chipmunks scurrying across the park
dog wants to let loose and play
~ not happening on my watch
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Living under a dictator won’t be all that bad.
Most won’t even miss any of the rights that they had.
But oops! Here they come for your high-powered gun.
They’ve just about convinced you, it will be safer for everyone,
especially now that all those murderous immigrants are gone.
Sitting under a full moon
I begin to think
I think about how lucky the moon is
Sitting high in the midnight sky
Not a worry in the world
I think about what it would be like to be the moon
I light up the night sky
To emit my glow and energy upon the world
Lighting the way for those seeking home
Then, I begin to wonder
I wonder what the moon sees
Does it see how we hurt one another?
Does it see the pain we go through?
Does it see me the way I see me?
I wonder what it hears
Does it hear the vulgarity?
Does it hear the prayers?
Does it hear the silence?
Sitting under the full moon
I start to watch
I watch the moon in the sky
I watch the night pass me by
I watch as the moon stares back
Just sitting under the full moon
I stare and it stares back
Emitting its glow and energy upon the world
I sit and listen
I listen to the moon tell its story
It has my undivided attention
We sit and we talk
Under the full moon
Ella sent the invitation
Louis worked the door
to celebrate between the lines
inflection served du jour
My heart was given freely
their phrasings lined my soul
beyond the words and melody
goodbye to rock and roll
The Saints Were Marching In
as Satch blew his horn with glee
(and Ella said)
No, No They Can’t Take That
— Away From Me
(Dreamsleep: June, 2025)
A scything rain crops the high reeds.
Never saw the storm coming,
too busy rowing my mind
through its own river.
The ducks and herons have all gone
they have not flown away,
they have closed their eyes,
and like children have become invisible.
My rowboat is taking on water,
mouth open, I think I am crying the sky.
A small rickety landing
crouches from the downpour
maybe, ten slogging minutes away.
I make the torrent torn bank,
the battered truck I arrived in
has a cold,
its engine coughs, as sodden boots
pump a blind escape route
beyond its drowning windscreen.
Roll back the tides of time, and tell,
Of ancient books of myths, of hell,
Of temperance, nuns succumbed to gloom,
Entombed within their living tombs,
Of monks, and saints, and gospel song,
Born gently by the breeze, along,
Of deep toned organs' peeling swells,
Of virgins, Mary, and funeral knells,
Of dim-lit cells and penance loaned,
Which can for one's darkest deeds, atone,
Look back and lift the veil of night,
And view the man, the anchorite,
There he sits, so sad, so pale,
Shuddering at superstition's tale,
Crossing his chest with meager hand,
While saints and priests, a motley band,
Array before him to urge their claim,
To heal, in the Redeemer's name,
To climb the heavenly ladder, made,
By every patron, of every grade,
From wealthy abbot, fat and fair,
To starving child, withering there,
All of them eager to usher in,
The soul, ransomed by It's sin,
And tell me hapless bigot, why,
For what, for whom did Jesus die,
If pyramids and statues of saints must rise,
To form the passage to the skies,
Would you think man can wipe away,
With what but penance, day by day,
One single sin, too dark to fade,
Beneath a bleeding Savior's shade.
it’s a women’s circle
a uniting of female energy
a gathering to band as one
to have our voices heard
over the discordance
through peaceful means
aiming to channel the universe’s might
to soothe and heal the damage done
and nurture our planet if it’s not too late
On a nameless night, under a sky sprinkled with extinguished stars,
Thoughts trickle like oil in the engine of an old dream,
And I, a lost acrobat, sway on the thin thread of life,
Trying to grasp in my palms the essence of a world that smolders quietly.
You don't have to write to feel poetry in your veins,
It's there, in the smell of gasoline and the smoke rising to the sky,
In the eyes of the one who fills tanks with untold stories,
A poet without words, dancing among car queues and time.
I am an artist of the trapeze, not fitting into molds,
With my heart suspended between a yesterday and an uncertain tomorrow,
Each leap a long verse, each catch a moment of grace,
For between falls and flights, true poetry is born.
So, in the silence of the night, among ticking engines,
I wonder, who am I to name my art?
A trapeze artist of destiny, a dreamer in the shadow of light,
Or perhaps just a soul that knows how to breathe poetry without words.
As I.. talk with you...
I feel I'm sitting here...
under a rainbow...
in the sky!
Which is a recipe...
for love and harmony!
And dreams...
as cheesy as they go...
dill like a pickle...
or false like fools gold...
can come true!
If you only knew...
how to reach...
for those very stars!
And my heart...
was forever lonely...
till I met you...
my true love.
You make my vision...
come true...
oooooo!
As I.. talk with you...
I feel I'm sitting here...
under a rainbow...
in the sky!
Which is a recipe...
for two lovers...
to embrace!
And my heart...
was forever lonely...
till I met you...
my true love.
You make my vision...
come true...
oooooo!
As I.. talk with you...
I feel I'm sitting here...
under a rainbow...
in the sky!
Which is a recipe...
for love and harmony!
And dreams...
as cheesy as they go...
dill like a pickle...
or false like fools gold...
can come true!
If you only knew...
that I...love you.
that I...love you...
that I...love you.
Sitting under this Weeping Willow
tree, I think of yesterdays gone by.
The special times I spent with my
Mom and Dad, I reminisce and cry.
They're no longer here, God took
them to a better place, away from
me.
Mom said," If I ever leave, look for
me in the clouds my son, that's
where I'll always be."
Now I go through life wishing I had
spent more time with them.
Wishing, I could go back in time
and relive my life again.
On a beautiful sunny day when those
beautiful clouds roam free.
I see the outline of my Mother's face,
like she said, my Mother, Anais.
Under a sky of celadon -
I watched bees huddle
In frenzied expectation
Of riding a flaxen petal.
Lupine and globe mallow
Danced about while sage
Waved at me from below -
Comprising my entourage.
I saw pale butterflies mingle
Within dewy creosotes
Then came an argent gale
Which tugged at their cloaks
And then - the drape shifted
But my vision proves true -
A celadon echo gifted
To me that sunny interlude.
the entry below is to all who turn to my page
this is a grateful thank you to all
I know I still have reviews to respond to
I will be back next week sometime to do so
your reviews are safely held
thank you
see you soon
'under a star"
to all of you near and far
to all who write under a star
we share our souls our inner beings
we share more than visions or feelings
this is for all who hold the pen high
who hold the pen floating from the sky
until I return with responses deserved
giving words by you are safely preserved
thank you to all who visit my page
thank you for gracing the poetry stage
blessings to all near and far
blessings who write under a star
SkyWatcher
01-26-24
There are few places now
where life can find respite
on hot summer days.
Shady spaces are contested
real estate beneath trees
and in the shallow waters under
a bridge where countless
plump, pink jellyfish congregate
to hide from the heat.
Thousands gather, pulsing
in the warm brine. They look
like brains that have escaped
from skulls, their severed
spinal cords now lethal
clumps of thread hanging down
to entangle the unwary.
The species is thriving
in the warming waters.
These jellyfish have no eyes
to see ahead. To them,
all is now by nudge
and touch. No thoughts
of consequence or compassion
trouble their gelatinous will,
no desire to share
halts their inexorable spread.
To them there is only
an unquestionable need.
They have infiltrated our space,
children of our kind,
servants to a common greed.
Reaching out to you, at speed of light
so you may find me on common ground,
among the trees
a gentleman, though strange to your ears.
Under a lamplit room, one full of sky
oh, though my eyes look down,
not worldly as you may think
uninjured, and uninjuring
just the same as you.
Yes, it's you, my words were bent to
past the zenith, straight to a future
beating heart, all yours.
Reach back to me with fingers
made to extend, a hero mine..
with soft lips.
Pollux begged for the life of a twin,
under the latin sign of Gemini
and the same now
I beg of Zeus.
Stand under a future blue moon,
w'luck, I'll be there too..
though the coursing in my veins
hides your name today,
I'll discover it soon.
if you are finicky or squeamish at all
do not crawl under that locked bathroom stall.
You never know what you will find on the ugly floor
crusty dried feces and urine, other awful stuff galore
if you are the one who locked it and slid out of the way
know that we custodians kind of despise you today.
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