Searches
appear for
some final answer
to the make-up of
the universe
to what makes me tick~
A wish for a
finality wiping out
all further queries~
Stories are squeezed
for their hidden
treasures~
There may be
whispers
of futility with an
undertone of
freedom~~
Searches
appear for
some final answer
to the make-up of
the universe
to what makes me tick~
A wish for a
finality wiping out
all further queries~
Squeezing the stories to
give up hidden
secrets~
A suggestion of
not knowing seems not
admissible with its
undertone of
freedom~~
To frolic amongst the daisies and posies is to relish
in the sweet drink of victory over a despicable,
old, and much-sought-after foe.
It is a feeling akin to splashing cold basin water
upon the face after hard work—lips chapped
by sun, sweat, and the long, tired day crowded
amongst them.
Reclaim possession; bring it home.
Long has this expected arrival been awaited;
arrangements have been in accordance with plans
premade for preparations upon this date.
Man dares not tickle the fickle temper of these
sisters of fate. Complaints remain an undertone, and
resentment answers not to “Pardon” on and on again.
In their ever-glow elegance, brilliant
refractions sway off their decadent dress.
Jellyfish patience is slow, a romantic cadence.
Contracting movements make the sway
feel like a swarm in the warmth of the elicit impress.
Irony has no place here; let true meaning stand,
Unmasked from deceit, that twists what should be known;
For truth is dimmed, when caressed by a shaky hand,
Hearts are dulled, when slow speaking in undertone.
We’ve learned to laugh to soften our doubt,
To hedge each word to lessen what's too plain;
This cleverness has worn our candor out,
Leaving us fluent in deceit, shame and disdain.
Now is the moment to speak plainly, completely—
Letting the twists unravel, before they're played.
With power serves made adroitly, sweetly and neatly—
To break the ingrained game our irony has made.
For to say upfront, what we mean, demands we refuse
to diffuse, bemuse, confuse, what we risk to lose.
Today is a brittle passage of tumbler,
Tumbler that glares like optimism in unsteady fingers,
Fingers that grip love like a hot torch,
Torch whose blaze cracks into smoke.
Smoke is an undertone of extinct promises,
Promises wandering like ruins in the squall,
Squall that flings hearts like collapsed greeneries,
Greeneries no map for tomorrow.
Tomorrow is a wrapped and inaudible volume,
Volume whose folios leather in shaded ink,
Ink that engraves destiny like an invisible sculptor,
Sculptor influencing today.
Such is life when it changes,
Changes that bring hurdles,
Hurdles making us remain uncertain,
Uncertain of what tomorrow really means.
Poem by N. Mugisho
Norway in the crosshairs
The scandal that has rocketed the royals in Norway
household has dented the people's belief that they
are somehow unique, more democratic, than
anyone else on the planet
They have the bluest oceans, the whitest waterfalls
and the highest mountain in the world
They are also the wealthiest country, with 7 trillion
in the bank
They also have a rock protruding from the mountain,
fondly called The Pulpit. Can any country be greater?
There is a dark side to this excessive self-belief
a nationalism marked by arrogance.
They can not understand that there are people who prefer
to live elsewhere, those who do are viewed with suspicion
We see an undertone of fascism here, not healthy
Perhaps the royal scandal opened up some eyes
Freedom, I Always Take
Former Offenister...
There It Is.
Make Simpler.
I Spoke With
My Poet Folk
Thought Was
Spoke As Squirrels Was.
Now They, So MANY!!!
Now... Silent???
Here, Still Here...
But Soundless All Spoke
So Squirrels Really Spoke?
I Like Better With
Soft...
Un.
Ummmmm.
That's What Is.
Reminder.
I Wish It Carve Out The Pure
Joy And Adapted Laughter
Before All The Squirrel
Scattering... I Know!
But, Where Did They Speak?
I'm So Selfish.
Oh Well...
hahahahaha...
Down A Fundementally
Quantumly Over Undertone
Long Longing Long
Octaves Bottomly Looms
The Darker Laughtered...
Not So Squeeky.
-Gray Squirrel
01-11-2026
My skin is light olive-toned with green or green-yellow
undertone and the veins on my wrists appear mostly
green, the color associated with natural world, like
plants, trees, grass symbolizing life, growth and energy.
I am the color of living life, feeling incredibly alive with
energy and excitement to explore, discover, experience,
create, learn to grow emotionally and spiritually to evolve.
I am the color of wealth, like the striking emeralds, sparkling
peridot, and money to meet the needs of ordinary people or
to magnify the status and self-worth of the rich and famous.
instinct
over thought
independent
of
form
prose with cadence
in lyrical
expression
where emotions
are
the driving force
pause awhile
to listen
the winds
of ephony
revealed
in
pause
& undertone
an
esoteric
sensation
from within
the
voice
recites
to
tickle
the
ear
showing
when
pause
so
silent
can
sound
perfected
on
pause
She came down screaming, cloaked in flame,
A bolt of spite, no soul to tame.
From hilltop high she cast her spell—
The art of slander, taught too well.
They built her shrines in whispered breath,
In gossip’s grip, they danced with death.
Her tongue, a blade that cuts unseen,
Yet worshiped like some vengeful queen.
She taught them how to twist the truth,
To poison joy, corrupt the youth.
No proof required, no facts to weigh—
Just sharpened words to flay and flay.
I walk beneath her shadowed reign,
Each rumor like a drop of rain.
It floods my name, it stains my skin,
A war I never asked to win.
They speak as if their hearts are stone,
No warmth, no grace, just undertone.
Their minds are mirrors cracked with spite,
Reflecting only what’s not right.
No thought of kindness, no repair,
Just venom laced in vacant stare.
They feed on fear, they starve on hope,
And swing their lies like braided rope.
Yet still I rise, though torn and bruised,
Refusing to be so misused.
For truth, though quiet, holds its ground—
And Slanderella will be drowned.
You tell me I feel like home,
but not that it's solely in name.
Your words are woven with lace--
delicate, flowery, light.
They coil and crease,
a nasty, distasteful undertone.
Rough edges scrape my knuckles,
bloody bruises bloom.
Malice nestled in every utterance.
I crack you open,
like the book you told me you were
but your words are written in invisible ink.
His smelled of semi-soft cheese
with a low moldy blue undertone
I had no tolerance for his smell
for compared to gym socks,
ammonia,
or barnyards,
it was pure Eau de Toilet !
After a game of indoor soccer
he'd break wind
while holding up one leg.
He smelled of rotten egg
formaldehyde,
and sour pickles,
from New Orleans....
While they chased after him
with bottles of perfume
He'd do the armpit fart
then run away.
Leaving behind,
a skunky smell of Cannabis.
Softly the twilight calls my name,
A touch of silver in your hair,
Like echoes lost within a flame,
Like footsteps fading on a stair.
Did I not once, in days unknown,
Walk through a garden pale with light,
Where roses sang in undertone
And stars burned longer in the night?
I cannot tell what time has spun
A thread of dream within my hand,
Or if I stood beneath that sun
That warmed a long-forgotten land.
A voice too faint, a touch too far,
Yet haunting still—
Like dust of some extinguished star,
Whose light remains, but not the will.
Do dreams recall, or do they weave?
What once was true, we still believe.
as chopsticks for soup
like a monkey eating scotch bonnets
you have to want it
good luck is a myth
thin as a Theban cookie
as your skin if you don't get it
checked-off triggers in academia
fired as a porcelain finger up
kilned in an undertone of glazing
grace is a saying and a Name
tweaked as an ego or a jacket
potato is a hashing at 3 a.m.
iHopper lingering is a tension
getting to the hearth of it
another homer hit past time's fence
foe knocking at your big teeth in front
like a door to your cheeks
puffed with a nut-angle oblique
playing a game of mother elephant
a recess abbreviated by a bad pronunciation
intonation of inspiration at the bell
wrung and swung along a well-tread trail
as dirty as a thurible
It was in my younger years
That you took away my heart
Just looking for a conquest
You tore it all part
You. put yourself so far above me
No mercy to be found
Playing as the victim
Finding joy in putting me down
You reveled in the glory
Tried to make me feel the shame
Playing oh so righteous
While using me to blame
The innocence that you portrayed
The lies, the undertone
Well baby take a look at me now
I’m standing on my own
I’ll never hold ill feelings
But my bridges will be burned
Chalking up the time I’ve wasted
To experience and lessons learned
You’re the one who started the fire
Searching for a moment of fame
Now you’ve become the lost one
And I’ve become the flame.
While you set out alone
Keep your eyes on that blue sky
My wings have been released
And now I’m going to fly
There will come a time when you look back
And contemplate the cost
Just know that my star will be shining
Because you’re the one who lost.
I will dance and I will sing
I’ll mount that horse and ride
I can walk through the fires of hell
Without you by my side.
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