Days streched and yawned
And I felt bound to an eternal sleep
Wondering
Would it be like that forever.
Longing for faith, my soul beneath the veil in grief did pine,
Till Thou didst teach that Grace alone bestows this gift divine.
Nor can repentance bear its fruit, nor contrite tears impart,
Except Thou cast perfect brokenness into the sinner's heart.
In showing me the true beginning of the way to Thee,
Thou humbledst Thyself unto hell's lowest deep;
The fearful gulf yawned wide beneath my wandering feet,
Yet Thou Thyself – the only Way – dost safely keep.
Thy Grace alone sustaineth whom the deeps would claim;
Thou stayest him that else were swallowed in despair.
Thou askest nought but tears in true repentance' name,
And mind made new by holy change and faithful prayer.
From Thee all things receive their life, their breath, their being;
Thou bringest forth from hell, corruption, passion's night;
Revealing purity no mortal thought can compass seeing,
And givest Living Water, lest the seeing soul should die.
May each inhale be Thy cold fire –
Ineffable, unseen, without beginning,
Unchanging, deathless, never to expire,
Intangible, yet all my being filling.
A little brown bear yawned
and crawled into his cozy
cave to sleep.
Outside, the fluffy winter
snow began to fall gently
in the dark.
He curled up tight, dreaming
of sweet honey until the
spring returned.
I woke at 8:45
Stretched and yawned
Smiled. All gaiety.
Potty first. Face splashed
Skipped teeth, shower, hair
Pajamas wrinkled
week-long underwear
Rushed down the steps
Threw open the fridge—
Friday’s meatloaf, cold brick.
Just Me & Capt’n Crunch—
sugar gravel
still in a Scooby-dish bowl
9am flipped on the boob-tube
Saturday morn cartoons
Mystery van
Spinach
Spiders
Anvils dropping
White cowl
Bull’s-eye dog
Sugar Sugar
Ah…Honey Honey
Daniel—
Cliff edge
The long fall.
I laughed until I wept, until I cried.
All gaiety—
gone.
The sweet milk gone warm.
Chirp.
Screen lit—
three little dots
then—
“You up yet Papa? XOXO”
In His great slumberous periods
Mighty yawned, wedged in between
Love taking sips, beat ardours
That haze a hummingbird scene
This awaits, shaping comforts
Voluptuous settee.
Set on its coral paws to bear
The dreamt fruits of Deity.
the sun set on the peaceful meadow
where clustered colours yawned
feigning a sleepy drowsy state
for bees and butterflies to take their leave
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
A wink from the sun woke me at dawn.
I yawned, lazily stretched and smiled as
I felt the gentle touch of his warm fingers.
With golden majesty, he rose in the sky,
greeting the morning with his usual flair.
Have you read the note?
It speaks of the doom of the liquid element.
An inclement weather, grey, and with the fuss of a bleached lightning,
Besieges the tick of the clock.
Must have been a bland Sunday, which retreated
From the temerity of old wine,
Haunted by the lonesome refrains of exhausted hymns.
The belfry yawned loosely....
But quiet crept in like leprosy,
Hanging loops on loam-matted hair, black and fringy,
And nursing frets we held
When the wetted guitar strings would not strum....
Have you read her note?
Not the one of Mrs. Dalloway
Nor the one of Between the Acts,
But the one she cringed for —
That banal, invidious act, non-virginal,
Which haunts the church to this day.
The bright sunshine signalled a new
dawn,
Lazily, I stretched and yawned,
Not truly ready to face the day,
As I looked out of my window, my
neighbour shouted, it’s beautiful
today.
On a thin and fragile branch,
I noticed a Robin was resting his
feet,
A charmer he was , and to my eyes,
he was a treat,
His colourful coat was white, brown
and red,
Seeing him made me feel glad I had
gotten out of bed.
With his melodiously sweet trill,
the leaves on the trees seem to
flutter with his song,
Notes rise and fall and with the
gentle breeze, the branches swayed
in a rhythmic dance,
His tune filled the Spring air, and
not long, a female came along,
Witnessing their interactions was a
beautiful moment for me. Sometimes
in life, unexpectedly beautiful things
do happen by chance.
by Zyrool
Aim dead center, O aeon!
Era, this is now.
Ergo, O my stern scion;
Come to anyhow!
Looking-glasses are like wind.
Reality grinned.
Terror, tiger, tamarind!
Sacred til he sinned...
Gaunt the gambrel goblin?
No smile a-face today.
Whirling dervish, loud the din!
War, be on thy way!
Grey of the nebula pond;
Why is waiting good?
Yellow-speckled viper yawned!
Gone but understood!
Kingdoms are like prophecies?
Yes, in this context:
Rife, roil, rampant, rare! Disease!
Hell and Heaven, hexed...
Sort it out, O sordid sigh...
Do not ask us why?
Sylvan silver, art thou shy?
Bargain basement buy?
Syllable, unleash thy wrath!
Letters, break the chain!
Poems, place us on the path!
Language, take the lane!
Young is this old harpsichord?
Harpy, use a sword?
Bull, matador. Which gets gored?
Folly gets you floored.
Holly. Mistletoe, thy doom.
Poison, flow like wine.
Ivy, rune, ice, ancient tomb.
Cyanide strychnine.
So many pearls before the swine
He didn’t know which to pick
So fell asleep and dreamed to fly
Straight up to some Alpean peak
There he took selfies, drank high tea
And then he flew back home
Down to the native piggery
Where one day he was born
His dream was suddenly cut short
No pearls around he saw
He yawned and in surprise he snored
Chewed pensively a straw
He thought “if I were not a swine
A butterfly I’d like to be
On multicoloured wings I’d fly
This time towards the sea.”
I bought me a horse from a feller named Clyde,
said, "She’s gentle and sweet, just a joy for to ride."
Well, "Maybe" she was, and maybe she weren't--
the first thing she did was dump me in dirt.
I saddled up hopeful, boots shiny and proud,
"Maybe" just yawned and sat down on the ground.
I pulled, and I pushed, and I pleaded and begged,
but Maybe just blinked and then stomped on my leg.
Now me and ol' Maybe, we're thick as can be--
she naps in the shade, and she bosses on me.
Folks laugh when I ride--I don't mind much, you see--
'cause Maybe's the only girl stubborn as me.
Mr. Sun awaken by Dawn
was all fired-red with a big yawn
Miss Moon waning away
from her pink fullness
wants to stay
they fought
stretched, and yawned
until Mr. Sun won
Thus, Easter morn
has finally begun
if you happen to be wondering
What the moral of this poem is
nature follows
patterns
from the beginning of time
until Jesus (God) sets
change into action
The woods never yawned
at the end of my stories
The streams never laughed
when I stuttered in haste
The mountains stood firm
when I lost my last footing
The sky understanding
in joy or disgrace
These natural things
forever behold me
Forgiving my weakness
rewarding my nerve
Their arms reaching out
through each change of the season
Pulling me onward
— my voice undeterred
(The New Room: March, 2025)
Deep in his lair with a scowl and a sneer,
Gargamel grumbled, "They're still not here!"
He plotted and paced, he ranted and swore,
Yet Smurfs slipped away like they had before.
Azrael yawned, unimpressed with the plan,
Another bad scheme from a not-so-great man.
"Turn them to gold? Make Smurf stew?"
But every attempt just fell right through!
He set up a trap with a cunning disguise,
Dressed as a granny with twinkling eyes.
But Smurfs just laughed and skipped away,
Leaving him fuming the rest of the day.
He brewed up a potion, bubbling and blue,
Chanting a spell—then POOF! He flew!
Straight through the chimney, out to the trees,
Landing face-first with a swarm of bees.
So Gargamel sighs, as he always must,
His dreams of victory crumbling to dust.
For no matter the trick, the chase, or the strife,
The Smurfs will outsmurf him—such is his life!
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