I listened
heard in disbelief
the glorification of a liar and a thief.
I paused in this interlude
feeling the praise was misused
and then I scanned the crowd
blank eyes, minds within a shroud
none shouting truth aloud.
All was quiet
here along the western front
marginalized by corrupted stunts,
the rants and raves
the cowards unafraid;
voices rose
the hail of war unclothed
in hate and anger, no longer loathed
bullets, missiles, bombs laid down in droves,
followed by admiration, praise disclosed.
A haughtiness of destructive force
forged across a liar's greedy course
hidden in deceit by the elite
war in forever repeat
purposes indiscrete.
I listened and I prayed
for the coming of a brand new day
when warriors lay down their blades
rest at peace
beneath the smoke and shade.
I scanned the world that God had made
fearful and ashamed
at the haughtiness of a foolishness of men
who began another war again
always now never then.
i
i
You fought so bravely,
That even your enemy,
Wept upon your death.
O noble king, your regal stance!
Righteous royal, stature enhance.
Warrior, denied by no one.
Resident reign only begun.
Clever, sly, an omnipotent
standing guardian vigilant.
Stay your ground and rule them all.
Tis no wonder you're an idol.
When there is a lot to handle in life,
And catastrophes going on inside my mind..
I turn inwards, seeking for a sign.
The mountain of failures piled high
Like a castle, look me dead in the eye.
Could’ve beens and should’ve beens;
Written all over them like splattered ink on walls.
I retrospect and reflect on them.
Not pushing them away,
Merely trying to hold them in place.
The failures that once intimidated me,
Tell me tales of bravery and resilience.
They narrate the story of a battle well fought;
The scars etched in my heart;
Portray the image of a warrior,
Who never surrendered.
It is on days like this;
That I bleed ink.
The veins cut open,
Like a wound waiting to heal.
The only difference is that,
They bleed ink.
I bleed ink because it is the only way I thrive.
I put up a fight with my caricature of words,
That one cannot easily survive.
I bleed ink because it makes me feel alive.
she steals stealthily and purposefully into my kitchen
no one hears the teensy tiny tapping of her pretty paws
she slinks into the corners of the room, staring with night eyes
her yellows are getting dark, almost turning as ebony as her fur
she grabs her supper in one enormous daring bounding pounce
there is a quick squeak and then silence; she is a warrior
She is more than a tourguide
but a warrior within her soul
who is a champion of Bahamian hospitality ambassador of the natural environment
and a pioneer with a spirit
for creativity and innovation
quenching the thirst
of her progressive mindset
where curiosity is her superpower
She is a teacher and a storyteller
who set the standard for visitors
and how to become a true, true Bahamian
through historical landmarks, folktales, cuisine
Rake and Scrape, bush medicine
blueholes and endemic birds
to create an atmosphere
where everyone would recieve
the Bahamian VIP experience
whether they are from Miami,
Puerto Rico, China, or The Netherlands
She is a visionary and servant leader
behind the warrior found within her
ahead of her time
who is very selfless and approachable
always willing to put the necesities
of her team ahead of her own accolades
like a tree feeding Pigeon Plums and Seagrapes
to the White Crowned Pigeons
instilling inspiration in their hearts
to become more than only tourguides
but to become the guardians and stewards
of the authentic Bahamian adventure
for generations to come
I raise my voice in hopes you hear
What's in my heart; what I hold dear.
I sing the conscience of a nation,
Words from another generation.
Their songs have stood the test of time
When our country's honor was on the line.
Justice, Freedom, Equality
Are bywords of democracy.
Together we can take a stand,
Bring back God's grace upon our land.
Feel my anger, feel my pain.
'Restore my Country' is my refrain.
I sing my songs of hope for all
But when I sing alone, I'm small.
So, lend your voice so all may know,
You're not okay with the status quo.
The Kingdom of Trump has got to go.
Temperance of valor, greet me without shame
steal away with a sword from my leather baldric.
Grant me a final wish before ending my life,
thrust upon a throne with defiant sufferance.
Whilst falling in battle on a muddy bloody field;
although devout of faith, who shall pray for me?
Will our great God above grant forgiveness for past
sinful murderous deeds? I'm a warrior, not a priest,
tiller of soil; nor a follower guided along pious paths.
I can never forget that shrill of the battlefield wails.
Proclaim your righteous virtues, sing your victory
songs as sky and blood drain from my pallid eyes.
I now rule the people only in faded memories;
not a shameless King but a man of wanton dignity,
standing upon a white boar, I soar upon a ravens wing.
Richard the Third Poetry Contest
1/30/2026
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
Working on behalf of the Lord
Arch Angels with silver sword
Ready to fight with light defeat
Red fallen souls of Satin’s army
In your prayers be mindful pure
Onyx skyline where fight is lured
Ruach of God is war’s cure
Take me now, oh dear lord of greater good!
Make my worthless life have meaning
As I throw it all away
Dashed against the walls and defenses
Of an enemy I create
To be right
No matter how wrong
I know my heart to be.
(1/10/26)
Sweeping brushstrokes slide
through natural canvases
by masters of steel
(This poem focuses on a defiant refusal to surrender to heartbreak)
My heart may break,
but I will not fall.
Grief may bend me,twist me,
make me ache,
but I refuse to wallow,
refuse to crawl.
I will stand,I will fight the darkness.
I choose to live,
to breathe again,
to find my strength.
The loss is a scar,not a grave.
I am undefeated,
I am free.
Hey...Let me remind you
No one is there for you
The world is full of evil's
It's difficult to find among them, real who?
Never give them those rights
which can harm you
You are your happiness of true
So..be always youu
_Diksha B.
I see you in the stillness,
when the frost forgets your name.
In the shadow of your struggle,
I guard your flame.
I see you when you're breaking,
though your eyes hold steady ground.
In the hush before the storm’s heart,
your courage makes a sound.
I see you in the striving,
on the path no skald will sing.
In the ache behind your laughter,
you bear a warrior’s wing.
I see you—by the hearthfire,
through the veil of winter’s night.
One soul can be a lantern,
and yours was born for light.
her face is a quilt
ridges wrinkles and age spots
seasoned warrior
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