fine clouds' amber blush
as day's final majesty
sinks below the sea
in the attic,
a box of old postcards
still smells faintly of cedar.
I read the handwriting~
looped, patient,
a kind of tenderness
that doesn’t announce itself.
Some artifacts
don’t need to be rare
to matter.
The stones on the patio are weathered
and ground, and the door that creeks
welcomes. The ceiling was measured
for other times, other heights,
and the floor is used to heedful steps.
Old tables and chairs disarm fashion,
have a style of their own:
haute couture of past culture,
their vogue is vintage.
I can live with the broken vase
which was worth repairing.
It knows the meaning of longevity
and in it the cut chrysanthemum
refuses to fade.
Those pans were new once,
they knew once the taste of mint,
but since have aged and mellowed.
Noblest of all are those objects in wood
whose handles have felt
the favour of oft-use.
Their polish reflects the palm.
I favour the works of the past,
the time-worn customs and lore of folk
whose venerable hearts
know the meaning of bosom.
I am a collector of dents in copper,
of meaningful scratches in tin;
grooves, furrows and notches
that count the years;
and faint wounds
that objects keep hidden within.
stark white vintage lace
wedding veil tablecloth
memory maker
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.
You remind me of Janis.
Janis Joplin that is from the seventies.
Do you sing as well?
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Slept wrong yet again
My neck speaking in riddles
None which are helpful
I never knew the girl.
I only know the woman I met:
already fire, already ocean,
already the rest of my life.
Your eyes hold whole summers I never lived,
your skin keeps every place you’ve forgiven and loved.
One slow smile from you undoes me
more than any untouched dawn ever could.
You are the wine the years poured only for me:
deeper now, truer now,
impossible to rush,
impossible to forget.
I fell in love with the woman already in bloom,
and every morning I fall again,
harder,
for exactly who you are
right now.
Open your eyes.
My forever is looking at you.
oiled walnut desk
ornate fancy vintage
gift from a great aunt
a hundred years old
too small to be utilized
homes gorgeous landmark
Quartet belts out familiar tunes
Old barbershop proudly flaunting village vintage vibes
Haircuts surprise at today’s prices
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
ROSE-COLORED GLASSES
“When you think about a show that you used to watch as a kid or as a teenager, you look at it through sort of rose-colored glasses…”Jordana Brewster
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In memory’s soft glow,
the TV screen flickers alive,
time stretches like taffy,
the theme song lingers, a melody
transporting me through the portal of childhood.
The laughter of a cartoon,
the adventure of a western,
the wisdom of a sitcom,
a sprinkle of magic dust,
and suddenly, the mundane was extraordinary.
In the sepia tones of nostalgia,
I find a bittersweet truth:
the rose-colored glasses
tint the past with warmth,
softening the edges of reality.
those moments, though fleeting,
are the roots of who I am,
the laughter still lingers,
and the magic?
It lives on, like a rerun.
Like old paint,
the discarded heart chips away
where it lay
in a hollow chest
not unlike my own breast.
In its prime,
untainted by sin
and made of sheepskin,
its candy apple hue
captivated everyone—especially the likes of you.
However, who now
could admire a color
so mottled by misuse and so drastically duller?
Verily, no unclouded eye could find merit
in such a sorry trinket.
I do enjoy imbibing a vintage libation
now and again (and again, and again)
but when I thought I'd bought
the best bottle of Bordeaux money can buy,
then looked at the label on the back,
before pulling the cork, I nearly had a heart attack.
'Characterised by a great body,' it stated,
'velvety cedar and hazelnut texture,'
but my taste buds went unsated,
'with an intense deep ruby red colour,' to summarise,
'possesses exceptional aromas of cherries,'
and much to my surprise,
'with hints of vanilla, blackcurrant, raspberries,
cassis and tobacco which reveal
a long, chocolaty finish and a good mouth feel.'
Altho' this above-average beverage may in time be fine,
I'm truly convinced no grapes were unduly harmed
in the making of this wine!
Images from a cogged box.
A camera reveals
hips and ankles, ribbons
decorously draped
over a contrived modesty.
An artist has added a color tint,
their cheeks are rosy,
their lips red,
a patchwork of painted glow.
Half revealed bosoms flush and bloom.
Pauses in an upper room.
A warm lamp licks,
feathers and brocade are adjusted.
The girls choreograph
next moves.
A gentleman photographer
toggles knurled brass knobs
throws a veiling drape over
his head and mind.
The models are beyond
this moments capture,
they are sealed by silence,
yet their images,
their one-act legacy,
is an amber inclusion
raised up as a photograph
for all to admire in secret.
Seven and one, open gates!
Zero, cancel wild!
He who suffers, first berates!
Listen, auld to child!
Errors of the prophets?
By necessity, none.
Perfect record, get the fits?
Oracle, scion, pun?
Ergo, O my time and space!
As above, below!
Meteor, dark fire, displace.
Broken, O my bow...
Dread, thy bed. Bend back, bring. Born.
Death, thy sacred sand.
Dagger, axe, hell, heaven, horn.
Doom within all, planned...
Falcon, fix sight fast on fate.
Coals of wrong to burn.
Sight of silver haze, my krait?
Venom, how you churn.
Furious the strait? Hate? Why?
Out and holding on?
River, bluegill, is a-sly!
Sea-bass, take the pawn!
Tallest mountain, reply? Well...
Think on that awhile.
Hope, accrue? Cast well thy spell:
Quill, seek. Gentle, guile.
Vine, grow o'er. Hinterland, seethe.
Break on cliff, vast wave.
He who bereaved last did breathe.
Others, foot in grave.
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