When violets bloom deep in the bush,
Just atop their little push;
When fungus balls puff out spores green,
Where they go is never seen;
When rock exposed to sun and air,
Some to keep and some to share;
When lichen catches glimpse of sun,
The living bell has just been rung;
When baby does her first breath take,
Other senses soon will wake.
When owl’s egg slow nervous hatch,
A glimpse of life ahead may catch;
In filtered air sun moonlight be,
But not to mortal ones as me.
Vanished are the bygone days
Illusive feelings of bittersweet nostalgia
Opulence oozes over golden dreams
Luxuriant the gifts of time
Ethereal such are the memories of love
That tantalize as youth fades
Scattering glitter of past sunny carefree days
Adorned reminiscings too good to be true
Roses are red goes the children's rhyme
Echoes of their happy chants and giggles
Beauty as the sun sets on yesteryear
Lavishes tenderness on sleepy thoughts
Uplifting hearts that still feel somewhat youthful
Eager to drink this most exquisite elixir
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Broken is the heart
that sought shelter in thine hands.
I mistook beauty for loyalty,
and gratitude for love.
What hurts most—
I glimpsed a future in us.
Can I say I gave it my all?
Did it ever feel enough?
Far enough to notice,
close enough to linger…
© Rahim Moon 2026
Roses come in reds, violets, in blues.
Yet, my love, you always refuse.
Ants come in reds, blacks, and other hues,
and lest I forget,
I hope you enjoy them in chocolate.
63 YEARS ON THIS EARTH MARKING A BEAUTIFUL EPIPHANY OF RENEWED WISDOM I WASN'T BORN BY THE RIVER IN A LITTLE TENT HOWEVER I WAS BORN AT HOME FREEZING COLD ARTIC BLAST 63 YEARS AGO IN A SMALL APARTMENT NEXT DOOR TO THE CHICAGO PUBLIC LIBRARY ON HOMAN I AM TRULY BLESSED AS I CELEBRATED MY BIRTHDAY QUIETLY CALMLY HUMBLY MEEK WITH THE PURE KNOWLEDGE THAT SO MANY LOVED ONES DIDN'T SEE 30 40 50 60 KNOWING WHEN I BURSTS THROUGH THE FIRES INTO THE WORLD MARTIN WAS WRITING HIS I HAVE A DREAM SPEECH HOW MY TINY SOUL SURVIVED SUCH TYRANNIES 1963 BORN ON SAM COOKS BIRTHDAY 63 YEARS LATER A SPIRITUAL EPIPHANY MY PLATINUM DIAMOND BIRTHDAY A RENEWAL OF WISDOM A SPIRITUAL AWAKENING IF YOU WILL THE MILESTONES THROUGHOUT MY JOURNEY MY PILGRAMAGE HERE ON THIS EARTH THROUGH TRIUMPHS TEARS ILLNESS FORGIVENESS LAUGHTER AND SO MUCH JOY MY GIFT TO MYSELF THIS YEAR IS SHEER PEACE HAPPY BIRTHDAY COCOA THANKS BE TO GOD I AM TRULY BLESSED
1963 AND ME
“Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body”
Proverbs 16:24
Licorice language of love so sweet
Olive colored eyes that look for me
Violets and Roses smells of you
Emerald ring on finger so true
Lavender ribbons in onyx colored hair
Amethyst heart of love that cares
Nose wide open drunk in love
Grinning hoping you can’t get enough
Universal kiss cranberry flavored
Amber touch so warm and savored
Gentleman handsome with a slow hand
Easy to cherish as a noble good man
If malevolent roses
were blue passioned red
And malicious violets
were red pleasing blue
Then contentious autocracy
would have a whole lot less
malgovernance to do.
When roses are red and violets are blue,
each is a lovely, sentimental hue.
But the color of blood is also red,
and now my love, as you're gone and dead,
the color of velvet is tinged dark-blue,
and I still cry through my tears for you.
violets soldier
spongy moss tickles her feet
she drops her acorns
Some may say
it is a curse
who's to know
but could be worse
altho' no aesthete
I'm not averse
to levity when
taking up the pen
to scribe a poem then
making it rhyme
it's wit I seek
one line at a time
with tongue in cheek
(roses are red Mondays are blue
honey is sweet violets are too)
and once in a while
as humour is the fave
to break out a smile
late in the day
catching words
before they slip away
giving voice
to my innermost thoughts
whimsy is my quirk of choice
I read your poem
I got my satisfaction
I gathered some humid leafs
And violets
Blossoming there in your head.
Roses are red violets are blue,
deep down I know I’m not in love with you, but yet again my heart speaks the truth,
roses aren’t all red, and everyone knows violets aren’t blue,
the last person I thought I would love so deeply, would be you,
roses aren’t all red, it’s impossible for violets to be blue,
the biggest lie I ever told, was when I said I wasn’t in love with you.
Roses aren't all red and violets all blue
the grass is green most of nature is too.
_________________
Roses are red, violets are blue, pain in my sleep, sick like the flu. Double down on the love, can we have less hate? Everyone spread, everyone initiate.
Play the role of the sun, shine and influence everyone. Too much hate to come by, let’s sing a woodstock lullaby. If everyone took a second to stop and smell the fresh air, the negative hate wouldn’t be everywhere.
Look at the faces, the beautiful pigment, color everywhere on every ligament. Respect and peace is all society needs, to thrive and flourish not be bleak.
No more bombs, threats, or guns, take time to learn and love everyone. Violence spreads quicker than a wild fire, just a please and thank you is all I desire.
Smell the roses and execute the negative, smell the violets don’t be repetitive. Repressed feelings and emotions, let them out and let them flood like the ocean.
she had a green thumb
never did anything die
beautiful flowers
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