What happened to the funny man
that insecure comedian
O, not done, he carries on
transcendent verse, his latest con
Futile flippant,
rules and obscure,
mousetrap pitfalls,
scurrilous lure,
to faze green novice,
unsuspecting candidate,
contestant sworn to zeal,
might pause when enjoined,
to allow one’ s muse,
lithe elastic scope,
supple latitude,
without reckless reign,
or barren folly,
however cunning ploys,
lay-by lurk dithers,
yet without prior notice,
draws, dupes, deceives,
but these are caveats,
when stricture is,
shrouded in vague,
plumes of hazed,
thin veiled hair-split,
one stumbles
and fumbles over,
whilst glazed glance,
skips blindly over,
cues, clues, clause,
tip-offs to
shady motives,
motifs! ulterior.
What matters I’m 5
Kindergarten freedom vives
No longer hangin wit mom
With my own peers now
What matters when 15
I’ll be video gaming
Skateboarding, bike riding
Doin some 10th grade studying
What matters when I’m 30
Getting out of debt
Saving for retirement WORRY
Dropping toxic dynamics
What matters when 50
Keeping maintaining good health
Stilled financial security
Medical preventive screenings wealth
Matters what at 70
Independence and mobility
Ableness to walk, talk, see
Pain free living active be
Five Perspectives Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
9/16/26
. 2026©
Who and what.? Are words more relevant.?
Spirit in flesh..Fears foibles desires and
A realm of intentions.' Veering off occasionally, of the better path.' Could
Have been me.? I happened i saw it! The
Rain came twice against the forecasts ( in January ) in L A and in
Victoria..The fires died, I got up the next
Day and tripped over.' Banged my nose
Had to wipe my eyes.' Struggled through
The cold English rain, a car just missed
mine..Mundane stuff people.'One day my
Car will be part of a robot.? Could be.? Or
Just a rusted hulk.? Can you tell me exactly.? No you can't I can't, there are many things i cannot do.' What is valueble? Whar is the imperative.? A glass of clean water, or a vase of it, with fresh flowers.? Is that fullfilling.? Its not the whole, yet part of the sum.' Its in its place
The same as the river, the mountains the
Plains and the valleys, works of antiqity
Observed in museams, or looted.' And placed on a table somewhere.? I do not know, what the next hour will bring ' the
Unseen post service, that always delivers.'
Unpaid i'll grant you, but always aware, of
My existence, in the great somewhere.'
After everything is gone, what remains?
A shell of me. Life's imperfections:
I've struggled between good and evil,
Then looked to be led by someone
To have a personal relationship,
Always seeking life answers,
Attempting to resolve what's inside,
Sometimes making selfish decisions –
Choices we make for our own benefit.
Thinking of survival from beginning to end,
Retaining ground as we move forward,
And living to move on more quickly;
We do not have time to waste,
Nor bully myself over any more failures.
Make sure to try harder.
Happiness is not having everything;
It's the quality of our life.
What we did is a forgotten past.
Suffering never ends.
Afraid of being alone,
The existential life is often met with disappointment.
Written: September 14, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
****************
Salt stings your tears, each glistening bead of sadness.
Your breathing finds its natural rhythm, as if found
beneath the grief, a pulse untouched by innocence.
I mistook your quiet for apathy, yet innocence
remained—a fragile flame beneath the weight of sadness,
a sporadic, sparkling smile of something you had found.
Lost friends, lost years, yet somehow you found
a grace that gathered up your scattered innocence,
and gently lifted you beyond your darker sadness.
Perhaps God found innocence within your sadness.
autumn shakes threadbare
spent leaves loosen from brown stems
each clings to the bough
waiting for the tug of wind
to show buds in leaf axils
one leaf lies pressed flat
between pages seldom turned
kept from rain and light
its veins mirror buried roots
grounding what the leaf recalls
wine darkens the glass
one mouthful remains untouched
thirst catches its shine
sweetness ripens when restrained
the tongue leaves a taste behind
on dust-silver shelves
each book keeps its well-thumbed leaves
spines remember hands
binding what the years recall
in their dog-eared aftermath
names fade from old cards
ink gives way to the humdrum
old contacts grow pale
what I leave for others' eyes
means nothing to their kind ghosts
leaf settles on leaf
each layer hides another
last in, first recalled
gathered from one's only life
their weight growing underneath
neither dusk nor dawn
can deceive me about leaves
I shed, keep, forgo
forget, give away, hold back—
each leaves something of a life
No matter how many tears I cry
They'll never be enough
'Cause the days without you were splendidly tough.
It hurts my heart to the core
I can't wear that surface smile anymore
'Cause my wounds are still sore.
Till this day I admire you
-Like a ship to its crew.
What Nectar is to a Bee ?
" Its drinking desire must be !"
Invitation from bloom : Bee sips in glee.
Abloom blossom to greet
bee , offering nectar as treat
to meet its appetite.
Flower and bee ! Mutual : Complementary :
Both are comfortable in floral territory.
As prime drink, bee sips nectar.
Pollen sticking to bee in flowery sector
initiating pollination at random :
Flowery wisdom !
.
Flower and bee ! Made for each other.
Nectar as bond to one another.
This was mine to hold
now it rests within your hands
take it where you choose
I release the reins to you
yet my fingerprints remain.
I leave you the key
hanging from an iron chain
let your will decide
which way and when to turn it
you know which way I would go.
I have said enough
old advice has stained the page
my will has faltered
I can't unring the bronze bell
nor choose which echoes to wake.
The secret has flown
once my tongue unlatched its cage
two shadows now fall
one behind the mouth that spoke
one before the ear that heard.
Freedom bruises hands
when offered in heavy chains
gift-wrapped as free will
demanding they themselves choose
what each cannot bare to lose.
I pass the ember
hand to hand in stark silence
none can keep the flame
alight abandoned in shame
when both wills are disowned.
An ember glow
candle smoke swirls
perfume in an empty room
warmth left in a chair.
A string still humming,
a bell trill trembling,
laughter down a hallway,
whispers of warmth in an ear.
An imprint in a pillow,
a crease in opened letter,
lipstick on a glass,
a fingerprint on a mirror.
Salt drying on skin,
dew drops caught in hair,
warmth left in an empty teacup,
an open hand cupping a wave.
An empty swing swaying
ripples ringing across a pond
grass stirring; the breeze gone,
a shadow slipping around a corner.
A hug still holding
eyes moving - eyelids closed
echoes of trembling voices
the silence can't swallow.
Scent without flower,
song without voice,
intense sense of feeling
that what's gone is here.
An ember,
an echo,
a glimmer,
a ripple
a gong—
Coming, going, staying,
leaving, lingering, wandering,
remaining on.
By Poet..... "Sometime life is unseen. What remains then shows up."
Over the many years,
pillows have been filled with tears.
Unseen dreams of attacking bears,
representing my many fears.
Now unseen what remains?
It is all locked away in my brains,
tied tight with heavy chains.
Sometimes red busting veins,
filling me with overwhelming pains.
Written: September 11, 2026, for a contest sponsored By Margarita Lillico
Please listen to the poem lyrics in the sound video
***************
At five, what counts is the moon in my room—
a kite, stones in my pack, and a balloon.
My mother's warm hand, and grass after rain,
The world is vast, and wonderment is plain.
At fifteen, what matters is being seen,
a name on a wall, a place in the scene;
A friend who stay when the whole world departs,
and one reckless love that can break two hearts.
At thirty, what counts is building a life—
a weather-proof roof, a child, and a wife.
To stake my hours on a future I trust,
And learn what to hold when desire turns dust.
What counts at fifty is knowing what stays,
the unhurried morning; light through the haze.
Voices I almost lost tracking for years—
hands that head to hold me midst miles and tears.
At seventy, what counts is slight a thing—
a chair in sunlight, the hush before spring.
One face I can name, one hand holding mine—
and enough breath left to say, I am fine.
Dedicated ti my dog Einstein:
If I could spread as much love as my dog does daily,
it would be the biggest achievement in life!
My dog is overflowing with unconditional love,
bringing smiles to everyone everywhere!
He is very smart and always teaching lessons
This lesson is the most important one
- and it is what the world needs nost -
Heidi Sands
9/10/26
(C)opyright
I wake up now or then
In between nevermore and forevermore
Over and over again
Repeatedly finding myself wondering where I have been
A slice of the clock - lost
But I always feel better with my Glock
Darkness swallows the light
Confusing the days and nights
Making falling into the looking glass
A fairytale delight
But wait, was it fight or flight
Before now or back when
Hard to tell, but who's to say
Today, tomorrow, wrong day, someday
Different space, familiar place, memory of face
A fall from grace, the challenge of the chase
Moments, minutes, months, days, anyways....
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