The prom dress that you never wore
That certain boy you didn’t date
The phone call that came nevermore
All shaped the turns that made your fate
Looking back along your wake
Old disappointments linger still
Yet all those things that made you ache
Were ground within life’s turning mill
Yet there stands reality
Where perseverance, dreams were made
Through them you clearly came to see
Your finest choices have been played
The glittered dreams of youth and truth
You once wore proudly on your sleeve
Have ripened into lasting proof
Of all the things you did achieve.
Eleven months without physical harm
is a blessing she cradles in her arms.
One more month remains of living unchained.
Soon life might lose the dread that threads alarm.
As his time serving overseas dwindles,
her coerced endurance holds less kindle.
Her thought onslaught is worry fraught and serves
images that swell in her heart and nerves.
She lives aware that one second can swerve
a life into despair no one deserves.
He might die or be maimed at the finish line.
In her mind, September is a landmine.
Fears make wishes to become unaware,
be numb to thirty more days of warfare.
She knows as a premature lamenter,
she wants sleep until the end of September.
Oh please wake me up when September begins
Day one of September's the first day of Spring.
Here in this hemisphere on the south side
Our weather revives from a cold Winter bride.
Daffodils bloom, and new growth is seen
Lush paddocks spread out with grass oh so green.
The sun in the blue sky is a welcome sight
Our day is now warmer and so is our night.
Spring brings such renewal to brighten our moods
More time is spent outside as Winter concludes.
The earth on the north side brings September's fall
Where days become colder with Summers recall.
A change to the season with carpets of leaves
That fall to the ground when stripped from the trees.
Then Winter takes over with cold and the rain
While here in the south I'll have Summer again.
And so to you now, these words I do send
September for me brings a start not an end.
As a caboose is to a train,
September is to the summer.
The train finishes with red,
the summer also finishes with red.
Red from the hot days,
red from the painful sunburns,
red from barbequing over hot coals,
red showing off the long pretty sunsets.
Like a bear sleeping through winter,
I would love to sleep through the summer.
When the hot summer is over,
when September ends you must wake me up
Oh yes,
I want to see the pretty fall colors.
The trees are dressed in golds, oranges and rusts,
the squirrels are having fun playing tag,
as they hide their nuts for the winter.
The very hot weather is gone until next year,
a cool breeze covers me like a soft blanket.
As September says good-bye until next year,
winter will set in with cold winds.
Old sweaters will come out ready to wear,
as a new one or two will be bought.
What a magical time of the year,
holidays with family, friends and food,
celebrating one year out and a new one coming in.
In echoes
I hear the ground shake
Anger with our kind
At the violence and hate we display
While a whispers
Of hands held out,
Assisting the world’s
Suffering.
Not because of a god or gods
They are the symbols.
Our excuses.
We have to admit,
We make our own graves
And affect nature and fellow humanity
Around us.
But too much self fear holds
Us back.
Self reflection.
Understanding
Our repetitive history.
Sickness.
Ugliness.
Truth,
Ancestry
Of our history.
Self reflection.
A simple phrase.
Fear.
Such a simple word
But we give them power.
It’s time to admit to ourselves,
We can change things,
But we need to know.
And here I stand,
Before the mirror
Of my own self reflection.
We are swords, yet so silent,
Living on this planet.
Like birds that sing every day,
Telling us that the weather is bad.
I fear many things,
For the jungle is deeply disturbed.
Lions think they are the owners;
They rule the goats without mercy.
Hens are persecuted by lions;
They burn while waiting for the rain.
Peace is only a dream in the jungle,
And difficulties begin when we wake.
People pray for the night,
Not for the daylight that brings suffering.
They beg for help because
The elephants disappeared with their promises.
They abandoned the jungle like strangers,
No longer longing for their home.
Who will save the little birds from the lions,
Lost in the darkest part of the forest?
Only brave knights can rescue them.
.
suhhch
thu mine
picturesque
undoubt'd bless
thus mine
did manly
thuh
thang
i were quiet
and exceptionally
moved
slow
')
*alright now
whut
')>
The boat is already gone
by the time the water
finishes talking about it,
two long seams
folding back toward each other
like a wound
that has decided,
on its own schedule,
to close.
Nobody teaches the lake
to do this.
It just remembers
displacement
the way a body
remembers a person's weight
on the other side of a mattress,
a dip that holds its shape
long after the sleeper
has become
someone else's weather.
I used to think the wake
was proof of the boat
evidence, a signature.
Now I think it's proof
of the water's patience,
its willingness
to hold a disturbance
just long enough
to be honest about it
before smoothing over,
because permanence
was never
the lake's job.
Somewhere behind every leaving
there's a version of this,
two lines drawn by displacement,
closing slowly,
not because the leaving
didn't matter,
but because the water
has other boats to carry
and only so much memory
it's willing to spend
on the shape
of things
that aren't
coming back.
Written: June 30th, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Seth Pina
Underneath a veil of midnight choke,
A peaceful recluse is drifting loose.
Hungry roots in ghostly boots,
As blood-red clay morphs to gray
The winter cries from weeping skies,
Heavy prayers distilled tears.
A gleam in moonlight, a dream in sight,
The stars have bled where breath is dead.
Its sinewed trunk is deeply sunk,
Through ruined soil where shadows coil.
Raw winds can snap a broken jaw,
As trees run deep to hide a sleep.
Most sorrow a faded ghost now,
Reach out and touch a dead shore.
Underneath this clay of black decay,
Lost bones will scream and sigh.
A dying pulse makes night convulse,
Where fading sparks collapse to dark.
A requiem blows low with icy glow,
As blood seeping scars mock the stars.
Confess your sins where spoil begins,
For wood can hold the bitter cold.
Its trapped voice leaves no choice,
When winter’s wind proclaims it sinned.
The sun tickled and made us giggle.
AP: 3rd place 2026
Kudos Erin, I salute your gumption, in sifting for the realitys of some intended
Data centres; projected in positive themed
And Proposed assumptions, Millions will be impacted and the environmental hit.! its
Set to make nonsense, of initiatives over 60 Years morhped into laws, with much fanfare and
Moral cheer' grafting into the syncronicity
And awareness of almost everywhere.?From villages through to citys.' Now the
Rug is being pulled, though threadbare
And fraying bad.' With realisation that we've
All been had.? Its simple enough i think you'll find, you can see the change to real sustainability, yet in this you need to find; take
Part and be aware' or as its known you'll
Become the most un-believable square.!!!
To wake, and find
A world, first seen.
With each day's morn
To feel reborn!
Clean, fresh again.
Itself. Yourself.
Springtime-wholesome.
As chick; blossom.
It's a new song
Maybe it'll be amended before I get to produce it
It's been fun.
I'll not say what exactly it's about
_________
you will never wake the dead
be prepared for it this time
bleed into it raw
making nickels on the dime
have you never asked for more?
??
no longer a stranger
paid-up dues, made your bed
winning is second nature
no matter what my old man said
if I could forgive, make amends
he would rest in peace without end
but I will never wake the dead
bleed into it, this time
??
th' sharper tool in the morning
afternoons, I'm delivered
hold my breath, I'm descending
there, I said it, I know that you heard
??
be daring, my darling
I'm right here, by your side
with answers for the asking
I don't know but I'll give it a try
if you could forgive, make amends
I could rest my head and pretend
but I will never wake the dead
bleed into it, this time
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