Clutched jaw, grinding teeth against pulp,
until ash and blood coat a deadened tongue.
The nightsong quiets—a pulsating silence encapsulates the land
as I walk up to a pyre built of withering dreams and deadly nightshade.
The cold, bitter air brushes against protruding flesh.
Looking toward the skies, faith stripped and shamed,
I climb and take my place among my ancestral spirits.
The silence of the night breaks, with chants of *Burn the witch* filling the void.
Leering eyes and foaming mouths scream obscenities my way.
But even among this fanatic freakshow, I hold on to my dignity.
I do not let them see the fear festering beneath my eyes,
nor does my lip quiver.
With insurmountable strength, I hold my head high
as I watch the torches preparing to set me ablaze.
Closing my eyes one final time, I breathe in everything I have ever held dear.
Memories flood—of loves lost and gained,
of the changing seasons,
of my connection to this glorious earth.
I can feel the flames licking at my feet now.
But I will not scream,
for my resurrection will come soon enough.
My dog is outside warning strangers off our property
the neighbors, delivery men, me if I walk up the driveway
stay away or you will be sorry, says his ferocious bark
it is deep, hoarse and fierce sounding
He treats us all as if we have machetes and stabbing knives
until we get closer….
if we get close enough, he leaps all over us with joy
me, the delivery men, neighbors, burglars, murderers
He is joyful to have a person to play with
If a child comes by, he goes nuts
Follows them home
His bark is totally deceiving
Mid Autumn, Saturday 6.30am
and daybreak is slowly climbing
over the back fence.
Frank O'Hara's poetry is still
echoing in my head from reading
it last night as I cook breakfast
of bacon and eggs.
Later I walk up the street
to the chemist to get
my blood pressure pills
and as I walk, compile arguments
against Postmodernism
and recognise that the notion of
the transcendental
sits at the centre of my beliefs.
I cannot abandon meaning.
Later, I prepare a leg of lamb
for baking along with potatoes,
pumpkin and carrots. Childhood
breaks through as I open
the oven door and a blast
of heat hits my face.
I am persuaded now
by the arguments
of the Universalist or else
there is nothing at all.
After dinner I sit quietly
with my wife. The evening
is coming on and the sound
of crickets filter in through
the front screen door.
I have much to be thankful for
but I feel sad. I am not sure
if it's just the early dark or having
to let go of the last line
of this poem and slip back
into the heavy silence
of myself.
My shoelace is no longer tight.
A simple task to put it right
but I cannot bend so to do
for my balance is undone too.
Slowly I must walk up the street
hoping somewhere to find a seat
or a low wall to sit upon
to make my shoelace tight again.
But it seems there is nowhere
for me to do simple repair.
I head back home with much caution,
taking care not to fall again.
My shoelace is now once more tight.
A simple task to put it right.
feels so close I could walk up and
with my finger touch the moon
seems like nothing else
exists and i’m alone
swaddled in a tranquility
that’s magnificent and surreal
i can feel it pulsate to the beat
of Mother Earth’s cadent heart
there’s a distinct aura of tangible complicity
and this is where i belong
right here in the now of it
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
After the fourth day of a full moonlit night
In the month of Kartick arrives the festival of Karva Chauth
A ritual to the testament of love and devotion
Amongst married Hindu couples.
The wife has kept fast since sunrise
For the longevity and health of her husband
All decked up in her finery and bejeweled
Matching the stars in the ornate sky
Together they walk up to the terrace
Then catching a glimpse of the moon
Through a flour sieve
She looks back at him with love and admiration
Breaking her fast by sipping water from her husband's hand.
Many a legend surrounds this festival of love, faith and devotion.
While the waning moon cast romantic beams of light
Flooding the lands below.
Bugs Bunny’s flippant relaxed attitude and what’s up doc line make him funny
Honorary Marine Master Sergeant with his own star on walk of fame, honey.
His Brooklyn accent makes his signature line terrific as does Mel Blanc’s voice.
He is a cultural icon, according to Charles, Patsy, Ted, Sarah and Joyce.
It is a hoot to watch him walk up to Elmer Fudd who is shooting up the house.
Tap him on the shoulder and say “what’s up doc?” as cool as a fed mouse.
Bugs is my total favorite although I like Woody Woodpecker and Taz a lot too.
I think Bugs is particularly exciting, because he pops up out of the blue.
Has the last line many times, and thwarts Elmer Fudd who gets crazy.
One thing for sure, the cartoonists at Looney Tunes were never ever lazy.
Through many centuries in time
Our paths meet once again
The time is different and though the face has changed
Yet those clear blue eyes still remained.
The boyish grin that always made me smile,
The gentle touch of his hand urged me to stay even if just for just a while.
And then one day you and our world was gone.
I was faced to live in that world all alone .
As years and centuries past away ,
I wandered aimlessly, stumbling each step of the way .
Wandered until I once again found you ,
You smiled at me as I walked into the room .
Those centuries and years seem to melt away,
Could it be I had once again found you,
And this time together we will stay.
Slowly you smile as you walk up and said welcome back home my Lady,
You’re back home here with me and here you'll stay.
In far away desolate moor of the Scottish Highland,
I was driving fast on the road around the wetland.
The car got stuck in sticky mud, I couldn’t take it out,
I was in for trouble in the wilderness, I had no doubt.
But luckily I spotted a Victorian manor not very far,
before the nightfall I could hurriedly walk up there.
Its door I knocked, an old man let me in a room stale
that greeted me with smoke of dim lantern to inhale.
His curled lips quivered, faintly said, ”you’re hungry”,
and disappeared in the dark, closed the door swiftly,
didn’t return, I decided to explore, saw a streak of light
in a room where I found him stone still, sitting upright.
He clasped close a human skeleton with stretched arms,
said, “this is old, you’ll give me a new one with charms”.
Cold sweat rolled down my spine, shivering in the core,
I ran out of the haunted house through the back door.
joyfully pursuing nothing today
no plan
no schedule
no worries
no cares
my car sits forlornly
she misses me
I do not care
this retirement gig is delightful
I can sit in one spot for days
and I do
until Dr. G begins talking about blood clots
that go to your heart and kill you
when you sit for too many hours
I walk up the hill one time
hoping that is enough
because I want to sit in a recliner
and watch TV, paint or write poems
joyfully pursuing nothing today
Boyz 2 Men were right
It’s so hard to say goodbye
That’s the song the DJ plays
Inside the back of my mind
As I walk up to your granite stone
And read your name carved out in grey
I begin to daydream about
What it would be like if you’d had stayed
But this time I didn’t come to reminisce
I came because I have something to say
It’s been 20 years since that fatal day
But I still think about it every single day
As if your soul left your body
And got lost in my brain
So I have something to tell you
And I’m going to try not to cry
But it’s time to let you go
It’s time to let you fly
I just came to tell you that I’m sorry
This is my sorry goodbye
Turn around then:
As you walked up the stairs,
Which I want to walk up too,
I am glad to have such a self-ability,
To not let myself run away again or choose another way.
There are multiple stairs.
But I want to go this way.
You wouldn't just fall on me, or I don't know what you would say? You don't even look at me.
And if you did, I would pick you up with both arms but not ask if you are doing alright.
When you stumbled, I heavily flinched.
You never hit me,
But you hit me physically somehow.
Because anything you do or any touch
Feels like a threat.
Even though walking up the stairs had nothing to do with me.
When you suddenly stopped at the end of the stairs, I would never take the seconds to ask: "May I skip you?" like my past self would do.
When I skipped you,
And accidentally pushed your shoulder, which made you lose balance,
It felt somehow good.
But I didn't really care anyway so
I walk up the shady street of my memory,
up a big hill where I rode my bike down;
right to the end of our quiet dappled street,
and into a lush green park full of bird songs;
where ducks and swans glided on a mossy pond ...
An actor I knew
I saw him sitting alone in the dining room
of a small hotel, drinking brandy with coke
his handsome face was bloated, and he was
deep in his cups
I told him of the Humblebee story when
he played Schultz, and he chuckled
he was a man in agony drinking had
become relentless, whatever reasons
he drank, but the hurt didn't go away
he had lost his wife to cancer and thought
of killing himself, as a trained counselor
I knew better than to give advice
on how to stop drinking
His girlfriend came, had been in the bar
playing pool, a woman with a fake smile
was driving him home to his cottage
she, also when the actor was away looking
after the cottage
The last time I saw him, he was struggling to
walk up a hilly road, I drove to his home
again, he mentioned suicide.
I said, no, my friend, you have to live and
suffer as the rest of
that was the last time I saw the news
of his death saddened me
There may have been neighborhoods
with green lawns, playgrounds, and ballfields
a short walk from houses with enough
bedrooms for everyone.
Houses that stood apart from one another,
so owners could park cars in garages
set towards the back and then walk on paved
walkway to back doors leading to kitchens
with modern appliances,
but I live with five others in a three-bedroom
six-room railroad room apartment fourth floor
walk-up in a six-story row tenement house
on a block with twelve other buildings,
exactly the same.
Built-in the late eighteen or early
nineteen hundreds.
Buildings riddled with cracked walls,
leaking ceilings, stuck windows,
overflowing toilets, mice, and roaches
that were there to stay, with garbage cans
'most missing covers' in alleyways
that rats owned after dark, leading, to.
Courtyards with ‘No Loitering’ signs posted,
where we played hopscotch, hit the stick,
marbles, red light green light one two three.
Where Valerie’s mom jumped into from
the roof to.
That summer’s day my mother said that
‘we were moving’.
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