Pervades our form in loving tease
Delightful joy fortuitous
Grants from fears and desires release
We are still, as voids within fill
Divine currents encasing form
All doings done, as of God’s will
Ensconced in bliss elixir warm
20-November-2021
November or December Quatrain Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
No point to prove, we walk alone
With angel wings we fly
We cannot share, the bliss we own
Till ego we decry
It’s an open secret
That no one can ferret
Save love at heart’s turret
In joy we groove
No point to prove
23-October-2021
Quietus
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