My dulciana
Agonised me again,
But the ballerina
Floored as I'd never been.
Warfare can not euphemize
With tiger reverberation;
We always decimalize
For vicinal desiccation!
Is a unifoliate unproductive
Or nonradioactive?
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 10–16, 2026)
dodgy, must-go, chicken taco feast, threatens friends not woes
Again slowly walked home alone.
With a heart heavy of fond reminiscings.
Longing to hold his hand.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Woe - A poem from Isaiah 5:20
Woe to those who stride with pride and call evil good
Woe to those who hush the noise from voices they have shunned
Woe to those whose hands held high on Sunday,
Hit hard the humble and the good on Monday
Woe to those who stride with pride their clothes of gold and silver
Woe to those who glimmer and glean with false light all over.
Woe to those who sing and chant and dance about
Sprinkling light of all their marvelous deeds, while little ones die in shadows
Woe to those who stride with pride, feeding food of bitterness and gall
Woe to those who salt their words and breed arrogance all over
Woe to those who call the bitterness of their actions sweet and
take the sweetness of the our young ones and point out every child as bitter.
May we all take note of those who stride about,
look into a mirror and guarantee that the one who strides, does not begin with me.
Chantelle Smith
09 Feb 2026
Oh what a mockery is the church of England..With its un-holy trinity.' Has
Beens..Or never beens in fact? where
A man, called a king is the head.'
Was andrew the second in command?
With an arch-bishop the third person
No wonder the whole thing is dead..'
A festering mass, of false teachings
Leperous liturgys; and sour coffe
mournings.!
Here is a deep reflection on our moral compass and the choices we make daily. In a culture that often blurs the lines between right and wrong, this scripture challenges us to seek clarity and truth. How frequently do we find ourselves influenced by societal norms that contradict our beliefs? The call to discernment is paramount; it compels us to examine our hearts and align our values with God’s Word. As we ponder the implications, let it serve as a guiding principle in our lives, encouraging us to uphold truth, discern good from evil, and be agents of change in a tumultuous world.
Woe is in Hellfire
For those who make evil good ~
who makes darkness light
Through but one teardrop, exposed
Insists does this pain
For polite-smiled eye
Hide behind a lie.
That all too real, in facing
This for its wellspring's
Activating shame
Is more for to blame!
I am a monster born of woe,
From shadows where the lost winds blow.
My cradle was the mournful night,
My lullabies, the fading light.
My skin is woven of silent cries,
My eyes reflect the stormy skies.
Each step I take, the ground will quake,
Beneath the weight of hearts that break.
I feast on tears, a bitter stream,
And wander through a restless dream.
Where laughter fades, my echoes dwell,
In hollow caves where sorrows swell.
But in the depths of what I claim,
I hold no joy, I seek no fame.
For every wound I’ve ever sown,
Has bound me to my aching throne.
Yet still I long, though I can’t show,
To shed the chains of grief I know.
For monsters born of woe can yearn,
To feel the warmth they can’t return.
Yeshua.!!! He's the killer; of all woes.)
medication makes me sleepy
I have been congested for three weeks
Mucinex, Vicks and Benadryl have put me down for many naps.
Some days I have taken up to three of them.
This morning, I agreed to go to the bank at ten.
I woke up at 7:13 and decided to nap at 8:08.
At 9:47 my husband yelled “I AM GOING TO THE BANK!’
in one of those anger-aggressive ways.
He woke the dog and me both up.
I got dressed in three minutes.
I do not have to look prissy or even good to go to a bank.
At the bank the lady asked if I had my cell phone.
I told her there was not time.
My husband hustled me out of the house so fast.
Weird that she asked me about a phone anyway.
No one at the bank has ever asked me if I had my cell phone.
They were lucky I grabbed my identification at the last second.
My husband will probably tell me why when he gets to the car.
I am sitting here, writing up my tale of woe.
Echoes of the holy grace, for this place,
Endless woe of devolution,
Forever entice, your grace,
The moon is your solution.
Confined in this space, of endless grace,
Under the moonlight, it is illusion,
Illusion of woe, forever retrace,
It is all persuasion, or is it union?
Shadows creep, where darkness breeds,
A symphony of sorrows, never-ending,
Lost souls wander, planting crushed seeds,
A tale, forever transcending.
Each day is priceless;
We can treasure memories
Of both weal and woe.
The eating of pie before dinner,
It isn’t on point to get thinner.
It’s best to let go
That tin pan of woe,
And be a calorical winner.
A marionette of the void
Aware of the needle like strings,
Stranding on the edge of light
Yet covered by the veil of hollowness
A woeful homunculus, gazing at the abyss
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